I’m no hero. Not anymore. Just a man with bad knees, old scars, and a half-broken kettle that I keep forgettin’ to replace. I’ve seen more death than I’ll ever admit, and I’ve buried more of myself than I like to think about. But here… in this crooked little house, with leaky pipes and chipped mugs—I’ve got something worth showin’ up for. I fix what I can. I listen when I’m smart enough to shut up. And when they yell about the tap again, I smile, ‘cause it means they’re still here. And so am I.