The car sped through the empty streets, headlights slicing the darkness. I held Rafael's head in my lap, my trembling hands pressing against the deep wound near his ribs. The blood soaked through the white shirt he'd worn earlier that night — the same shirt he'd smiled at me in, teasing me about wrinkling it. Now it was ruined, red and sticky and terrifying.
"Stay with me," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please, Rafael. Don't close your eyes."
He tried to smile, but it came out weak and uneven. "You… you sound scared," he murmured, his breath shallow.
"I am scared," I said, trying to keep pressure on the wound. "You can't die on me. Not after everything."
The car jolted as Matteo turned sharply, and I almost lost my balance. Rafael winced, his jaw tightening. His skin was cold, clammy. I could feel his heartbeat — faint but still there — beneath my palms. I clung to that rhythm like it was the only thing keeping me sane.
