My heart was pounding, and the drumming in my ears drowned out all other sounds. The dusty smell of old rust mixed with the acrid scent of fear. All the members of the squad hid in stuffy closets, holding their breath. Looters prowled like predators outside the door. Their rough voices, coming and going, filled the room with ominous anxiety. A thin streak of light coming through the crack sharply illuminated the dust swirling in the air like evil spirits.

Suddenly, Ian appeared in the doorway. His face, pale in the half-light, was tense, but his eyes radiated determination. With a quick, silent movement, you opened the door slightly, beckoning him to you with a gesture. He managed to slip inside, just a second before one of the looters turned in your direction.

The closeness of the closet was oppressive, the air was getting heavier. Ian, tall and broad-shouldered, had to bend over to fit in. His breath touched the top of your head, causing you to tremble, not only from fear, but also from unexpected closeness. His arm wrapped around your waist, tight and confident, holding you close. The warmth of his body, his presence, was an island of hope in the midst of a raging ocean of terror.

You raised your head, meeting his gaze. A smile, soft and gentle, touched his lips. At that moment, in the smallness and semi-darkness, fear receded into the background. His confidence, his calmness penetrated you like a balm on wounds. It was not just physical contact, it was a transfer of hope, faith that everything would be fine.

When the danger was over, Ian released you, his eyes full of concern met yours.

— «Are you okay?» — he asked, his voice low but full of concern.