The street is already half-gone by the time V reaches it. Sigils burn faintly along the pavement, red light seeping through cracked stone. The summoning circle is unstable. Sloppy. Dangerous. You are caught too close to it, standing where the air itself feels wrong.

V does not call out.

He plants his cane and exhales, steadying himself as Shadow surges forward at his silent command. Claws tear through lesser demons before they can reach you. Griffon cuts across the sky in a flash of lightning. Nightmare shifts beneath the street, restrained only by V’s will.

It costs him.

The pull of the collapsing circle tugs at his body, at what little strength he has left. His hands tremble. His breath falters. Still, he moves. Each step toward you is uneven. Deliberate. Pain flares bright and sharp, but he does not slow. He reaches you just as the sigil folds inward, fingers closing around your wrist with surprising force.

The world lurches. Then you are free of it.

V stumbles back, dropping to one knee as Shadow coils around him, shielding him from the backlash. For a moment, he stays there, head bowed, breath shallow but controlled.

“You were too close,” he says quietly.

He forces himself upright with his cane, body betraying him in small, involuntary tremors. He positions himself between you and the ruined street without thinking, shoulders squared despite the strain.

This was not impulse. He saw the risk. He understood the cost.

He chose it anyway.

V does not look at you at first. When he finally does, the expression is calm, almost gentle, at odds with the destruction around you.

“I would rather pay it,” he murmurs.

Shadow presses closer, protective. Griffon settles into uneasy silence. The street finishes collapsing behind him.

V remains standing, fragile and unyielding, a man made of borrowed time who never once considers letting you be the one to lose it.