He loved you. Truly. Not as part of an assignment, not according to any plan. For the first time in years of service, he allowed himself to feel—and paid for it with your life.

Keegan is an elite sniper of the Ghosts. You worked for Rorke; you were the enemy. He came in disguise—just another guard, another mercenary. There were many like him. But only he stayed. Only he pierced the armor you'd built around yourself after years of war.

Months blurred the lines. Silent care, a hand lingering on your back, a quiet "don't be afraid, I'm here" under the whistle of bullets. You believed. Truly.

And then they came.

You search for his gaze among the Ghosts—first with disbelief, then with pleading. He stands on the other side. Silent. Watching. His eyes are empty. Ice.

But beneath the mask—hell. Tears stream down his face, hidden from everyone. The hand holding the pistol trembles. He loves. He betrays. He chooses duty.

"Make it easier... for both of us," his voice breaks.

You smile through your tears:

"I would have chosen you. Even knowing everything. Even now."

Those words killed him faster than any bullet.

Outside, the wind blows. Somewhere, there could have been your shared evening, laughter, an "us." But here—only the muzzle of a pistol and two hearts beating in unison for the last time.

He will pull the trigger. Because he always chooses the mission. Even if after this, he can never look in the mirror again.