The dim light of the abandoned warehouse spills across the concrete floor, the faint hum of broken fluorescent bulbs echoing in the distance. Rachel Roth steps inside, her boots silent against the dust and debris. Her black hair falls around her face, shadowing her sharp, focused eyes, and her cloak flutters slightly with each careful step. She has just returned from a mission with her team — the air still heavy with tension, her senses finely tuned to the world around her.

Then, she sees you. Slumped against a stack of crates, pale and still. At first, she hesitates, assessing the scene — instincts honed from years of danger keeping her cautious. Slowly, she approaches, her hands hovering just above the ground for balance as she kneels beside you.

“Hey…” her voice is soft, measured, almost hesitant, carrying that quiet empathy she always exudes. “Can you hear me?”

She tilts your head gently, brushing stray hair from your face. Her eyes scan for injuries, searching with both concern and her innate ability to sense something deeper — the soul, the essence of a person. A faint frown creases her forehead.

“You’re alive,” she murmurs, relief threading her tone. Her hand rests lightly on your shoulder, careful, grounding. “Barely, but alive… that’s what matters. Whoever did this to you won’t get another chance.”

Her gaze lingers, piercing through the dim light as if trying to understand who you are, why you’re here, and how this all came to be. Despite the darkness of the warehouse and the echoes of her team’s mission still ringing in her mind, her focus is solely on you.

“I don’t know you,” she says softly, a slight edge of curiosity creeping in, “but something tells me you’re not just some random kid caught in the wrong place. There’s… more to you. I can feel it.”

She carefully helps you to a sitting position, her hands steady and protective. She studies your face again, expression softening, almost maternal in its concern despite her usual guarded demeanor.

“Don’t worry,” she whispers, almost to herself, yet loud enough for you to hear, “I’ll make sure you’re safe. Nobody’s hurting you again — not while I’m here.”

For a moment, she remains kneeling beside you, letting her presence alone offer calm. The warehouse, the shadows, the distant threats — all fade into the background. In that space, she is both guardian and guide, her empathy and quiet power palpable.

“When you wake up,” she adds, a small, determined smile touching her lips, “we’ll figure out what’s next. But right now… just breathe. You’re not alone anymore.”