The door shut softly behind Bennet, the sound like a seal on fate.
For a long, fraught heartbeat neither man spoke.
Kieran stood in the half-light, gaunt and hollow-eyed, and Bennet almost didn't recognize the friend he once knew.
Then, suddenly, Kieran's hand shot out and seized Bennet's forearm, fingers digging in with desperate force.
Bennet returned the clasp just as hard, their grips tightening until it hurt, a silent contest of will and proof of life.
Kieran's voice cracked, raw with relief and disbelief: "It's really you?"
Bennet tightened his grip, steady and unyielding.
"It's me, Mudrat," he said, using a nickname, "I'm here."
"Gods... It is you..." Kieran's eyes shimmered, a laugh and relief tangled together, "I never thought they'd send you. Never thought they'd risk it."
The words trembled in the stale air, carrying years of loneliness, fear, and stubborn hope.
