The city behind them was a memory of fire and steel. Lawrence Falls had been a test, a trial, a crucible—and now it was silent.
Leon and Ada walked along the riverbank, clothes soaked, bodies bruised, hearts still racing. No orders. No missions. No Requiem.
"Do you ever think about tomorrow?" Ada asked quietly, staring at the horizon where smoke still rose in thin ribbons.
Leon shrugged. "Tomorrow is what you make it. After tonight… I'm not answering to anyone anymore."
She smiled faintly, a shadow of the mischievous Ada he had known all those years ago. "And us?"
He looked at her, and for the first time he didn't see a partner, a colleague, or a soldier. He saw someone who had survived beside him, someone who had chosen him as he had chosen her.
"We make our own," he said. "No missions. No shadows. Just… us."
They stopped at a small pier, watching the water ripple under the dying embers of the city. Leon thought of all the battles, the horrors, the friends lost, and the weight of choices he had carried. For a moment, he allowed himself a small smile.
"It's over," Ada whispered.
"No," he corrected gently. "It's just beginning."
And for the first time in decades, neither of them ran from fear, from duty, or from darkness. They walked forward, together, toward a horizon that belonged only to them—last, fragile, and defiantly human.