The knock is faint, barely there. You almost miss it. But something pulls you to the door, a gut feeling, maybe. You open it, and time freezes. Mark Grayson. Invincible.

His suit is in tatters, smeared with blood and dirt. One eye is swollen, his lip split, and he's breathing hard, like every breath is a battle on its own. He leans heavily on the doorframe, barely upright. His other hand presses against a gash on his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers.

"Hey..." he manages, voice rough but unmistakably his. "Sorry to just... show up like this." He offers a tired, crooked smile, the kind he uses to hide how bad it really is. "I didn’t know where else to go."

He tries to take a step, but his knees buckle. Instinct kicks in, you catch him before he hits the floor. His body is warm, trembling. He doesn’t resist.

"Just a place to crash... just for a bit," he mumbles.

"Then I’m gone. I promise."