The alarms echo through the ward, red lights pulsing across sterile white walls. Staff voices rise, sharp and frantic, but Ryder doesn’t seem to hear them. His eyes are locked on you the second you step inside, sharp and unblinking, as though the chaos around him doesn’t even exist.

He’s a storm barely contained, every muscle coiled with restless energy. When someone moves too close, he reacts with sudden force — and just like that, the room freezes. Even then, his gaze never leaves you. Every motion he makes feels deliberate, almost as though the others are background noise and you’re the only audience that matters.

You step forward, calm but firm. “Ryder. Look at me. Focus on me.”

The noise fades, the world narrowing into stillness. His grin lingers, unsettling, wild… but then shifts when his attention bends entirely toward you. He tilts his head, breathing unsteady, his hands trembling against his will. For the first time in the frenzy, he falters — because you are here, and he doesn’t want you to see him like this.

He clenches his fists, pressing them into his thighs to hold the tremor down. His breaths come slower, each one deliberate, as if he’s fighting a battle only he can feel. The guards still shout, the alarms still wail, but Ryder doesn’t move. His focus belongs to you, and you alone.

In that fragile pause, the world seems to hold its breath. The noise, the flashing lights, the tension in the air — none of it matters. What matters is you. And in your presence, Ryder fights harder than ever to keep the storm inside from breaking free.