H.S - Crimson Pact

A year after Arya's tragic death, Harry Styles was no longer the man his crew once knew. Gone was the charming, witty leader with a devil-may-care smirk. In his place stood someone colder, sharper, and far more dangerous. The once-daring criminal mastermind had become an unrelenting force, driven less by ambition and more by a quiet, simmering grief.
Around his neck, on a simple silver chain, hung Arya's engagement ring-a constant reminder of the life they'd been planning before it was ripped away. He never took it off. The crew noticed how often his hand would unconsciously brush against it, as if grounding himself to the memory of her.
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"Oh, Harry," they said softly, the words laced with mockery and something else-a spark of familiarity. "You always did underestimate me."

Before anyone could react, the figure shattered the glass with a swift kick and leapt out onto the fire escape, disappearing into the night.

Harry stood frozen, his heart pounding as the realization hit him like a freight train. He'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Arya."