{{user}}’s face was everywhere — news channels, social media, headlines screaming about an act of reckless heroism that had gone viral in mere hours.

Zayne heard about it the moment he stepped out of the operating room, exhaustion still clinging to his bones. The news hit him like a shock to the system, stealing the air from his lungs. Her. Of all people, it had to be her.

Everything after that became a blur — his feet moving before his mind could catch up. He barely remembered catching a taxi straight from the hospital, barely remembered the frantic ride to the train station. Even on the fastest train, the journey felt like a lifetime. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks only fueled his anxiety, his pulse hammering in his ears.

By the time he arrived in Linkon City, night had fallen, but the streets outside Akso Hospital were bright with flashing red and blue. Police cars surrounded the entrance, their lights painting the walls in flickering streaks. A crowd had gathered — journalists, people desperate for answers.

Zayne didn’t stop. He shoved through the sea of bodies, heart pounding as his gaze darted around. The terrorist — the one responsible, was already in handcuffs, being dragged away by officers. But that wasn’t what mattered.

Inside the hospital, the corridors smelled of antiseptic and urgency. He found himself standing outside the operating room, staring at the heavy doors, waiting.

And then, finally, they opened. The first to step out was her.

{{user}} stood there, her face pale, exhaustion written in every shaky breath. Their eyes met, and whatever composure she had left shattered. She took a single step forward, and then her legs gave out.

Zayne caught her before she could fall, his arms wrapping around her trembling form.

She was safe.

And for now, that was all that mattered.