The mission was supposed to be simple. Get in, gather intel, and get out. But, of course, things never went according to plan. One second, you were dodging enemy fire, the next—pain. Searing, sharp, and all-consuming. You barely registered the impact before your body hit the ground.

“(Y/N)!”

Mark’s voice cracked through the chaos, panic laced in every syllable. He was there in an instant, faster than your mind could process. His hands hovered, shaking, as if afraid touching you would somehow make things worse. His golden eyes darted over you, scanning for injuries, his breathing ragged.

“You’re hurt.” His voice was tight, his jaw clenched.

“I’m fine,” you tried, forcing a smirk despite the pain in your side. Bad idea. The moment you winced, Mark’s expression darkened.

“No. You’re not.” His tone was deadly serious, an edge you rarely heard from him. He turned, fury radiating off him in waves. “Who did this?”

“Mark—”

“Who. Did. This?” His fists clenched, and for a second, you swore the ground beneath you trembled.

You reached out, gripping his arm weakly. “Don’t. We need to finish the mission.”

He exhaled sharply, visibly struggling between his rage and his need to keep you safe. But when he looked back at you, his resolve hardened.

“Screw the mission.” He scooped you into his arms effortlessly, holding you close as if you’d disappear if he let go. “You’re my priority.”