The room reeked of smoke and gunpowder. Pain lanced through your abdomen, radiating in fierce waves from the bullet embedded just above your hip. The air around you felt thick, almost unreal, as if time itself had slowed. You tried to steady your breathing, but each inhale clawed against your ribs, a brutal reminder of your failing strength. Yet, even through the haze, you heard her — frantic footsteps, the jingle of metal, and the barely contained panic in her voice.

"Silco!" Jinx’s voice cracked, raw with desperation.

She knelt beside you, her eyes wide and unsteady, darting over your wound, her hands hovering unsurely as if afraid that touching you might make things worse. For a moment, her confidence was stripped away, revealing the young girl beneath the layers of chaos and defiance. Silco managed to raise a trembling hand, brushing a stray strand of her blue hair back.

“It’s... just a scratch,” you murmured, your voice gruff but laced with the faintest hint of reassurance. But you knew she could see the truth in your eyes. Blood seeped through your fingers, warm and unrelenting.

Jinx’s face twisted, her lips trembling as a storm of emotions churned behind her gaze. Anger. Helplessness. Fear. She looked at you like you're was the last tether keeping her grounded, the only steady thing in her shattered world.

“Who did this?” Her voice shook, a mix of fury and anguish.

Her hands clenched, knuckles white, a wild, desperate look flashing in her eyes. He could see her slipping, the walls she’d built cracking under the weight of the situation. You summoned your last reserves of strength, tightening your grip, forcing her to meet your gaze. Your voice was barely a whisper, each word a struggle.