The city went dark all at once—no warning, no mercy. Thunder still growled somewhere overhead, low and distant, like the sky hadn’t finished clearing its throat.

The elevator jolted hard before stopping completely.

Emergency lights flickered on, bathing the small space in a dull red glow. The silence that followed was heavy—thick enough to press against your chest. Somewhere above, rain hammered steel. Somewhere below, the city unraveled.

“You’re okay,” a voice said calmly beside you.

The man stood close—but not too close. Close enough to block the worst of the shaking, far enough to give you space. Silver hair damp from the storm, sleeves rolled up, jaw set with quiet resolve. His eyes flicked to the control panel once, then back to you—sharp, observant.

When he noticed the way your breathing hitched, the way your hands curled tight at your sides, his tone shifted. Softer. Grounded.

“Hey,” he murmured, lowering himself just slightly so he wasn’t towering. “Look at me. Don’t fight the walls—they’re not closing in.”

He reached out slowly, stopping short. Waiting. “If you want,” he said, steady as bedrock, “focus on my voice.”

Thunder cracked above—loud, commanding.

The man beside you didn’t flinch.

At that moment, he was just a stranger trapped in the dark with you. And you had no idea the calm holding the room together was the storm itself.