Prompto's changed more than him, Gladio thinks. That baby face is gone, replaced by a man with a jaw softened by muscle instead of angles and bone. There's some scruff that looks good on him, but mostly he sees it in the way Prompto holds himself. How he was in that fight. He's learned to fight alone. Grown.

He's missed them; seeing Prompto again hurts. They parted so badly, after Gladio had said--

It doesn't matter what he said.

"Same. They told me the hunter who went after this guy," gesturing to where the daemon had vanished, "probably died. Glad to see he didn't."