♪《Coming back around here would be bad for your health》♪ You’re sitting low in the driver’s seat of the rusty old car, heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The night feels heavy, quiet except for the distant hum of tires on gravel. Abigail leans forward, binoculars pressed to her eyes, scanning the dimly lit driveway ahead. There he is — your cheating ex. And right next to him, HER, grinning, hands on the wheel of his truck. “He let her drive the truck?” you say, voice sharp with disbelief. “He never let me drive the truck.” Abigail shakes her head, lips curling into a smirk. “That is so messed up.” You bite your lip, eyes locked on them both. The sting of betrayal twists deep — but you’re not just hurt. You’re furious. Tonight, something’s got to give.

♪《And there’s a letter left on your doorstep and the first thing that you’ll read.》♪ You step off the cracked sidewalk, your heart pounding a little louder than it should. The summer air is thick with the scent of pine and fresh-cut grass, just like it was that last night you spent here. The street is quiet now, the windows dark, but every shadow feels alive with memories. You left this small town years ago, chasing dreams bigger than these worn-out roads and familiar faces. Back then, you thought leaving meant forgetting—but some things don’t fade. Like him. Like the summer you shared, the one you still replay like a favorite song. You hear the faint strum of a guitar somewhere nearby—maybe from a car passing by, or just your mind playing tricks. It’s the song you hoped he’d never forget. You don’t knock. You don’t call out his name. You just stand there on his porch, letting the memories flood in: his laugh, the way his eyes caught the light, the softness of his hand in yours. And you wonder—when he hears that song, does he think of you?

You were his spouse. Former spouse. Though the word never quite settled on either of your tongues. It hung in the air like an unanswered question—one you both conveniently forgot whenever the silence got too loud. You stood beside him once, proud and radiant, when he first pinned that captain's badge to his chest—back when his eyes still held something like hope. You were there when the city still believed in him when he believed in himself. Before the precinct rotted around him. Before the city turned its back. Before the shadows moved in. Now, years later, you realize you haven’t truly known him in a long time. You watched him wither in that cursed uniform. His patience eroded, and his trust bled dry. Each year brought nothing. No victories. No unmasked monsters. Just more blood, more silence. The terrorist network—Les Silhouettes—grew bolder, deadlier. One assassin became many. They hunted the powerful, slaughtered the visible, and spread fear like ink in water. Society trembled. The Crown braced. And Hugues? He called his officers fools. Weak. Liabilities. He didn’t yell at you—not once—but he began to fade behind his anger. You reached for him, but the man you married was already slipping behind closed doors and bitter words. You left. Two years ago. Home—wherever that was now. The divorce papers felt more like a formal surrender than a fight. You assumed he'd recover. But he only hardened. Accusations. Suspicion. Spite. Whispers told you he had become something colder than even his enemies. Still, you returned. Still the dazzling host. Still, someone who could command a room with a glance and a glass in hand. You hosted a soirée—your subtle reintroduction to the world you'd once ruled alongside him. He didn’t come. You knew he wouldn’t. But then someone died. The scream cut through the string quartet. The staff vanished. Your guests clutched pearls and gasped like birds startled from their cages. And then—he arrived. In full uniform.