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The dawn was a dirty gray, the kind that brings no relief but only highlights fatigue. The concrete ruins of the former research complex steamed after the night rain, the air heavy with moisture, ozone, and something metallic that Claire had learned not to call blood unless she had to.
Leon walked a few steps ahead of her. As always.
His shoulders were slightly raised, his weapon held low but ready. His movements were precise, drilled to the point of pain. At first glance, he looked normal. Too normal for someone who had been hurled against a concrete wall by an explosion ten minutes earlier.
“Leon.” she said for the third time.
“I hear you.” he answered immediately, his tone calm, almost bored. “Give me five minutes, okay? We need to get out of here before someone realizes we’re still alive.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. She knew that voice. The same one he’d used when he’d had broken ribs in Tall Oaks. The same one when a bullet had gone clean through his thigh in Eastern Europe and he’d claimed it was just a scratch.
“You said the same thing five minutes ago.” she shot back, quickening her pace. “And ten minutes ago you said you were ‘fine.’”
Leon glanced over his shoulder, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
“Because I am fine.”
That was when she saw the blood.
Not a stream. Not a dramatic stain. Just a darker shadow spreading beneath his jacket, near his side, barely visible in the weak morning light. If she hadn’t known him so well, she might have missed it.
She stopped short.
“Stop.”
Leon sighed theatrically, like she was a child complaining in a store.
“Claire, really—”
“I said stop.”
Something in her voice must have changed. Because this time, he did.
He turned to face her. He stood steady, too steady. His shoulders were still tense, his jaw clenched. If not for the way he subtly shifted his weight onto one leg, he would have looked exactly like himself.
“Show me.” she said flatly.
“There’s nothing to show.”
“Leon.”
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy. Somewhere in the distance, something collapsed with a dull crash, but neither of them flinched.
“We’re in the open space” he began. “If we stop—”
“If we don’t stop, you might bleed out or pass out halfway there.” she cut in. “Then we’ll both have a problem.”
He smiled faintly, that half-smile that usually worked on people. It had stopped working on her a long time ago.
“Seriously, it’s just a piece of metal. Didn’t even hurt.”
“That’s funny.” she replied coolly. “Because you said the exact same thing before you passed out in Peru.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You remember that?”
“I remember too much.” she said, stepping closer. “Jacket. Now.”
For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Like he was weighing whether this was another situation he could just shove aside and keep moving. Then his gaze flicked away for a second. A small gesture. Enough.
“Fine.” he muttered. “But make it quick.”
He shrugged the jacket off one shoulder. The fabric was heavy, soaked with rain and blood. Claire knelt in front of him, ignoring her protesting spine, and pulled his shirt aside.
The wound was worse than she’d expected.
The fragment had lodged beneath his ribs, the edges jagged, blood still seeping slowly but stubbornly. It wasn’t fatal. But it was definitely not nothing.
“Damn it.” she breathed.
Leon shrugged, though it clearly cost him more than he wanted to show.
“I’ve seen worse.”
“So have I.” she said. “And this is one of them.”
She reached into her pack for the med kit. Her hands were steady. They always were when someone was hurt. One of the few gifts trauma had left her.
“We need to clean it.”
“We don’t have time to—”
“Leon.” she interrupted sharply. “Sit down.”
“Claire—”
She looked up at him. Her gaze was hard, focused, leaving no room for negotiation.
“Sit. Down. Now.”
For a second, it looked like he might say something else. A joke. A remark that would let him keep control. Instead, he slowly lowered himself onto a concrete block behind him.
“Okay.” he muttered. “You’re in command. Lucky me.”
She didn’t respond. She focused on the wound, on every detail. She cleaned it thoroughly, ignoring his sharp hisses and short, broken breaths.
“That hurts.” he observed with dry humor.
“That’s how pain works.” she replied evenly. “It tells you something’s wrong.”
“Were you always this empathetic?”
“Only with idiots who can’t admit they’re injured.”
He let out a quiet snort. Then he went silent.
Claire noticed immediately.
“Leon?”
“I’m here.” he answered, but his voice was quieter. “Just… give me a second.”
His hands clenched on the edge of the concrete. His knuckles went white.
“Breathe.” she said calmly. “With me. Okay? In. And out.”
He did as she said. Awkwardly, like someone unused to giving up control.
“I don’t like it when we stop.” he admitted after a moment. “When I stop.”
“I know.”
“Because then…” He broke off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“It matters.” she said softly, bandaging the wound. “But you don’t have to say it now.”
He clenched his jaw but didn’t deny it.
When she finished, she sat down beside him, her back against the cold concrete. For a moment they sat in silence, their breathing mingling with the sounds of the ruins.
“Thank you.” he said finally.
“Don’t thank me.”
“Still.”
She glanced at him sideways. He looked tired. More than usual. His eyes were darkened by pain and something deeper.
“You don’t always have to be the one out front.” she said. “You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
He smiled weakly.
“Someone has to.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Not someone. Us.”
He was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her words. Then he nodded.
“Okay.” he said softly. “This time… you lead.”
And for the first time in a long while, Claire felt that he truly let her.