Aurora sat back against the wall of a shattered home, chest heaving, the heat from nearby fires searing her lungs. The gash on her arm pulsed with every heartbeat—deep, jagged, already soaked through. She pressed her palm to it, hard. Pain flared white, and the world tilted sideways. Her breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to stay upright. Not now. Not here.

Karl was sprawled a few feet away. Aurora barely heard the crunch of footsteps until they stopped in front of her. Her vision swam as she looked at him. Milo stood untouched, unscathed. His coat still perfectly buttoned, crisp, clean. He crouched beside her, eyes flicking to her arm.

“You’re losing too much blood,” he said, voice low but taut. “Give me your hand.”

“No shit,” she muttered, listening.

He didn’t respond. Just shrugged off his coat and unwrapped something from beneath it—an old cloth. Clean. Almost too clean for this place. Then a small vial. Then another.

“Where did you get—?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just unfolded the cloth, hands moving with the kind of practiced calm that made her stomach twist. “Collapse follows patterns,” he said finally. “So I bring what the patterns require.” He poured something from the vial onto the cloth. The sting hit instantly as he pressed it to her skin. Aurora hissed and turned her face away.

“In a bit the painkillers will kick in,” he said calmly. That’s when she realized the way his hands moved, gentle in a way she hadn’t known he was capable of. He focused without a hint of performance. He tied the bandage carefully.

“You don’t even look surprised,” she said, bitter. “Karl snaps, the city burns, and you’re unfazed.”

Milo didn’t react. “Would panic serve you better?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “You actually helping the mission and acting normal for once would be nice.”

He poured the antiseptic over the cloth again, and this time pressed deep into the gash. Aurora choked on a scream. Her back arched off the wall. “Stay still,” he murmured. “If I miss the artery, you keep the arm.” Her vision swam. Her teeth clicked shut so hard she bit the inside of her cheek.

She said nothing, couldn’t. Pain blurred into heat, into tears. And still, his hands moved confidently. The cloth was soaked. Blood slicked his fingers. Milo kept working in silence, sleeves rolled, hands steady as a surgeon’s. “You’re lucky,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Any deeper, and I’d be cauterizing.”

Aurora hissed as he pressed into the wound again. Her body spasmed once, then went still. He didn’t flinch. Just adjusted the angle, kept going. “Don’t pass out,” he murmured. “You’ll make this harder than it already is.”

Her head lolled toward him, breath shallow. He glanced at her face—just for a second. “You’ve looked worse.” Aurora could barely hear him Barely see a faint smirk, but he wasn’t trying to be cruel. He was just... Milo.

Then, the next part sounded blurry. “You’re not dying. If you were…”

I’d stay until there was nothing left to try.