In the quiet dark, Gerard dreamed.
But it wasn't his dream.
It was Jay's.
And it began, as it always did, in flame.
Not destruction—warmth.
Sunlight poured through a vaulted dome above the old Overwatch training yard. A younger Gerard sprinted across scorched tile, flame curling from his heels. But the fire wasn't his.
It belonged to something deeper.
Something ancient.
Something watching through his eyes.
Jay.
In the dream, Angela stood at the edge of the arena, clipboard in hand, sunlight in her hair. Not observing the man.
Observing the thing within.
And he—Jay—watched her too.
Not as prey.
Not as target.
As something divine.
The first to look at him and not flinch.
He remembered the first time she touched him.
The day his body broke mid-mission. The day the mortal skin cracked. When Gerard collapsed, clawing at his chest, screaming.
Jay surged up, howling—fire tearing through arteries and bone.
No one could get close.
Except her.
Angela walked straight into the inferno, robes fluttering like wings of white silk.
She placed her glowing hands on his chest and whispered—
"I see you."
Not Gerard.
Him.
Jay.
And in that moment… he stilled.
Later, in her lab, she sat beside him for hours—monitoring, speaking to the thing inside as if it had a soul.
"You don't scare me," she whispered once, her hand hovering over the seal etched into Gerard's skin.
"I know what you are."
Jay answered, through the crack in Gerard's voice.
"Then you're a fool."
She smiled.
"No. I'm in love."
He didn't understand.
He'd been worshipped. Feared. Sealed.
Never… seen.
Never loved.
And yet she stayed.
She talked to him—not through Gerard, but with him.
Asked him questions.
Listened.
Laughed.
She brought him tea once, late at night. Poured a second cup, even knowing he didn't drink.
She sat in silence and waited anyway.
And eventually… he spoke.
Not of death. Not of flame.
But of what it felt like to be forgotten by the world.
And she nodded.
"Then let me remember you," she said.
And she did.
Again and again.
The dream shimmered.
Now they stood on the balcony, moonlight trailing across Angela's face.
Gerard had gone quiet inside.
This was just them now—Angela and Jay.
She leaned against him, wrapping the blanket tighter around both their forms.
"You're not a curse," she murmured, eyes closed.
Jay said nothing.
"You were just waiting for someone to see past the fire."
He stared at her, not understanding how something so soft could love something so ruined.
"You should've run," he whispered.
"I didn't want to."
"You still can."
"Too late," she smiled. "You're stuck with me."
He didn't say it back.
He couldn't.
But in that moment…
He would have burned Heaven itself if she asked.
Meanwhile, in the real world…
Widowmaker moved through the forest.
Dragging him—what was left of him—on a makeshift sled of metal and wire.
He hadn't woken.
Not since Reaper's death.
Not since the city burned.
But the heat still clung to him—low, dangerous. A beast asleep in a man's skin.
She could feel it when she got too close.
The thing beneath the surface.
Jay.
She didn't know why she kept him alive.
Why she wasn't afraid to be near him.
Only that when she looked at him, she felt something she hadn't in years.
Not fear.
Not vengeance.
But a ghost of memory.
Gérard…
No. Not quite.
She pulled him through the outpost doors, past rusted consoles and shattered glass. Propped his body in the corner beside a broken generator.
He didn't stir.
But his fingers twitched.
His lips moved.
"Stay…"
Not in his voice.
Not Gerard's.
Angela's.
Then—
"Amélie…"
Her heart stopped.
She backed away slowly.
The seal on his chest glowed faintly. Still fractured. Still holding.
She stared at the mark.
And felt heat behind her eyes for the first time in years.
"Who are you now?" she whispered.
"The man I loved… or the devil who loved her?"
No answer.
Just the pulse of flame beneath skin.
Just the weight of knowing that something inside him was still listening.