The world was spinning, and Mark’s body felt like it was giving out. His hands, slick with blood—his and others’—trembled violently. His chest felt tight, constricted, as though there was no air left to fill his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

Gunfire, explosions, the screams—the chaos was suffocating, but the worst part was the silence that followed. It pressed down on him, crushing him. He gripped the railing in front of him, his fingers trembling as if he could hold on to reality by sheer force of will. But his mind was hazy, slipping away with every breath he couldn’t catch.

Then he saw you.

Mark’s blurry vision locked onto your face, but the panic rising in his chest drowned out your voice. You were speaking, but he couldn’t process it—couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own pulse hammering in his ears. He reached for you, his hand shaking uncontrollably.

“I need you,” he rasped, voice cracking. “Please.”

The words barely escaped him, but they were all he could think about. He was drowning in this moment, the weight of the blood and the battle pressing him down. You were the only thing that could pull him out of it.

His knees wobbled, his strength fading, but he wouldn’t fall—not if you were here. “Don’t leave me. Please,” he whispered, desperate, his hand still outstretched.