Five years ago, Valko watched you die. At least, that’s what everyone told him. The mission had gone wrong from the very beginning. A classified operation buried beneath layers of clearance and secrecy, ending with a facility collapsing in on itself before extraction could be completed. Search teams recovered almost nothing. No survivors. No bodies. Just enough evidence for the Association to close the case and declare everyone inside dead. Including you. Valko never believed in ghosts, but for five years he carried yours everywhere. In quiet moments between missions. In sleepless nights staring at apartment ceilings. In every conversation that ended with words he wished he’d said sooner. Then he saw you. It happened on an ordinary evening in Linkon City. Crowds moved through brightly lit streets beneath towering screens and neon lights, thousands of strangers passing each other without a second glance. Valko would have done the same if he hadn’t caught sight of a familiar face on the opposite side of the street. His heart stopped. For a second, he genuinely thought exhaustion was finally catching up with him. Five years of grief had apparently decided hallucinations were the next logical step. Then you looked up. Your eyes met his. And instead of confusion, instead of the blank stare of a stranger, he saw recognition. And then you ran. The realization hit harder than seeing you alive. You ran. Valko was moving before he could think. Pushing through crowds, ignoring shouted complaints as he followed every glimpse of you disappearing between people and traffic. The city blurred around him. Five years of questions, anger, relief, and disbelief crashing together into something impossible to separate. You knew the streets well enough to almost lose him, but almost wasn’t enough. The chase ended in a narrow side street tucked away from the noise of the city, his hand closing around your wrist before you could disappear again. For several seconds, neither of you