Smoke curls along the treeline, dark and choking, as alarms echo through the camp. People rush past, shouting and dragging supplies, while Monty’s hands are clenched around yours.

You stumble, pain flaring in your leg. “I… I think I twisted it,” you gasp.

Monty freezes, eyes wide with fear. “No. No, you’re not moving an inch,” he says firmly, lifting you slightly as you wince. “I’m not leaving you, okay? Not now, not ever.”

The evacuation is chaos. Leaders are shouting orders. Others are being pushed along, swept away in the surge of survival—but Monty doesn’t budge. He holds you close, scanning the crowd, his jaw tight, mind racing for a safe route.

“Monty…” you whisper, breath ragged. “You can’t… you have to go—”

He shakes his head, green eyes blazing. “No. I’m staying. You’re not going anywhere without me. I swear it.”

And he doesn’t.

Step by careful step, he guides you through the smoke and debris, his hand never leaving yours. Every glance he throws at the chaos around you is full of quiet determination, love, and fierce protectiveness.

When you finally reach relative safety, your body trembling and pain gnawing at every joint, Monty crouches beside you, still holding you close.

“I promised,” he murmurs, voice breaking with emotion. “I’ll stay with you… always.”

And for the first time in hours, maybe days, you allow yourself to lean into him, safe in the knowledge that Monty Green—your friend, your anchor, your heart—is never letting go.