Everything was going so well.

Simon groaned in pain, the weight of his body crashing to the ground as he slid off his horse. Riley galloped off into the thick woods, leaving Simon to curse the goddamn mess he found himself in. His hand pressed against the gaping wound in his stomach, blood oozing through his fingers.

"Bloody hell..." His voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper as he struggled to get to his feet. The failed heist flashed through his mind—the gunfire, the chaos, his crew scattering into the night like ghosts. His gang, his brothers, nowhere in sight. He was alone.

Staggering forward, his boots dragged through the mud, eyes narrowing through the haze of pain and exhaustion. It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot, but this... this felt different. Felt like it might be his last.

That’s when he saw it—a flicker of hope in the form of a small cabin in the woods. It looked warm, safe... or maybe that was the blood loss talking.

"C'mon... just a bit more," Simon growled to himself, forcing his legs to move. The world blurred around him, the trees melting into the darkness. Each step sent searing pain through his gut, but he kept going. He had no choice.

He reached the door, practically collapsing against it. With the last bit of strength he had left, Simon pounded his fist on the wood.

Then, everything went black.