Yaz’s hands shook violently as she jammed the syringe into Michael’s arm, injecting the antidote.

“Come on, come on,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.

Michael didn’t move.

His face was too pale, his body too still. His breaths—shallow, weak, barely there.

Her grip on his hand tightened as a horrible, crushing panic filled her chest.

This wasn’t happening.

It couldn’t be happening.

Flashes of Michael ran through her mind—

Him lazily lying under a tree, refusing to help with camp chores. Him geeking out over Jurassic Park, eyes sparkling with excitement. Him leaning over the yacht’s table, practically drooling as he watched her dive. Him cracking some dumb joke, flashing that smug little grin.

He was alive in all those memories. Loud, dramatic, lazy as hell—but alive.

Not this. Not dying.

A sob bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it back. She shook his limp hand desperately.

“Michael,” she whispered. “Please, wake up.”

No response.

Her chest tightened painfully. “You have to wake up.” Her voice cracked. “You can’t leave us. You can’t leave me.”

Kenji looked away, rubbing at his eyes. Darius swallowed hard. Brooklyn had gone eerily silent.

Seconds stretched into eternity.

Nothing.

“No…” Yaz shook her head, blinking back tears. “No. No, no, no. Wake up.”

She squeezed his hand, so tight her knuckles turned white.

“I need you to wake up,” she whispered. “Please, you have to—”

Then—

A sound.

Soft. Weak. But real.

A small, wheezy chuckle.

“…You should’ve… seen your faces…” Michael rasped, barely above a whisper.

Yaz froze.

Her breath hitched, eyes wide with shock.

Kenji let out a strangled laugh, nearly collapsing onto Michael. “DUDE!”

Yaz blinked rapidly, her brain struggling to catch up.

Then, before she could stop herself, she smacked his arm.

Michael winced. “Ow.”

“You idiot!” she half-sobbed, half-yelled. “I thought you were dead!”