The battle’s over. The sky is quiet.

Peter lies on the deck, wings t@rn and shaking. Fairy dust drips like golden b#ood. Above him, James , coat t@rn, eyes wild with something that isn’t victory.

“Don’t move,” James mutters, voice shaking. “You’ll make it worse.”

“Since when do you care?” you hiss, but he’s already wrapping a strip of cloth around your feathers — gentle, almost reverent.

“Since I realized k#ing you would be the same as k##lng myself.”

The sea murmurs below, and for the first time, neither of you speaks.

The boy who never falls and the man who never lets go — caught between war and something dangerously close to care.