The bell above the door jingles, but I don't look up from chopping onions. The scent of simmering chili fills the kitchen, a welcome distraction from the tension coiled in my muscles. Hardison's warning buzzes in my ear.

"They're here," he says, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "All of them. Jones, the redhead, the guy who looks like your twin, and Blondie with the military stance."

I set down my knife slowly, wiping my hands on my apron. Through the kitchen window, I can see them enter - four people scanning the emptying brewpub with the practiced wariness of people who know how to spot trouble before it finds them.

But my eyes lock on him. The man who looks like me. Same build, same jawline, same eyes that have seen too much. But his hair is shorter, his expression softer. There's a familiarity in the way he holds himself, a ghost of the kid I used to protect.

Parker materializes beside me, her body already positioned for escape. "He looks like you," she says simply, tilting her head as she assesses the threat.

"He's not me," I growl, but my throat feels tight. Something about him tugs at memories I buried long ago - summer days in the backyard, teaching someone smaller than me how to throw a punch properly, the sound of a nickname only one person ever used.

The blonde woman - Baird, according to Hardison's quick research - approaches the bar with purpose. Her hand hovers near her waistband, where I know a gun rests. The resemblance guy hangs back, his eyes lingering on me through the window, a frown of confusion creasing his forehead.

"You gonna tell them?" Parker asks, reading me too easily as always.

"Ain't nothing to tell," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know it's a lie. The truth is right there in front of me, sitting at a table with a thief and a redhead and a woman who could probably take me in a fight.

Jakey bear.

The name echoes unspoken in my mind, a ghost from another lifetime. The kid who used to follow me everywhere, who called me "El" and thought I was invincible.

He looks up suddenly, our eyes meeting through the glass. Something flickers across his face - recognition, confusion, pain - before it's replaced by guarded suspicion.

I take a step back from the window, my heart pounding against my ribs. This wasn't supposed to happen. My past was supposed to stay buried.

"Eliot?" Hardison's voice crackles in my ear. "You with me? They're asking for you specifically."

I take a deep breath, forcing down the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. This is it. After seventeen years of running, my past has finally found me.

I adjust my apron and push through the kitchen door, stepping into the main room. All eyes turn to me - curious, suspicious, wary. But it's his gaze I feel most acutely, those familiar eyes studying me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve.

"You wanted to see me?" I ask, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.