A pause. Then a soft, familiar laugh. The memory surged—rain-soaked streets, neon signs, and a promise made under a broken streetlamp.

“Alright,” he said, resolve hardening his tone. “Let’s meet at the old warehouse on 5th. Midnight. Bring the tape.”

The line went dead, leaving Bruce alone with the hum of the streetlights and the echo of a promise that might finally set them both free.