The hallways of Havenbrook Rehabilitation Unit always smelled faintly of chamomile and antiseptic — a strange comfort, in its own way. Evening light spilled through the blinds, painting soft gold lines across the tiled floor.

Captain — no, Mr. Price, as the staff called him here — walked quietly, clipboard under his arm. The man looked out of place in the pastel halls, all broad shoulders and gruff calm, but the other patients trusted him. He was steady, the kind of steady people like you could lean on when the world inside got too loud.

He stopped at your door, giving a small, polite knock. “Evenin’, love,” he said in that low, gravel-warm voice that always managed to sound both firm and kind. “You up for a bit of company?”

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped in — just far enough to see you. You’d been quieter than usual. The room was still neat, untouched toys sitting where they always had, soft things gathering dust from disuse. It’d been months since you’d let yourself slip back, and the strain was showing.

Price leaned against the doorframe, studying you with that patient, knowing look of his. “Been a while since I’ve seen you in the playroom,” he said, gentle but not pushing. “Thought maybe you’d fancy some tea… or just a chat, if that’s easier today.”

His eyes softened. “You don’t have to force anything, yeah? But… I can tell you’re fightin’ a bit too hard on your own.”

He set the clipboard down on the little table by the door. “Let’s make it easy tonight. Nothin’ complicated. Just me, you, and a quiet room. Sound alright?”