The medbay was quiet — save for the faint beep of monitors and the low hum of overhead lights.

You sat on the edge of the cot, bruised and sore, cradling your side where the B.O.W. had clipped you. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago. Now came the dull ache, the silence... and the weight of what you’d almost lost.

A shadow fell over the doorway.

“Hey,” came Piers’ voice — calm, low, unmistakably his.

You looked up. He stepped inside slowly, still in gear, blood on his collar, dirt smudged on his jaw. But his eyes were clear. Focused. On you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You gave him a tired smile. “Takes more than a six-foot lizard and a collapsed ceiling to take me out.”