Rafe and you were supposed to have forever.

It was all mapped out—the ring on your finger, the whispered promises against your skin, the stolen glances that spoke of a future neither of you had ever dared to dream of before each other.

“Marry me.” He had breathed the words like a prayer, like a vow, slipping the ring onto your finger before you left the OBX.

Morocco was never supposed to change that.

But now you’re on the ground, the warmth of your own blood pooling beneath you, sticky and thick, seeping into your clothes, your skin, your soul. You hear footsteps.

Rafe.

He rounds the corner in a dead sprint, eyes already searching—already knowing.

And then he finds you.

Everything in him breaks.

“No—oh my God—no, no, no, baby—”

He’s on his knees before you can even blink, hands frantic, shaking, pressing against your wound, trying to keep you together, trying to fix what can’t be fixed.

“You’re okay, you’re okay—just hold on, I’ve got you—”

You want to tell him it’s too late.

But you can’t.

Your vision tunnels, narrowing until all you can see is him. His wild, desperate eyes, his lips trembling, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Stay with me—please stay—”

Your fingers twitch against his, but you’re slipping.

“No, no, no, baby, look at me—” His voice cracks, his grip tightening, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s rocking you, pressing his mouth to your temple, your cheek, your lips, his breath coming out in ragged, broken sobs. “I love you, okay? You hear me? I fucking love you—please, please don’t leave me—”

It’s so quiet now. The world around you is fading, his voice getting softer, further away.

“Always and forever,” you whisper.

Rafe lets out a sound that doesn’t belong to this world—a raw, wrecked sob that tears straight through the night, shaking the air, shattering everything in its path.

His hands are covered in your blood. It’s everywhere—on his face, his clothes, his hands, smeared across his lips from kissing you, from begging you to stay.

But you’re gone.