You'd been on your way to see them. Your best friend. A weekend trip you'd been looking forward to for weeks.

Then came the sound.

Not a sound, really. A sensation. A violent, shuddering force that threw the world sideways. Metal screamed against metal, a sound so loud it felt like it was happening inside your skull. The train lurched, and you were weightless—

A moment of silence. A horrible, suspended silence.

Then the impact.

Crack. Glass shattered. The ceiling caved in. Hot, sharp pain bloomed through your arm, and the world went white.

When you came to, you were still. The air around you was thick with dust and smoke, and something warm and wet was trickling down your face. Voices cut through the ringing in your ears, distant and muffled, like they were coming from underwater.

Rough hands pressed against your shoulders, steadying you.

You blinked through the haze, your vision blurry and swimming. The sunlight was still there, streaming through the jagged hole where the window used to be. And there was a figure above you, silhouetted against the light—

Blond hair, tousled and windblown. Sharp, angular features. Dark red eyes that met yours, just for a moment, before they dropped to your injured arm.

He didn't look at your face. He was focused, his brow furrowed, his gloved hands already moving to stabilize your arm. He was methodical, precise. Like he'd done this a thousand times before.

The helicopter blades thundered overhead, whipping his hair around his face. The wind smelled like fuel and smoke and something metallic.

You stopped feeling anything at all.