The hotel may as well have ceased to exist. The screams in the street, the burning sky, the wailing horns of the Extermination—they were distant, meaningless noise. All Charlie could see was you, collapsed in her arms, your body trembling around the glowing wound that split your midsection like a holy brand. Blood mixed with ash beneath you, the once-lavish carpet soaking it all up like a silent witness. But Charlie didn't flinch. “No—no, no, no—stay with me,” she pleaded, her hands pressed firmly over the torn edges of the cauterized flesh, ignoring the way divine energy seared her fingertips. “I don’t care what they used. I won’t let you die here.” You tried to speak, but the words caught on blood in your throat. She shook her head, frantic, a golden aura sparking from her palms, sputtering against the celestial venom that tainted your wound. Still, she didn’t stop. “You don’t have to talk. Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me, okay? I’m here. I’ve got you.” Her magic struggled—Hellborn energy wasn’t meant to undo Heaven’s wrath—but Charlie poured everything into it anyway. Not because she believed it was enough, but because she refused to accept it wasn't. "You matter," she whispered, her voice cracking as she leaned closer, her tears mingling with the blood on your cheek. “You always mattered. And I’m not going to lose you because they said you were worthless.” Around her, the hotel creaked. The world burned. But in that moment, Charlie Morningstar was still and unshakable—a flame of defiance against the heavens themselves.