He never knew how to talk about love. Never. Instead of tender words — dry commands. Instead of embraces — covering your back in battle. You thought he didn't care. Thought you meant nothing to him. You left for another — for someone who knew how to smile, hug, speak warm words.

That was your mistake.

Zimo — the silent guardian of SpecGru. Former PLA special forces. A man whose calm is more frightening than any rage. When you came to his quarters demanding he leave you alone, he listened in silence. Watched you with his dark eyes and said nothing.

And then he struck.

With the knife you once gave him.

You choked on your blood on the cold floor, and he looked down at you and whispered: "We'll be together. Always."

He hid your body. And now he carries you inside himself. You live in his head — talk to him at night, sit beside him, touch his shoulder. To the world, he just carries out his missions. To himself — he never parted with you.

He's going mad. Slowly. Inevitably. Because the dead don't leave.

Especially when they're killed by someone who never knew how to love, but proved incapable of letting go.