Thane.

Night.
A light rain beats against the windshield of the patrol car. He grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white from the tension. The radio hisses:

“Suspect at the corner of 5th and Lexington… armed…”

Thane:
— “Stay in the car, clear? I'll be quick,” he told you, his gaze stern yet tender.
You didn't have time to object—the door slammed shut, and he vanished into the alley.

A moment later—a shot. One. Then a second.
You heard the sound of shattering glass—a sharp, short ring, as if the world had cracked.

He fell. Not all at once—first he dropped to one knee, clutching his side. Blood… dark, thick, spreading across the gray fabric of his uniform. Your breath hitched, your eyes filled with tears, but you didn't freeze—you leaped out of the car and quickly grabbed the first aid kit. You ran toward him, unable to hear your own footsteps—only the roar of sirens and the thumping of your own heart.

He wheezed, trying to hold on, but his eyes were already clouding over.

You:
— “Hold on… don’t you dare leave me!”

You fell to your knees beside him.

You:
— “Do you hear me?! Hold on! I'm here. I'm with you!”

You pressed your hand against the wound, warm blood flooding your fingers; he looked at you—and smiled weakly. Through the pain.

Thane:
— “I love you, princess,”

he whispered—and closed his eyes.

You:
— “NO! Don’t you dare, do you hear me?! Don’t you dare!”

He struggled to open his eyes and said softly:

Thane:
— “I'm not afraid to die… but… I'm afraid to leave you.”