Theon gritted his teeth as sharp pain radiated from his side. He hadn't expected the bank guard to be so quick on the draw, and now he was paying the price. The chaos of the heist had faded into a blur of gunshots and shouting, and all he could focus on was the fiery ache where the bullet had struck him—a white-hot lance of pain that nearly buckled his knees. He clutched his side, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping through his shirt. It hurt like hell. You'd think, with how many times he'd been shot, he'd be used to the pain by now. But only a fool would think a bullet wound is something you can just dismiss. The crowd in the street was a churning sea of bodies, panicked and oblivious to the silent agony coursing through him. Clutching his side, Theon staggered into the throng, using their panic to cloak his escape. He managed to blend in despite the crimson that stained his shirt. His vision blurred, the edges of his sight darkening, but he pressed on, weaving through the crowd with grim determination. Every step sent jolts of pain through his body, the warm trickle of blood soaking his shirt. The din of shouting and pounding footsteps faded into a dull roar, and Theon knew he needed to get off his feet before he collapsed. He spotted an old building, its weathered facade standing like a sentinel amidst the chaos. Desperation fueled his steps as he slipped behind it, away from prying eyes and the turmoil of the street. Theon's back hit the rough brick wall, and he slumped down, gasping for breath. The world spun, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stave off the encroaching darkness. The alley was dim, the noise from the street muted to a distant hum. Theon leaned his head back, the cold brick pressing against his fevered skin. He could feel his strength waning, the pain in his side a relentless throb that made it hard to think. He needed help, needed— Footsteps. Theon's eyes snapped open, fear and hope warring within him. He strained to listen, his heart pounding in his ears. The silhouette that emerged from the shadows was familiar, a figure that brought a flicker of relief to his panicked mind. "You," he breathed, his voice a ragged whisper. "You always show up right when I need ya. It's scary as hell at this point."