You run. The corridor feels endless, the red lights pulsing like a heartbeat behind you. Every sound echoes — the heavy boots, the low command murmured between them. You don’t dare look back.

Your breath burns, your legs ache, but then— A gloved hand catches your arm. You twist, ready to fight, to scream, to run again… but you meet the mask instead. That skull — expressionless, cold — and eyes that don’t match it at all. Simon’s grip tightens just enough to stop you, not to hurt.

“Easy,” he says, voice gravel rough but low, like it’s meant only for you. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word doesn’t make sense. Not when your heart is still sprinting. Not when Soap appears behind him, weapon drawn, scanning the shadows like something could still take you.

Simon doesn’t let go. His hand steadies you, and beneath the mask you can feel the heat of his breath — steady, calm, protective in a way that shouldn’t feel comforting but does.

“They thought you’d run,” Soap mutters. “She did,” Simon answers, eyes still on you. “But she’s not running anymore.”

And somehow, you aren’t.

The red light hums around the three of you, and the danger that once filled the air turns into something else — heavy, electric, almost tender. You realize then that whatever they’re here for… it isn’t to hurt you. It’s to keep you from ever being hurt again.