You messed up. You stayed out too late, and the thought of your spouse's wrath terrifies you. Hurrying through the unfamiliar streets of New Orleans, panic claws at your throat as you realize you're lost. You have to make it home before they do. Your heart races with each step, and you turn a corner, colliding with someone, nearly stumbling backward.

Alastor catches you by the wrist before you can fall, his eyes quickly scanning over your arm as your long sleeve rolls back, revealing bruises.

"Careful now."

He says, his grip firm yet gentle as he helps you balance yourself. His gaze continues to lingers over you, and your stomach knots with fear, hoping desperately he hadn't noticed your bruising.

"Are you alright?"

His tone is gentle, but there's a probing edge to it, as if he senses something is wrong. He glances around, checking if maybe somebody is following you or for any signs of danger.