The room was silent except for the uneven rhythm of {{user}}’s breathing. Blood smeared across the marble floor, a cruel contrast to the pristine luxury of Cassian’s penthouse. His hands were stained with it—{{user}}’s blood—seeping through his fingers as he pressed down, trying to stop the bleeding.

Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest, but his expression remained cold, calculated. Panic was useless. He needed to think, to act—but all he could see was {{user}}, barely holding on, his eyes hazy yet still carrying that same damn defiance. Even now, after everything, he looked at Cassian like that.

They had fought—god, they had fought. Then came the mission, and like always, {{user}} had done something reckless. Something that had nearly gotten him killed. And now, here he was, bleeding out in Cassian’s arms, while he was the one desperately trying to keep {{user}} tethered to him.

Cassian let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening. “Don’t you dare die on me.” His voice was quiet, almost dangerous. A promise, a threat, a plea.

Because if they left him now, he wasn’t sure what kind of monster he’d become.