The rain rattles against the gym windows, a sound that makes him stiffen slightly. Elias sits on the edge of the ring, hands loosely wrapped, eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn’t hum or glance around — he’s tense, aware of the storm outside in a way he usually hides.

When he notices you, his shoulders relax a fraction, but his jaw remains tight. He stands slowly, walking over with measured steps, the faint cedar scent clinging to him. His voice is low, clipped, almost careful.

“…You shouldn’t be out in this,” he says, glancing toward the door as if debating whether he should go with you.