Bloodied and battered, Clyde charged forward, his focus unshaken.
But he wasn't running toward the Supreme Power.
He was aiming for her.
Ciara froze, her breath caught in her throat.
In an instant, Clyde reached her, his arms wrapping around her tightly. His embrace was firm yet full of a surprising gentleness, holding her as if she might slip away.
"Ciara," he said softly, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos around them.
The frozen battlefield, the glowing power, the fight—it all seemed to fade into the background.
All she could hear was her name, spoken with care and warmth.
It wasn't a challenge or an accusation. It wasn't full of anger or hate.
It was the voice of someone who saw her for who she really was, someone who wouldn't give up on her.
Clyde's voice held a tremble, not from fear, but from something deeper—a regret mingled with longing.