The fire behind them still raged, casting their shadows long and crooked on the wet asphalt. Ash stood frozen, chest heaving, rain mixing with sweat and disbelief.
Vernon.
Alive.
Breathing.
Standing just inches away — not a ghost, not a hallucination — but real.
Every instinct screamed to grab him.
Every fear whispered to run.
But Vernon only watched him, unreadable behind the half-mask, water dripping from its edge like falling tears.
"Ash," he murmured again, softer this time. "You need shelter. You're shaking."
"I'm shaking because I watched you die," Ash shot back, voice raw. "I held you. Your pulse stopped. I felt it."
Vernon flinched — barely, but Ash caught it.
Lightning tore open the sky, and in the brief white light Ash caught that familiar expression in Vernon's eyes:
guilt, sorrow…and something far more dangerous.
"Come with me."
Vernon extended a gloved hand.
Ash stared at it. At him.
"…If this is another trap—"
"It isn't."
"And if you disappear again—"
"I won't."
The hesitation lasted a breath, maybe two. Then Ash placed his hand in Vernon's.
Warm. Solid. Alive.
Vernon's fingers tightened just slightly — a touch that felt like remembering a language Ash had forgotten he knew.
They slipped into the night.
Vernon led him through alleys slick with rain, across abandoned lots, down a stairwell hidden behind a rusted dumpster. A coded lock clicked, and a door swung inward.
The room was dim, lit by a single lantern. Dusty, unused, but safe.
Vernon closed the door. The storm outside grew muffled, distant.
Ash leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Start talking."
Vernon removed the soaked gloves, dropping them onto a metal table. His movements were too calm — practiced, controlled — like someone who'd rehearsed coming back from death.
"I didn't survive," Vernon said quietly. "Not like you think."
Ash's stomach dropped. "Then what are you?"
Vernon met his gaze. Lightning flashed behind him through a cracked window, illuminating the half-mask.
"I'm still me," he whispered. "Still Vernon. Still the man you—"
His voice faltered.
"…the man you didn't want to lose."
Ash swallowed hard. "Then why hide behind a mask?"
Vernon hesitated. Then — slowly — he reached up.
His fingers grazed the edge of the mask.
Just that.
But Ash felt the air tighten, heat crawling up his neck.
"Because when you see my face," Vernon murmured, "memories start waking in you. Pieces you aren't ready for."
Ash's chest constricted.
"What memories?"
Vernon stepped closer. The space between them shrank, charged.
"Memories of us."
Ash's breath hitched.
Vernon raised a hand — not touching, just hovering an inch from Ash's cheek. The warmth radiating from that single, unmade contact made Ash's pulse spike.
"May I show you?" Vernon asked — voice low, careful, reverent.
Ash didn't trust his voice. He nodded.
Vernon's fingertips touched his cheek.
Heat shot through him.
Not physical heat — memory heat.
Skin-on-skin heat.
He saw flashes — blinding, fractured, breathtaking.
Hands gripping fabric.
A kiss stolen beside a burning car.
Fingers tangled in short hair.
Breaths shared in the dark.
Gunmetal pressed against a throat in a moment that wasn't fear at all.
A moan swallowed by lips crashing together.
Bodies pressed against a wall.
Vernon's voice — lower, more dangerous — whispering:
"If this is our last night alive, don't hold back."
Ash gasped and stumbled backward, hand flying to his chest.
The safehouse flickered back into view.
Vernon watched him with eyes too full, too knowing.
"You remember," he said softly.
Ash shook his head. "No. I don't— I can't—"
"You do," Vernon whispered, stepping closer. "Your body remembers even if your mind doesn't."
Ash felt his back hit the wall.
Vernon didn't touch him again, but he stood so close Ash could feel the warmth of his breath mixing with the cold of the storm-soaked air.
It was unbearable.
And familiar.
"Why?" Ash demanded, voice cracking. "Why do we remember each other like that? What are these cycles you keep talking about?"
Vernon searched his face — really searched it — with eyes that looked centuries tired.
"Ash," he said, his voice almost breaking. "Every lifetime, every mission, we're drawn to each other. And every time… one of us dies."
Ash's heartbeat thrashed.
"So what makes this cycle different?" he whispered.
Vernon raised one trembling hand — and placed it over Ash's pounding heart.
Ash inhaled sharply, knees almost giving out from the sheer intensity of that touch.
"What makes this cycle different," Vernon said, voice barely above a breath,
"is that I'm trying to change it. I'm trying to keep you alive."
Ash's throat tightened. "Why me? Why now?"
Vernon's thumb brushed a single droplet of water from his jaw.
"Because losing you…"
His voice cracked.
"…hurts more than dying."
Ash's breath caught.
"Vernon…"
The name slipped out soaked in longing — and fear.
Vernon's mask tilted close, their foreheads almost touching, breath mingling.
"You don't have to forgive me," Vernon whispered. "Just stay alive long enough to remember why you loved me."
Ash's chest burned.
His hands curled in Vernon's coat, pulling him closer without meaning to.
Their lips hovered a breath apart — the air between them charged, trembling, starved.
Then—
A sharp metallic click sounded above them.
Both froze.
Vernon's eyes snapped upward.
Someone was in the vents.
Ash grabbed his gun. Vernon grabbed his arm.
"Don't shoot," he whispered. "They'll scatter."
"Who—"
Vernon leaned in until his lips nearly brushed Ash's ear.
"The ones who keep resetting us."
Ash's blood ran cold.
Vernon released his arm and stepped back, mask lowering again, the softness replaced by something lethal.
"Ash," he said, voice shifting into command.
"Yes?"
"If they take you now… we'll never meet again in this lifetime."
Ash's pulse thundered.
"So what do we do?"
Vernon's eyes burned behind the mask.
"We run. Together."
Ash nodded.
And just like that, the cycles turned again.