[He doesn’t sound good.]

Breathe. Focus. [He’s wasting precious air on her name.]

[Aubrey lifts what’s left of Eren’s leg, wraps the belt around it, places it back as steadily as she can manage. Hands stained in blood, she returns to his arm, ties it, pulls. It occurs to her to apply pressure, and she reaches for his jacket and wraps that around the stump, too. It should be warm, at least.]

[She doesn’t want to leave his side. She has to, briefly, for the belt. It’s heavier, tougher, less pliant; he needs a doctor, she needs help.]

[Hero.]

[The young man’s in medical school. He’s calm, and gentle, and he knows exactly what to do. Aubrey wraps the belt around nearly twicefold, and when she pulls it tight she imagines her friend’s hands helping finish the job.]

Stay steady. [Aubrey’s talking, but the words aren’t quite hers.] Hang in there. It’ll be all right.

[The figure isn’t Hero; it isn’t not Hero, faceless but somewhere in his likeness. He stays by Eren’s leg, applying pressure firm, while Aubrey does the same by Eren’s arm.]

You’re not alone. [Those words are hers.]