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Summary
Harry’s alive! Harry’s alive! Harry’s alive!
But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Eggsy had watched the man die five years ago, and as many of the villains were learning today, there wasn’t any coming back from a bullet to the head.
It had to be him. It couldn’t be anybody else.
Somewhere in the middle, he met Harry again.
At this angle, it was easier to believe the man was definitely not Harry Hart. He was too young, for one thing. There was no gray in his hair, his skin was absolutely smooth and flawless, and his eyes were as black as the smoke around them, not the warm whisky-brown Eggsy had known so well.