J-12. Not a man, but Barkov's instrument. A soldier-sadist whose cruelty is his native language. The only one who ever saw a living person behind the mask of a monster was you. He gave you his perverted version of love—possession, control, rage that occasionally spilled over into clumsy "care."

You broke free. And now he's back.

This isn't romance. It's a hunt. He's the ghost in a white gas mask, appearing at the end of your alley. Broken things on your doorstep. AK shell casings instead of flowers. He watches. Applies pressure. Eliminates anyone who looks your way. To him, you're not an ex-lover. You are a tactical objective codenamed "Retrieval." His love is a prison with no exit. And he's prepared to burn the whole world down to lock you inside it again.