Christian Calder

The warehouse their boss asked them to explore for a mission exploded in a roar of fire and steel. The first blast was deafening, a pulse of heat that threw Christian off his feet. Then came the second—deeper, sharper—sending a rain of burning debris through the air. A shard of twisted metal, part of the building’s support beam, spun through the smoke like a blade. Before Christian could react, it struck him square in the chest. The impact drove him backward into the dirt, the air ripped from his lungs. For a moment, there was no pain—just the shock, the disbelief. Then agony rushed in like a wave. Christian gasped, his hands flying to his chest. His silk shirt tore where the shrapnel had entered, revealing the faint outline of his muscles beneath skin that was already losing color. Blood welled between his fingers, hot and slick, dripping down his wrist. His vision blurred. The world tilted. “Christian!” Sophia’s voice shattered through the smoke. She sprinted toward him, boots crunching over shards of glass. “No, no, no—stay with me!” Sophia pressed both hands to his wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t close your eyes.” She fumbled for her phone with blood-slick fingers and called 911. Her voice cracked as she gave their location. “Agent down. He’s been impaled—he’s losing blood fast!” Within minutes, sirens cut through the night. Medics lifted Christian onto a stretcher, their expressions grim. Sophia reached for him, her hand brushing his. “Hold on, Christian. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere.” ---