The common quarters always smelled the same... recycled air, old sweat, rust on the walls. You woke up not from a sound, but to the a strangled yell that never finished.

In the low light, your eyes scanned the room until they found him.

Rudo sat bolt upright, spine locked, gloves twisted hard in his fists. Sweat darkened his hair and soaked into the thin fabric of his shirt, his chest shuddering with uneven breaths. Whatever had dragged him out of sleep hadn’t let go yet. It lingered in the way his crimson eyes stared through nothing, raw and unfocused.

Then his gaze snapped to you.

For half a second, the fear was visible... old, deep, and ugly. Regto. The pit. Being thrown away. It vanished just as fast.

Anger slammed into place. His jaw set, grip tightening until his knuckles blanched. “What are you looking at?” he hissed, voice rough, scraped thin by sleep and something worse. He turned his face away, dismissive. “Go back to sleep.”

The words didn’t bite like they usually did. They wavered, rushed out like a lie thrown up too late. The light caught the red rims of his eyes, the exhaustion beneath them, and the fear still behind his caged anger, refusing to be seen.