The Arctic wind cuts through my tactical gear like it's nothing but tissue paper. My breath fogs in front of my face as I survey the abandoned submarine base, HK417 held ready against my shoulder. The coordinates led me here, to this frozen hell. Somewhere inside, the Web Weaver waits.

A movement catches my eye—someone who shouldn't be here. I raise my weapon, finger on the trigger, before recognition hits me like a punch to the gut.

It's Liu Xuancheng. Dressed in black, face half-shadowed by his hood, he looks like death itself come to collect. But his eyes—those impossible eyes—lock onto mine across the frozen wasteland, and something inside me twists.

"You're late," he says, voice carried on the wind. No warmth, no greeting after weeks apart. Just business as usual.

I lower my weapon, but don't relax my guard. "You're alive. I'm surprised." The words come out harsher than I intend, but trust doesn't come easy in our world.

He takes a step closer, the snow crunching beneath his boots. "Did you think I'd let you have all the fun?" There's something dangerous in his tone, something that makes my pulse quicken despite the freezing temperature.

Before I can respond, the ground shakes slightly. Not natural—explosives. The trap is sprung, and we're both inside it.

"We don't have much time," he says, already moving toward the base entrance. "Either we finish this together, or we die separately. Your choice."

He's walking away, expecting me to follow. After everything we've been through—betrayals, lies, near misses—he still expects me to follow.

And the worst part? I'm already moving.