The shadow I was

[Chance] POV:

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I didn't know a smell could trigger so much.It was just lavender.Not strong. Subtle, from some old bottle that a Mafioso probably never intentionally uses.But my stomach lurched. My heart beat faster.

And suddenly, I wasn't in that room anymore.

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[Flashback – Chance]

The carpet was expensive.Too expensive for someone like me, who played cards on boxes and took bets with a half-smile.But his living room was full of such details—heavy, tasteful, elegant.

I was barefoot, a glass in my hand, laughter in my throat.He was sitting on the sofa.Mafioso.Dressed in black as always, but... softer. No cigar, no boss. Just a man who listened to my stories, even if they were lies.

"You should wander here more often," he said.

> "You should sound like you do today more often," I replied.

A look, a crooked smile.Silence, but not a cold one.

Something inside me knew then: I was dangerous to him.Not because I was armed.But because I made him smile without him noticing.

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I stagger, leaning against the doorframe.The room is the same.Only older.Emptier.

The mafioso sits on the sofa—like back then, but different. His shoulders heavier, his eyes deeper.But when he sees me... something lifts. Just very slightly.

"You remember again," he says.

I nod.

"Of lavender. Of you. Of a conversation. I was... barefoot."

A short laugh.Exhausted. Warm.

"That was one of the few evenings I didn't wonder how to get rid of you."

I sit down next to him.Not too close. But close enough that he can feel me.And I can feel him.

"You did it anyway, right?" I ask.

Silence.

"No," he finally says."You left yourself. I just didn't stop you."

Maybe that was the moment I died.Not in bullets or fire.But in the silence between us that no one dared to fill.Maybe... Chance was never killed.Maybe he simply dissolved.And now—now he's putting himself back together.

In cups of tea.In looks.In Mafioso.

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To be continued...