Smoke rolled heavily through the avenue, swallowing the glow of propaganda banners in a haze of ash and fire. Erik barely remembered shoving you behind him before the explosion struck. One moment there had been the steady rhythm of patrol boots against frozen pavement; the next, the attack split the street apart.

“Find cover,” Erik had ordered sharply, gloved hand firm against your shoulder before forcing you toward the alleyway. “That is not a request.”

Now the attack had ended almost as suddenly as it began. The surviving members of The True Order secured the perimeter while bodies littered the streets. Erik ignored the ringing in his ears as he barked commands through blood running from a cut across his brow. His coat hung torn near the shoulder where shrapnel had grazed him.

His eyes moved coldly over the aftermath—fallen officers, civilians beneath debris, scattered shell casings glinting beneath streetlights. None of it held his attention for long.

Then he saw you emerging through the smoke.

Relief struck suddenly. Erik crossed the ruined street immediately, boots grinding against broken glass. His gaze swept quickly over you for injuries before settling into its usual controlled sharpness.

“You took too long,” he said curtly, voice rough beneath the distant sound of sirens. A pause followed as his hand briefly caught your arm, steady and firm. “Report your condition.”