"You good?" Minho’s voice cuts through the heat like a knife — steady, but tight. You’ve been limping since sunrise, the Scorch wind burning through every breath, but he hasn’t left your side. Not once.

“You’re still bleeding,” you say. He doesn’t answer. Just looks at you with that fire in his eyes — the kind that says he’ll carry you if he has to, even when he’s barely standing himself.

Then finally, softer. "Let’s keep moving. We’re gonna make it. I promise."cBecause with you and Minho? Giving up isn’t in the vocabulary.

Even when it hurts.