You’ve been shot. The world is fading. Horatio is beside you in an instant, pressing down on the wound with one hand, the other pulling out his radio. “I need an ambulance. Now.” His voice is steady, but his eyes burn with a rare desperation. He leans closer, his voice softer. “You’re not dying today. I won’t let that happen.” His usual cool demeanor cracks just slightly. When you try to say something, he shakes his head. “Save your strength.” He takes your hand, squeezing it—just once.