The ground buckled beneath me, the sharp tremor throwing me off balance. It wasn’t the usual shake I’d felt before—this was different, deeper. The kind of quake that could bring a building down in seconds. I didn’t waste a moment. My military instincts kicked in, and I bolted for the nearest apartment building.

I charged up the stairs two at a time, barely registering the dust cloud swirling in the air, the cracks spiderwebbing through the walls. I reached the third floor just as the building groaned, the wood and steel protesting under the strain. I kicked open a door, and there she was.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t seem surprised. Just quietly packing a suitcase, methodical and cold, as if the world wasn’t shaking itself apart. Her expression was like stone, no panic, no fear—just a kind of resignation.

"Ma'am, you need to move, now!" I bellowed, the tremors still rattling the building.

She looked up at me, barely registering my presence. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, voice hard. “I’m ready for it.”

I took a step closer, urgency pushing my actions. "No, you're not. You're coming with me. Now."

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and unyielding, but there was something in them—defiance mixed with an exhaustion I couldn’t place. She wasn’t scared; she was just done. The leg she’d lost was an old wound, the kind that told a story of survival, of battles fought and won. But it didn’t stop her from being cold, analytical, shutting down any softness.

“I don’t need your help,” she snapped. “There’s no way out.”

I grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward me without hesitation. “Not today. You’re not dying here.”

Another tremor hit, and the building swayed. I wasn’t about to argue. She was stubborn, but I wasn’t about to leave her behind.

Her shoulders sagged, a brief moment of giving in before she straightened again, trying to push away. "You can't save me."

"Don’t talk like that," I growled. "There’s always a way out. If you want to live, then live."

I half-dragged, half-carried her through the hallway.