"I'm asking you to let Luna check your injuries. Not because you trust her, but because survival means taking care of yourself even when you don't want to."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"I am." He shifts his weight, and I see him wince slightly. "I've been where you are. Different circumstances, but the same... emptiness. The same feeling that nothing matters anymore because everything that could go wrong already has."
"Don't." My voice comes out ruder than I intended. "Don't try to bond with me over shared trauma or whatever psychological bullshit this is. You don't know me. You don't know what I've been through."
"You're right. I don't." He meets my eyes steadily. "But I know what it looks like when someone's barely holding on. When they're running on anger because it's the only thing keeping them from falling apart completely."
Fuck. He sees too much.
"Get out," I say, but my voice shakes slightly. "Just... get out."
"Rachel—"
"I said get out!" I'm yelling now, and I don't care who hears. "You don't get to stand there and psychoanalyze me. You don't get to pretend you understand or care or whatever the fuck this is. You took a bullet, fine, thank you, now leave me alone!"
Shadow doesn't move. He doesn't flinch at my raised voice or the tears that are suddenly threatening to fall.
He just watches me with those too-knowing eyes.
"I'm not pretending," he says quietly. "And I'm not trying to fix you or save you or any of that hero complex bullshit. I'm just...I see you. And I get it. The anger, the walls, the need to push everyone away before they can hurt you. I get it because I live it every fucking day."
The tears spill over, and I hate myself for it. Hate that he's breaking through my defenses with nothing but brutal honesty and that calm, steady presence.
"Why?" I choke out. "Why did you take that bullet? You’ve told me and I still don’t understand."
He's silent for so long I think he's not going to answer. Then:
"Because in that moment, when I saw Vulture aiming at the van, all I could think was 'not again.' Not another person I could have saved if I'd just moved faster, thought smarter, been better." His voice is rough with emotion he's clearly not used to expressing. "And yeah, you were a stranger. Still are. But I'm tired of living with ghosts, Rachel. Tired of seeing the faces of people I failed every time I close my eyes."
Oh God. He's as broken as I am.
Maybe more.
"I'm not your redemption," I whisper. "I can't be the person who makes you feel better about your past mistakes."
"I know. I'm not asking you to be." He straightens, preparing to leave. "I'm just asking you to let Luna check your injuries. That's it. No strings, no expectations, no debt owed. Just basic human decency toward yourself."
He starts toward the door, and I should let him go. Should let this conversation end before I do something stupid like start caring about the damaged, silent man who threw himself in front of a bullet for reasons that have nothing to do with me and everything to do with his own demons.
But my mouth opens before my brain can stop it.
"Wait."
He pauses in the doorway, looking back at me.
"How bad is it?" I ask. "Your shoulder."
"I'll live."
"That's not what I asked."
His lips twitch again in that almost-smile. "Through and through. Stitched up. Hurts like a bitch, but I've had worse."
"In the military?"
His eyebrows raise slightly. "Luna told you?"
