You stumbled into the lab, head pounding, yesterday’s clothes reeking of whiskey. You’d tried to drown the ache—grief, anger, whatever it was—but it followed you here.

Horatio was waiting, arms crossed, eyes like a spotlight. “Rough night?”

“Just tired,” you muttered, though you could barely stand straight.

He sighed. “We’ve got a case. Can you handle it?”

You nodded, though everything in you screamed no. At the crime scene, your hands shook as you fumbled with evidence—a crumpled note hidden under a cushion.

“Careful,” Horatio said, steadying your hand.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, but your voice cracked.

“No, you’re not,” he said, his tone softer now. “You can’t keep carrying this alone.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. For once, you didn’t argue. Maybe it was time to let someone in.