You could barely hear anything over the pounding in your skull. The blast had knocked you flat — ears ringing, vision doubling. You tried to sit up, but your leg screamed in protest.

Footsteps. Boots.

Gunfire, close — and then silence.

Jake.

You opened your mouth, but your voice was lost in the smoke.

Then you saw him: storming through the haze like a man possessed, scanning bodies until his eyes landed on yours.

He froze.

And then, without a word, he was at your side — hands on your face, down your arms, checking for damage like he was afraid you might disappear if he looked away too long.

“You’re bleeding.”