The cold air stung your lungs as you sat beside Lucas on the bench. He looked exhausted, drained from the weight of the world pressing down on him. "They still look at me like I’m a monster," he muttered. You hesitated before reaching for his hand. "I don’t." He glanced at you, searching your face for dishonesty—but found none. His fingers curled around yours, hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved the kindness. "You don’t have to fight this alone," you whispered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders loosened just a little. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone had turned against him.