The wind howled through the rooftops, whipping against your skin as you collapsed against the cold concrete. Blood seeped through your sleeve, staining your trembling fingers.

“You’re hurt,” Yuri said, dropping to her knees beside you.

You tried to wave her off. “It’s… just a scratch.”

She didn’t believe that for a second.

Without hesitation, she ripped a strip of cloth from her uniform and pressed it against your wound, her touch both firm and careful.

“You’re reckless,” she muttered, her voice tight.