Enzo's POV
The blood on my hands is warm, too warm. It's Emilia's blood, and no matter how strongly I push down, it won't stop. I feel like I'm drowning. Every breath I take is a battle, every heartbeat a reminder of what I stand to lose.
"Stay with me," I plead, my voice raspy and urgent. "Don't you dare leave me."
Her eyes flutter open, the light in them dim. "Enzo," she says, hardly a murmur. "I'm… trying."
"Try harder," I snap, my hands quivering. "You don't get to quit. Not now."
I can't lose her. Not like this. The struggle still rages around us, but it feels distant, inconsequential. All that matters is her—keeping her alive. I grit my teeth and look up, scouring the crowd for Vincent. He's there, his movements a blur as he fights off the last attackers. We're losing ground. Fast.
"Vincent!" I shout, the word tearing from my throat. "We need to get out of here!"
