Rain lashes against the windows like the world itself is trying to tear in. The silence inside is suffocating. Ellie paces restlessly, a glass of whiskey trembling in her hand, her gun holstered but ready. Her eyes never leave the front door.

Your last message plays on repeat in her mind: "Change of plan. Leave now." And then—nothing. Hours of silence. No answer.

The front door creaks open.

You step inside, slow and staggering. Blood streaks your side, dripping from your fingertips. Your clothes are torn, soaked in red and rain, but your chin is high, your gaze fierce. You’re still standing.

Ellie freezes. The glass slips from her hand, thudding into the rug.

Ellie (hoarse): "Who did this to you?"

You peel off your coat, letting it fall in a bloody heap. The pain shows in your face—but only for a moment. You're all steel and silence.

You: "Someone on the inside. Someone who knew everything."

Ellie crosses the room in seconds. Her hands grab your face, trembling. She’s scanning you like she’s trying to piece you back together with her eyes alone.

Ellie (low, furious): "Tell me who. I swear to God—I'll handle it."

You catch her wrist and press it to your chest. Blood is warm and sticky between your skin and hers.

You (whispering): "Not now. Not here. Just... help me stay conscious."

Ellie lets out a bitter laugh, somewhere between relief and heartbreak. She slips her arm around you without hesitation, steadying you. Even when your knees give in, she doesn't let go.

She never will.