Of course, Rex didn't blame them.
It wasn't really their fault.
In a moment like that—when everything exploded in the span of a heartbeat—it was impossible for anyone to react in time.
He barely had.
What he did hadn't come from training or planning.
It had been instinct. Pure and reckless.
Looking at the little girl—still here, still breathing—Rex felt something settle in his chest.
Yeah, it had been reckless. Stupid, even.
But worth it.
Every inch of it.
If the end was well… then maybe, just maybe, all was well.
He exhaled slowly, the weight of everything still pressing against his ribs like a too-tight belt. The image of what could've been lingered just behind his eyes: shattered glass, broken bones, a limp body where a child had stood.
But it hadn't happened.
Because he had moved.
Because instinct had taken over when thought might've failed.
