❝ if i bleed
you'll be the last to know ❞

009. so long, london

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.

That was the only word Ingrid could summon, though even that didn’t quite capture it. It wasn’t truly nothingness. It was more like… too much. Everything at once, overwhelming her senses until they blurred into a void. Her head pounded with a sharp, unrelenting pain, her ribs felt like they were splintering inside her chest with every breath, and every sound around her was deafening. Too loud, too close, too much.

But her vision? That was nothing. Just an inky darkness swallowing her whole.

Ingrid had never been a stranger to pain. It had become her constant companion over the years, something she'd learned to live with, even if she never truly accepted it. No matter what she did or how strong she became, the pain always found her. It was inevitable — just like who she was. Pain was stitched into her identity. Still, it never hurt any less. No amount of strength or resilience could dull the sting.

Her body reacted on instinct, scrunching her face in a childlike wince, eyes burning with unshed tears that refused to fall. She hated this. Hated how weak pain made her feel, how vulnerable it left her. She was supposed to be more than this. Stronger. Better.

But she wasn't.

Ingrid blinked — or at least she thought she did, furiously willing herself to see again. Gradually, her vision returned, the blurry black spots fading from her sight, the world coming back into focus, albeit still fuzzy around the edges.

The first thing she saw was Peter standing over her, tense and alert, his shoulders rigid with concern. Though his face was hidden behind the familiar red mask, she could picture his expression with startling clarity — the wide eyes, the furrowed brows, the tightness in his jaw as relief coursed through him. She could even hear it in his voice, soft and shaky as he crouched down beside her.

"Ingrid! You're awake!" His voice was barely above a whisper, as though he feared that speaking too loudly might shatter her fragile grip on consciousness. There was a tremor in his tone that betrayed the depth of his relief, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time, waiting for her to come back to him.

Ingrid tried to speak, but the words stuck in her throat, tangled in the pain that radiated through her body. All she managed was a groan, low and broken, and she felt Peter tense beside her.

His gloved hands cupped her face gently, fingers brushing against the blood that had trickled down from a cut on her cheek. His touch was tender, but beneath it, she could feel the urgency in his movements, the barely contained panic he was trying to keep at bay. "You passed out," he murmured, his voice softer now, as though speaking the truth would make it less real. "Maybe fell too hard."

Her own expression, still etched with pain, mirrored the worry on his unseen face. The look in his eyes — what little she could make out of them — was a mixture of fear and determination. He couldn’t lose her, not now.

Before she could even try to gather her bearings, Peter rushed on, speaking faster now, as if trying to convince both of them. "But don’t worry, I’ll get you somewhere safe. You’ll be fine. I’ll take care of you first, then I’m going for Beck."

As soon as he mentioned leaving her behind, something inside her snapped. Her body protested every movement, but she forced herself to shake her head, ignoring the violent pain that throbbed through her skull. “No,” she rasped, her voice barely more than a whisper, raw and strained. “I’m not leaving.”

She regretted the words almost instantly as another wave of agony surged through her, making her gasp sharply and wince. But the stubbornness that burned in her chest wouldn’t let her back down. She couldn’t just leave him to face this alone. Not after everything.

Peter’s eyes widened beneath the mask, his worry deepening as he shook his head. “Ingrid, you’re hurt,” he argued, his voice tinged with desperation. “You can’t stay here. You need to go. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Ingrid took a deep, shuddering breath, her chest rising and falling painfully with each inhale. She forced herself to steady, the remnants of her pain still throbbing beneath her skin. Summoning every ounce of her strength, she looked Peter straight in the eyes and spoke with a voice that wavered between determination and agony. "You called me because you needed help. I'm not leaving until I've made sure you're safe, understood?" Each word was a struggle, her voice cracking and hissing as pain shot through her with every syllable.

Peter opened his mouth to protest, his concern evident even through the mask. "Ingrid—"

But she cut him off, her eyes narrowing as she summoned a sternness that belied her weakened state. "Understood?" Her repetition was sharp, a desperate attempt to convey her unwavering commitment despite the turmoil raging within her.

A heavy sigh escaped Peter’s lips, resignation washing over his features. He glanced around the desolate area, his mind racing as he weighed their limited options in the face of the imminent threat. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he nodded, his voice soft yet filled with a newfound resolve. "Yes, ma'am."

A flicker of a smile broke through Ingrid’s pain-stricken face, a brief moment of warmth amidst the chaos. She turned her gaze toward the abandoned car they were leaning against, her eyes widening as she spotted the ominous swarm of drones descending upon them.

Without wasting another second, Ingrid turned back to Peter, her eyes meeting his with unspoken determination. "What do I have to do?"

Peter was already moving, his actions swift and precise despite the dire circumstances. "Distract them for as long as you can. I'll go get Beck."

Nodding, Ingrid extended her hand, her fingers trembling slightly from the residual pain but firm in her resolve. Peter grasped her hand firmly, helping her to her feet with practiced ease. "And stay safe, please," he added, his voice laced with worry.

"You too," Ingrid replied, her smile returning, albeit briefly, as she steadied herself against Peter’s support.

In an instant, both teenagers sprang into action, their coordination seamless despite the dire situation. Peter dashed toward the glass bridge, his movements fluid and determined, while Ingrid faced the oncoming threat head-on. The sky above was a battlefield of flashing lights and the mechanical whirring of drones closing in on them.

A surge of energy coursed through Ingrid’s veins as she focused, flames igniting in her palms. She thrust her hands forward, unleashing a torrent of fire that engulfed the nearest group of drones. The searing heat met the metal bodies, sending them spiraling out of control in a display of sparks and destruction.

Determined, she charged forward, the ground beneath her feet crunching with debris. More drones locked onto her target, their rapid-fire lasers slicing through the air with deadly precision. Ingrid moved with agility born of necessity, dodging and weaving through the rubble. Flames swirled around her like a shield, deflecting incoming shots and illuminating the chaos around her.

Pain flared with every step she took. She knew she couldn’t eliminate every drone, but her goal was simple: keep them distracted long enough for Peter to reach Beck. Her heart pounded not just from the exertion but from the fear of what might happen if she failed.

A particularly aggressive drone zoomed in, its laser cutting through the edge of her pants and sending a jolt of pain through her side. Ingrid spun swiftly, her fiery whip arcing through the air with. The drone crashed against the side of the bridge, sparks flying as it was dismantled by her elemental fury. But the drones were relentless; for every one she took down, three more seemed to emerge from the shadows, their numbers overwhelming.

"Peter, you better be fast," she hissed under her breath, her eyes darting toward the direction he had taken. Her voice was strained, barely audible over the sounds of battle, but her message was clear.

Peter was likely navigating the precarious glass bridge, each step a gamble with gravity and enemy fire. Ingrid could barely see through the haze of pain and the smoke rising from her attacks, but she trusted Peter’s instincts implicitly.

Another barrage of lasers cut through the smoke, bright streaks of light slicing the air. Ingrid threw herself behind a fallen metal beam, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The heat of battle pressed down on her, and for a moment, the sound of her own ragged breathing drowned out everything else. She allowed herself just a second, just enough to find her center again.

Then, without hesitation, she sprang up, her hands igniting in a brilliant blaze. With a fierce shout, she unleashed a wall of fire that exploded outward, the sheer intensity forcing the advancing drones to retreat — if only for a moment.

But it was only for a moment.

The drones were relentless, regrouping almost instantly, their movements sharp and calculated. They began to swarm tighter, their lasers firing in coordinated patterns. Their precision was unnerving, and Ingrid’s heart pounded as she realized the walls were closing in, leaving her less and less room to move.

Her body ached, muscles protesting each movement. Her vision blurred slightly from the exhaustion settling in, but there was no time to stop. She gritted her teeth, eyes darting across the battlefield as she tried to form a plan. If she kept this up, they’d pin her down soon enough — and there’d be no way out.

Suddenly, one of the larger drones broke through her fiery defense, moving faster than she could react. Its laser seared across her arm, the heat of the blast nearly knocking her off balance. A searing scream tried to escape her lips, but she bit it back, stumbling before she could recover. With a flick of her wrist, she retaliated, a sharp burst of fire smashing into the drone and sending it plummeting to the ground.

Ingrid clutched her arm, wincing at the sight of her singed skin. "Gotta step it up," she muttered through gritted teeth. She shook off the pain, pushing herself to focus. The flicker of fire in her palms grew brighter as she gathered what remained of her energy. Her body screamed for rest, but there was no time for that. Not yet.

Raising both hands to the sky, she gathered all the power she had left, creating a massive explosion of heat that ripped through the air. The shockwave reverberated across the battlefield, sending several drones spiraling out of control. They smashed into one another, the wreckage crashing into the debris-strewn ground around her.

But even as more fell, the drones kept coming.

Ingrid cursed under her breath as she darted through the wreckage, her eyes darting toward the glass bridge where Peter had gone. She could still hear the distant hum of the drones swarming there. Her heart clenched with worry. Peter was in the middle of it, fighting Beck, while she was barely holding off these drones. She had to draw more of them away from him.

She pushed herself harder, her movements fueled by a mix of adrenaline and fear. A handful of drones broke off and pursued her as she ran, lasers scorching the ground behind her. Her breath came in short, painful bursts as she kept moving, dodging blasts and flinging fireballs at the nearest drones. Each fiery explosion bought her a second’s reprieve, but she could feel it — her energy was waning, each blast more difficult to summon than the last.

Then came the high-pitched whine of another drone locking onto her. Her instincts kicked in, and she dodged just in time, the laser scorching the ground where she had been a second before. Spinning on her heel, she raised her hand and unleashed a concentrated stream of fire at the drone. But this one was faster, weaving effortlessly out of her path and retaliating without hesitation.

The laser grazed her leg, a sharp sting of heat slicing through her skin. Ingrid’s foot faltered, pain flooding her senses as she stumbled. "Damn it," she hissed, nearly collapsing under the weight of her own exhaustion. Gritting her teeth, she pressed her hand to the wound, sending a brief flare of fire to cauterize it before forcing herself back up.

She readied herself for another attack, her hands blazing once more — but then, something shifted. The drones, still poised to strike, suddenly paused mid-air. For a brief, eerie second, everything was still. Ingrid blinked, disoriented, before her eyes widened in realization.

The drones turned in unison, like a flock of birds responding to some unseen signal. Without warning, they began to retreat, disappearing into the sky as quickly as they had come.

She let out a shaky breath, her knees buckling as she lowered herself to the ground, pressing her back against the nearest piece of rubble. The pain, the exhaustion — they were catching up to her now, but it didn’t matter.

Peter did it.

Ingrid smiled weakly, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to breathe steadily. It was over. Finally, it was over.