She forced herself to keep going, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through her body. The world narrowed to that single point of effort: pushing, levering, straining against the weight trapping her.
The fire crackled louder in the background.
Smoke thickened, creeping closer.
“Move!” she shouted, as if the wreckage could hear her.
With a final, desperate surge, the metal gave way just enough.
The pressure on her legs lessened.
She didn’t waste a second.
With a cry, she yanked her legs free.
Pain detonated through her lower body so intensely that she nearly blacked out again. She collapsed onto her back, gasping, her vision flickering at the edges.
But she was free.
Free.
She lay there for a moment, fighting to stay conscious, to keep herself anchored in the present.
“Don’t pass out,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare pass out.”
The voice—her voice—sounded different now.
Stronger.
Or maybe just more desperate.
She rolled onto her side, biting back another cry, and forced herself into a sitting position. The world swayed dangerously, but she waited it out, breathing slowly until it steadied.
“Okay,” she said. “Okay… we move.”
The moan she’d heard earlier came again, weaker this time.
“I’m coming!” she called, her voice cracking.
She pushed herself onto her hands and knees.
Her legs trembled violently, barely able to support her weight. She didn’t try to stand. Crawling would have to do.
She began to move.
Each motion was a struggle. Her limbs felt disconnected, unreliable, as though they might give out at any moment. Broken glass bit into her palms. Debris snagged at her clothes.
But she kept going.
Toward the sound.
“Hello?” she called again, softer now, as if afraid the voice might disappear if she startled it. “I’m here… I heard you…”
A shape emerged through the haze.
A woman.
She was partially buried beneath a collapsed section of the overhead compartment, her arm pinned at an unnatural angle. Her face was pale, streaked with soot and blood, her eyes half-lidded.
“There you are,” she whispered, relief flooding her voice. “Hey… hey, stay with me, okay?”
The woman’s eyes flickered toward her, unfocused.
“…help,” she breathed.
“I will,” she said quickly. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
She crawled closer, her movements careful now, assessing the situation. The debris trapping the woman looked heavy—too heavy to lift alone.
But she had to try.
“Okay,” she murmured, more to steady herself than anything. “Okay… we’ll figure this out.”
She reached out, brushing soot and hair away from the woman’s face.
“What’s your name?” she asked gently.
A pause.
“…Lena,” came the faint reply.
“Lena,” she repeated, nodding. “Okay. I’m—”
She stopped.
The question hit her like a blow.
Who was she?
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Nothing came out.
Her mind went blank.
Not in the way it had before—foggy, disoriented—but empty. Hollow. As if something fundamental had been erased.
“I…” she tried again.
Nothing.
No name. No memory. No anchor.
Panic surged, cold and sharp.
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