Eliana's feet carried her forward before she could even think. The guards stepped back instinctively, surprised, clearing a path. She dropped to her knees beside Elliot, her hands trembling as she touched his face.
"Elliot," she whispered. His skin was warm and slick with blood. "Hey, look at me."
He groaned faintly, eyes half-open, one already swelling shut. His breathing was shallow, fast. Each rise of his chest made her own breath falter.
"You're okay," she lied, her voice breaking. "You're gonna be okay."
Behind her, Alfonso exhaled, long and shaky, then ran a hand through his hair. The gun still hung loosely in his other hand.
"Eliana," he said quietly. His tone shifted—soft, almost gentle, like they were having a private conversation instead of standing in a field smeared with blood. "You shouldn't have left your room."
She froze, not looking up.
