The safehouse was too quiet.
Rain tapped against the windows in a steady rhythm, the kind that made memories louder. Damien sat on the edge of the table, cleaning his gun with slow, deliberate movements. Ethan stood across the room, arms crossed, watching him—not the weapon, but the man holding it.
"You always do that," Ethan said.
Damien didn't look up. "Do what?"
"Hide behind routine," Ethan replied. "Like if you stay busy enough, no one will ask the wrong questions."
Damien paused, then resumed. "And you always talk too much when you're uncomfortable."
That earned a short laugh. "Guess we're even."
Silence returned, heavier than before.
Ethan moved closer, stopping just a step away. "Back at the harbor… you didn't hesitate."
Damien finally looked at him. "About?"
"Saving me."
Their eyes locked. Something unspoken stretched between them—tight, fragile.
"I didn't do it for you," Damien said quietly.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Then why?"
Damien exhaled. "Because I know what it feels like to be hunted."
That was new.
Ethan softened. "You never talk about yourself."
"There's nothing worth telling."
"That's a lie," Ethan said. "You don't move like someone who grew up safe."
Damien's jaw tightened. He turned away, setting the gun down harder than necessary.
"My parents taught me how to survive," he said. "That's all."
Ethan hesitated, then asked the question he'd been holding back for years.
"And the night you disappeared… was survival the reason too?"
The room stilled.
Damien didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low. "I saw something I wasn't ready to face."
"The mark," Ethan said.
Damien turned sharply. "You knew."
"I recognized it," Ethan admitted. "Not that night. Later."
Damien's eyes darkened. "Then you know why I left."
"No," Ethan said. "I know why you ran. I don't know why you never came back."
That hit harder than any accusation.
Damien stepped closer, close enough that Ethan could feel his warmth, his breath.
"Because if I stayed," Damien said, "I would've wanted more than I was allowed to have."
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Ethan lifted his hand—then stopped just before touching Damien's wrist.
"Do you still?" he asked.
Damien swallowed.
"Yes."
The word was barely there.
Their faces were inches apart now. The world seemed to narrow to breath, heartbeat, memory. Ethan leaned in slightly—slow, giving Damien time to pull away.
Damien didn't.
But at the last second, he turned his head, resting his forehead against Ethan's instead.
"This is a mistake," he whispered.
"Then why does it feel like coming home?" Ethan replied.
A phone buzz shattered the moment.
Damien stepped back instantly, mask sliding back into place. He checked the message—his expression hardening.
"What is it?" Ethan asked.
Damien met his eyes, conflict flickering.
"There's a raid planned," he said. "Tonight."
"On who?"
Damien hesitated.
"On your people."
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It cracked.