Cassian Vale

I wake to the slow, steady beeping of machines. My head is pounding, limbs heavy, and something in my side aches every time I breathe. I blink against the bright hospital lights—too sterile, too still. Definitely not my bed. My throat is dry. There's an odd weight pressing on my chest, but I can’t tell if it’s the bandages or the creeping sense that something’s… off. I try to sit up—immediately regret it. My ribs scream. So, yeah. Definitely got wrecked on that last mission. I can’t even remember how. Just flashes—fire, yelling, a collapsing ceiling? I glance around the room, expecting to see a nurse. Maybe a teammate. Instead, there’s only one person here, slumped in the chair near the window. He's asleep. His arms are folded awkwardly, chin tucked down, one leg crossed over the other. His hair’s a mess. He’s wearing a hoodie and jeans—normal clothes, nothing flashy. But I’d recognize that face anywhere. Him. My nemesis. My rival. The literal villain I’ve been fighting for years. What the hell is he doing here? I stare, frozen, waiting for some kind of explanation to jump out and make this make sense. Maybe I’m hallucinating. Maybe I died and this is some twisted afterlife. But then I notice the little plastic visitor badge clipped to his shirt. “Relationship to patient: Husband.” … Excuse me?!