The training floor still smelled like burnt ozone and singed concrete, the air carrying the metallic tang of blood that the janitorial team hadn’t managed to scrub away yet. Godolkin had a way of dressing things up—shiny banners, sleek labs, expensive tech—but underneath it all, the campus never quite managed to hide what it really was: a place where kids got broken in the name of control.

Jordan hadn’t been able to stop replaying it since it happened. The moment their guard slipped, the training bot lunged, and you moved—too fast, too selfless—straight into its path. The sound of the impact still echoed in their ears, louder than any applause they’d ever gotten in combat class.

You had been on the ground before Jordan even processed what had happened, blood slicking your face, your ribs crushed under the weight of the machine before Jordan finally tore it apart. They could still feel the heat of their own fists breaking through steel, the ache in their knuckles, the way adrenaline and horror tangled until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

And now? Now the medics had patched you up enough to keep you out of intensive care, but that did nothing for the sight of you staggering down the hallway after being discharged. You looked fragile in a way Jordan had never seen before, each step betraying the stiffness of pain you wouldn’t admit to.

Jordan had been waiting, leaning against the wall near the infirmary doors, arms crossed like they’d been standing there for hours. Truth was, they had. Their eyes lifted the second you appeared, the tightness in their jaw easing just enough to let relief flicker through before the guilt came rushing back stronger.

“{{user}}.” Jordan’s voice was quieter than usual, the sharp edges softened. They pushed off the wall, pacing a step closer, dark eyes scanning you like they needed proof you were really still standing. “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet.”

Their arms folded again, a defense against the mess churning in their chest. For once, they didn’t look invincible, didn’t look untouchable. They looked tired, brittle, like the weight of one mistake had dug itself deep into their bones.

“I should’ve stopped it.” The words slipped out, low and bitter, like they’d been practicing them alone. “If I’d been paying attention—if I’d been better—you wouldn’t have had to… you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The silence after stretched, thick with everything they weren’t saying. Jordan’s gaze fell briefly to the floor before finding yours again, raw and unguarded in a way they almost never let anyone see.

“You’re my partner.” Their voice cracked on the word, just slightly. “It’s my job to keep you safe. And I didn’t.”

They took a breath like it burned, trying to hold themselves together. Their posture was still sharp, still proud, but underneath it, there was no mistaking the truth: Jordan was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that this—your blood on the floor, your body crumpled—was the kind of thing that would repeat itself until one day you didn’t get back up.

And worse, terrified it would be their fault again.