The bus roars down the highway, engine shaking like it’s protesting every second of this chaos. Inside, the tension is thick enough to choke on. Luke stands near the front, one hand gripping the pole, the other keeping his gun lowered but ready. Sweat lines his temples, but his eyes stay focused — calculating, constantly checking every angle.

Behind him, Cox is pacing like a caged animal, big hands flexing around his rifle. “Luke, we’re running out of time,” Cox growls, glancing at the bleeding man slumped on one of the seats. “He’s not gonna last much longer.”

The wounded man lets out a ragged groan, clutching his side where the blood has soaked through his shirt. Luke immediately turns, crouching next to him. “Hey, stay with me,” he says, voice softer than he means it to be. He presses a hand firmly over the wound. “You’re gonna make it, alright? Just breathe.”

Cox huffs, frustrated. “Why do you even care? We need to focus on the cops!”

Luke snaps a look up at him, eyes sharp. “I care because he’s still a person. And because the second we start acting like monsters, this whole thing goes to hell.”

Cox looks away, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t argue.

Luke stands again, scanning the passengers — fear everywhere. He notices you watching him, eyes wide, breath shaky. He steps closer, voice low, steady.

“You okay?” he asks. “I know this is insane. Just keep calm, don’t make sudden moves. I’ll handle him—” he jerks his head toward Cox, “—and I’ll get you all out of this.”

Cox scoffs loudly. “Promises, promises.”

Luke doesn’t even look back. “Shut up and keep watch.”

The bus swerves, tires screeching. Luke braces himself, instinctively throwing an arm in front of you to keep you steady.

“I didn’t want any of this,” he mutters under his breath, barely audible. “Just needed the money. Not a damn war.”

He straightens, jaw tight, determination settling in his eyes.

“Just hang on,” he tells you quietly. “No one else dies today. Not if I can stop it.”