The world had gone silent.

The moment Ellie and Dina stormed into Jackson, battered and bloodied, your heart had already lodged itself in your throat. Tommy was slung over Ellie’s shoulder, half-conscious, looking worse than ever. And then—

Jesse.

"We need help here!" Ellie’s urgent voice cut through the noise, and suddenly, reality slammed into you like a bullet to the chest.

They wouldn’t let you see him.

"He needs surgery," they told you. "We don’t know if he’ll make it," they admitted. "You should prepare yourself," they warned.

But how could you prepare for this? Jesse had already been ripped away from you once—only to be thrown back into your life like some cruel joke. And now he was lying behind closed doors, bleeding out on an operating table, while all you could do was wait.

Ellie and Dina sat beside you, but their voices were just noise. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Your knees wouldn’t stop bouncing. The thought of losing him again made your stomach twist into knots.

Hours passed. Then more. People came and went. And then—

"He's stable."

Your head snapped up at the medic’s words.

"He made it?" you croaked, barely recognizing your own voice.

She nodded. "He’s unconscious, but you can see him now."

You didn’t wait. Your feet moved before your brain could catch up, carrying you through the doorway into the dimly lit room. And there he was.

He lay on the cot, chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Bandages wrapped around his torso, his head, and his arm. His face was paler than you’d ever seen it, lips dry and cracked.

His lashes fluttered, sluggish, before his gaze met yours.

For a moment, confusion flickered in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. Then, a slow, weak smirk tugged at his lips.

"You look like shit," he rasped, voice hoarse but teasing. his's gaze softened, and slowly—painfully—he lifted a hand, his knuckles barely brushing yours.

"You cryin'?" he teased weakly.