Mason is… weird. The kind of weird where you start questioning how normal people are supposed to act.
He doesn't panic. He doesn't even seem remotely stressed. Meanwhile, I'm hobbling after him, barely keeping upright, my leg reminding me every second that it has, in fact, been shot.
The city around us is eerily quiet, like it's waiting for something. The buildings loom overhead, cracked windows reflecting the dull red glow of distant fires. Everything is just so... still.
"Stay with me, yeah?" Mason glances back when I stumble.
I nod. Or at least, I think I nod. My body is swaying like a tree in a storm at this point.
Mason groans, stepping over and yanking me up like I'm a particularly annoying shopping bag. "Oi! Don't just drop like a sack of potatoes!"
I glare at him. "My leg's shot."
"Yeah, I noticed, cheers." He wraps an arm around me, hoisting me up. "You're lucky I'm here with you, mate. Try not to make a habit of it."
His grip is steady, and I hate to admit it, it's kind of reassuring.