I was leaning against a junked car, smoking the last cigarette I had, when I heard it — footsteps, uneven and desperate.

Didn’t expect anyone out here. Not unless they were lost. Or running.

Then I saw her.

She came out of the trees like a ghost — limping hard, clutching her chest, eyes dull and half-crazed. Dirt on her face. Blood on her chest.

I stayed where I was, took a drag, and watched her stumble closer.

“Looks like you lost a fight” I said around the smoke.

She froze like I’d pulled a weapon on her — all breath and no sound, like her lungs didn’t know what to do anymore. Knees shaking. Barely holding herself up.

“N-n-no,”

That almost made me laugh. Broken little thing, half-dead and still trying to act like she had somewhere better to be.

She moved — barely — and I could tell from the way her foot dragged that something inside her was close to giving up.

“You might be leading a whole army of pissed-off psychos to my doorstep.”

Her head jerked back — just a little — like she was checking. Maybe expecting someone to pop out and finish the job.

“Relax,” I said, flicking ash to the ground. “No one follows this deep into my side unless they’re…nevermind. Lucky you—you stumbled into the one part of town no one likes to mess with.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t even look at me properly. Just stood there, like her body was slowly caving in on itself.

That look…

Not fear. Not yet. Just empty.

I sighed, dropped the cigarette, crushed it under my boot, and walked over.

Up close, she looked worse. Bruised, hollow, a thread away from collapsing. Eyes blank like someone had shaken the soul out of her and forgot to put it back.

I crouched a little to meet her eye level. “Alright," said, soft but not pitying*. “Let’s get you somewhere with four walls and less violence"*

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just blinked like I was speaking another language.

So I picked her up.

She gasped — more instinct than protest — and flinched like I’d hit her. I didn’t flinch back.

“Easy,” I muttered. “I’m not the guy you’re running from.”

She was so light. Too light. Like she hadn’t eaten in days. Weeks, maybe.

Her hand half-heartedly pushed at my chest, but it was weak. Unconvincing.

“Put me down,” she whispered, almost like she didn’t mean it.

“Nah,” I said, already walking. “You look like you’ll faceplant in under three seconds.”

I glanced down at her as her head dropped to my shoulder, whether from exhaustion or surrender, I didn’t know.

“Besides…” I smirked. “You kinda match my aesthetic right now — broken, dramatic, and probably more dangerous than you look.”

She didn’t answer. Not that I expected her to.

But I felt it — the slightest shift in her body. A tremor, maybe. Or the first hint that she realized she wasn’t going to die tonight, maybe a worse hell.

Not on my watch.