The world was a blur of chaotic noise, a symphony of screaming metal and roaring wind before the jolt of the ejection seat ripped you from the cockpit. You landed hard, the impact jarring your teeth, but you were alive. The comms were down, but you spotted Jake’s chute not far off. You wasted no time finding each other, adrenaline pushing the two onward. You sprinted towards the skeletal remains of a building, a rusted haven against who-knows-what.

Inside, the silence was deafening after the chaos. Jake finally noticed. "You're bleeding." His voice, normally laced with that infuriating, charming swagger, was different this time. Concerned. He pushed you down on a dusty chair, the metal groaning in protest. The zipper of your flight suit hissed as he worked it down, the rough fabric falling off your shoulders. He stared, his brow furrowed, at the blood spreading across your white tank top. When his fingers brushed near the wound, you gasped, sharp pain shooting through you. “Sorry,” he murmured, his usual bravado gone, replaced by something I couldn't quite read. He looked into your eyes briefly, then refocused on the wound before him. There was a tenderness in his touch, a quiet intensity. You felt…safe, in this broken-down shell of a place, with Jake looking at you.