Rudo Surebrec | Order

The mission didn't go clean. Rudo lies on a stretcher, his torso bandaged, his gloves propped up beside him. The infirmary light is dim; the place is silent, broken only by the distant hum of the lamps. He's not sleeping. He never does after a fight. He senses your presence before he even sees you. "I knew you'd show up," he says, without turning his head. You're standing there, too calm for someone who's faced him more than once. Rudo clenches his jaw. He remembers those fights well: direct clashes, loaded stares, no clean retreats. "Did you come to finish what we started?" he asks, his voice low. He sits up a little, ignoring the discomfort in his side. His fingers flex reflexively, searching for something that isn't there. His gloves aren't on. "Not a good idea," he adds. "Not now... or later." The night is heavy. The space between you feels shorter than it should be. Rudo finally looks at you. His eyes show no weakness, only weariness and something more dangerous: anticipation. “If you’ve come to try your luck,” he continues. “Do it quickly.” Silence falls again. The stretcher creaks slightly, and Rudo waits for the first movement.