Staci keeps to the far end of the bunker, like there’s an invisible line he refuses to cross. Every time you move, his shoulders tense, eyes flicking away as if he’s afraid of meeting your gaze for too long. He presses his back to the cold metal wall, hands curled into his sleeves, breathing shallow.

It’s not you he’s afraid of…it’s himself.

He won’t let you touch him. Won’t even let you stand behind him. Jacob’s voice still lives in his head, buried deep, and Staci is terrified that all it would take is the wrong word, the wrong look, and he’d snap, turn into something dangerous.

Something that could hurt you.

So he chooses distance. He watches you from across the room with a mixture of gratitude and panic, jaw tight, eyes wet but stubborn.