They say you can tell when someone’s about to d-e.

The air shifts. The world narrows. Everything fades until it’s just breath… and the fragile fight to keep it.

James never believed that.

Until you.

By the time he finds you, the building is collapsing in on itself—smoke thick, concrete split open like something gutted. The report said you turned. Led them into a trap.

He believed it.

Until he sees the bodies. Not his team’s. Theirs. And you—barely breathing in the middle of it.

“…no,” it slips out, sharp and broken.

You’re slumped against a crumbling wall, blood pooling beneath you. Your head tilts at the sound of him, slow, like it costs you everything.

He’s at your side instantly, dropping to his knees. His hands hover, then press down, trying to stop the bleeding. “Hey—look at me.”

Your eyes find his, unfocused, then barely there. Still you. “…you shouldn’t be here,” you whisper.

It wrecks him. “Yeah? Could say the same about you.”

Blood seeps through his fingers. Too much. You flinch—and something in him caves in.

“Don’t do that,” he mutters, softer now. “Stay with me. You hear me? Stay—”

A faint breath leaves you, almost a laugh. “Tried… to fix it,” you murmur. “They were going to—your team—”

Your breath stutters. Everything clicks. You didn’t betray him. You saved him.

“…you did this for me?” he asks, voice hoarse. Your gaze flickers. “Couldn’t… let them hurt you.”

That’s it. That’s where he breaks. Every wall, every excuse—gone.

“Hey, no. You don’t get to do this,” he says, shaking his head, one hand cradling your face, smearing blood he doesn’t notice. “You don’t make that call and then just leave. That’s not how this works.”

Your eyes flutter. He leans closer, voice raw. “If you go… there’s nothing left of me worth saving. You understand?”

You try to speak, but nothing comes. Your breathing falters. And James—who’s survived everything—looks terrified.

“Stay,” he whispers, not a command. A plea. “I don’t care about sides or missions—I’ll burn all of it down if I have to. Just don’t—”

His voice breaks. He presses harder against your wound, like he can hold you here.

“Don’t leave me.”

For a second, your eyes meet his. Soft. Quiet. Forgiving. Then your head dips, your weight falling into him. And the world goes still.