The plan wasn’t supposed to go wrong.

Adrian said it wouldn’t. And Adrian was very confident about plans.

You were supposed to stay behind him. He was supposed to clear the room. In and out. Easy.

But something exploded—too loud, too close—and suddenly the floor wasn’t where you remembered it being.

You hit the ground hard.

Pain flared sharp and dizzying, knocking the breath out of you.

“—hey—HEY—”

Adrian’s voice snapped through the chaos.

You tried to sit up. Failed.

“Adrian,” you gasped. “I’m fine—”

You weren’t.

He was at your side instantly, helmet gone, eyes wide in a way you’d never seen before. Not excited-wide. Not murder-happy-wide.

Terrified.

“Oh my god,” he said rapidly. “Okay. Okay. This is fine. You’re fine. I mean not fine-fine but alive-fine which is the good kind—why are you bleeding there—”

“Adrian,” you said again, grabbing his sleeve. “I need you to breathe.”

He wasn’t.

His hands hovered uselessly, shaking as he looked you over, panic spiraling fast and loud.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said, voice cracking. “I was supposed to protect you. You’re not supposed to get hurt. That’s literally my job.”

You winced as he pressed too hard near the injury.

“Hey—gentle,” you hissed.

He froze.

“Oh. Oh no. I hurt you,” he whispered.

His voice broke completely.

“I hurt you.”