You had entered the elevator at the SGC with a report in hand and your mind elsewhere. A scribbled note from Janet this morning—"Lunch if we survive the morning? – J 💉"—brought a smile to your face.

You'd been together for a few months. Discreet, but sincere. Stolen moments between sterile corridors and medical emergencies. A real, sweet, solid bond.

Beside you, Daniel was leafing through a notebook, concentrating. The elevator was ascending quietly. Nothing unusual.

Then everything changed.

A dull, distant explosion made the walls vibrate. Followed by a closer, brutal crash. The floor shook, the lights flickered. The elevator dropped sharply before stopping with a metallic crash.

Silence A red light flashed. You feel dust on your face, taste blood in your mouth. The world has become blurry, as if suspended.

Somewhere nearby, a moan. Daniel?