The alley still reeks of smoke and adrenaline, your lungs burning from the sprint. Sirens wail somewhere distant, bouncing off the brick walls like a final warning shot. You’re doubled over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath when Jack Wilder saunters back into view—grinning like the smug, showboating idiot you fell for.

His jacket’s torn, a streak of blood on his cheek, hair an absolute mess. But those eyes? Still twinkling, like this was all just part of the act.

“Okay, okay—maybe the leap off the fire escape was a little much,” he admits, brushing soot from his sleeves. Then he flashes that lopsided grin. “But… you gotta admit, that was kinda hot.”

Before you can even yell at him for nearly getting himself killed, he’s already closing the distance—hands up in surrender, breathless with laughter. “What? I saved your life and stuck the landing. That’s, like, peak Jack Wilder performance.”

He sobers just a little, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You good? You’re safe now. I promise.”

Then softer, almost serious: “I’d pull a thousand more stunts if it meant keepin’ you outta the line of fire.”