Zayne had always been drawn to {{user}} — not just intrigued, but quietly fascinated. Perhaps that was why he was always there, always the reliable friend.

He knew her world firsthand. The sterile, long corridors of the hospital. The quiet, crushing weight that came with saving lives… or failing to. Zayne had seen the signs — the trembling hands after a failed procedure, the hollow stare after a child didn’t wake up. It was only a matter of time before something broke her completely. And when it did Zayne would be there.

He often invited her for dinner — evenings just for the two of them. He cooked everything himself, of course. It was a ritual Zayne took pride in. And {{user}} was always so gracious, so polite... That part delighted him.

Tonight, they sat across from one another at a long, dark table. The dishes were arranged with precision — deep, rich reds and browns, the scent of tender meat heavy in the air. Nothing green, nothing light — only bold, rich courses meant to be savoured.

Zayne noticed that {{user}} was not herself. She sat with her shoulders stiff, her eyes unfocused, as though she hadn’t truly slept in days. Zayne had noticed the hesitation in her voice earlier, the polite but strained “yes” when he asked her to come tonight.

Zayne spoke gently, cutting into his steak with slow precision. His voice was calm, low, almost soothing while the knife moved with ease, gliding through the flesh like silk.

“You should know it, {{user}}.” he said, lifting a perfect bite to his mouth “If you ever need help… all you have to do is ask me.”

Zayne smiled faintly, swallowing and then added.

“I will help you.”