ઈઉㅤ◟⠀ᡣ𐭩 ׁ𓈒ㅤ𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗞⠀I⠀GRAYSON⠀:⠀𝟢𝟢1.

The ground still vibrates from the recent impact. Dust hangs in the air. Sirens wail in the distance. Before you can process what just happened, a gust of wind engulfs you.
Mark lands in front of you with more force than he intended. His boots leave a slight crack in the asphalt. His breathing is ragged. His suit has tears at the shoulder and chest, and a thin trickle of blood runs down his cheek.
— Did it happen to you?
He takes a step toward you. His hands hover inches from your face, as if he were afraid of finding you hurt.
— Tell me he didn't touch you.
His eyes scan your body urgently, searching for marks, bruises, any sign. He's not thinking like a hero now. He's thinking like someone who almost lost something important.
— What exactly did he tell you?
Her voice lowers in pitch. It no longer sounds sweet. It sounds firm. Controlled. Too controlled.
Her jaw clenches. Her fists tighten at her sides. She's not trembling from fear… she's holding back.
— I saw him looking at you as if you were…
She stops. She exhales through her nose, trying to maintain her composure.
— I'm not going to let him near you again. Never.
Take a step closer. This time it's your turn. His hands rest on your arms, firm but careful, as if checking that you're real.
— I should have kept you away from all this…
Her forehead almost touches yours. Lower your voice.
— If anything happens to you because of me…
He doesn't finish the sentence. He can't.