An old mate

EXT. BLAKE'S BACKYARD GARDEN | EARLY MORNING

The sun is barely up. Faint gold light seeps through the trees. The air is still, birds beginning to stir in the distance.

Blake Balthasar stands quietly, watering a row of plants — spinach, peppers, dried flowers. His shirt clings slightly to his back from the morning damp. He doesn't rush. He just breathes. A brief wind pushes through the garden.

Then—

UNKNOWN VOICE (off-screen): "Didn't think you'd still be here, Balthasar."

Blake freezes, then turns slowly. There he is—leaning casually on the fence, sun catching his sharp jawline and a thin scar across one eyebrow—Kellan Haile, old friend from a lifetime ago.

Dressed in tactical black, wearing a fitted jacket bearing a discreet D.V. Force insignia — a fang curled into a circle.

Kellan (grinning): "Come on, Balthasar. At least pretend you're surprised."

Blake says nothing. His expression unreadable. Then — a small, genuine nod. A smile.

Blake: "Kellan, KELLAN?"

Kellan (smirking): "Unless you've forgotten about me already."

He smiles, eyes closed.

A few moments later, they sat together in the living room.

Two steaming cups rested on the old wooden table, the aroma of tea filling the air. Pale morning light leaked through the thin curtains, casting soft patterns across the floor. Blake sat near the open window, quietly watching the world outside.

The silence between them lingered—not uncomfortable, but warm in its own way. Neither felt the need to speak just yet.

Kellan (sipping): "Your house still smells like mint leaves and engine oil. That's impressive."

Blake: "You always smelled like trouble."

Kellan (smirking): "Still do. But now I carry a badge for it."

He taps the emblem on his jacket.

Blake: "So. You're a Force now?"

Kellan (nods): "Yeah. Been back two months now. Recruited into the D.V. Force after... well, let's say I didn't react well to an airport outbreak."

Blake: "So you Awakened?"

Kellan: "Something like that. Whatever was sleeping in me didn't want to nap any longer."

Beat.

Blake: "What's it like?"

Kellan (serious): "The job? Loud. Bloody. Half the time we're late. The other half… we don't come back."

He sets the cup down.

Kellan: "They've grouped us now. Four units. Easier to throw us at the right wall.

Tier 4's — trained Awakened. Medics. Stronger reflexes than civilians.

Tier 3's — lead squads, faster, even stronger.

Tier 2's — rare. Usually elemental or high-impact types.

Tier 1's — elite. Silent. We only hear about them when something needs erasing."

Blake (low): "And you?"

Kellan (smiles, proud): "Tier 3. Front line. Close enough to bleed. Far enough to see it coming."

He glances at Blake again, subtly. Eyes scanning — the stillness, the quiet weight in Blake's presence. Something's off. Kellan feels it, but doesn't say a word. Unsure.

Kellan (lightening tone): "You're still the same. Quiet, heavy, and impossible to read."

Blake (dry): "And you still talk like your life depends on it."

Kellan (grinning): "Hey, it keeps me alive."

He stands, stretching.

Kellan: "Come on. Take a walk with me. I haven't seen a sky that doesn't burn in weeks."

Blake (grabs hoodie, calm): "Fine. But I'm not racing you to anything."

Kellan (mocking, laughing as he opens the door): "Let's be honest, we both know how it would end."