You reach for the door, but before you can step out, a hand wraps around your wrist—tight, desperate.

"I can handle myself," you sigh, trying to shake him off.

But he doesn’t let go.

"That’s what they all said." His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

You turn, and the sight makes your breath catch.

He looks… wrecked. His jaw clenched too tight, his hands shaking, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

"And now they’re gone." His voice barely makes it out. Your heart clenches.

You know who he’s talking about. The people he’s lost. The ghosts that haunt him.