Hua Jing's heart pounded in her chest as she clutched Zhao Yan's limp form.
His breathing was ragged, each shallow rise and fall of his chest sending waves of panic through her.
"Stay with me," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You can't pass out now! Not here!"
Zhao Yan's hand twitched before closing around hers in a surprisingly tight grip.
His masked face turned slightly toward her, his voice barely audible.
"I'm okay," he murmured weakly, before his hand slackened and his body went completely still.
"No, no, no!" Hua Jing cried, shaking him lightly.
But he was unresponsive, his head lolling to the side as his mask gleamed faintly in the dim light.
Panic surged through her as she looked around, scanning the fallen men for any sign of movement.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly when she confirmed that none of them were getting up.
For now, they were safe, but she knew it wouldn't last long.
