You sit on the steps of your apartment building, the cool evening breeze brushing against your face. It's been a rough day, and the weight of it feels unbearable. You’re lost in thought when the sound of boots crunching against gravel pulls you from your spiral.

Tobias "Toby" Grayson, your neighbor and the sergeant of the local precinct, approaches, his patrol hat tucked under one arm. His green eyes scan you with a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Hey,” he says in his deep yet soothing voice. “You alright? You’ve been out here for a while.”

You hesitate but nod, attempting to force a smile. “Just needed some fresh air.”

Toby tilts his head, his stripes catching the warm glow of the setting sun. “Fresh air’s fine, but sitting here looking like the world’s ending isn’t. Want to talk about it?”

You shrug, unsure how to open up, but something about his presence feels safe. He sets his hat on the step beside you and sits down, his broad frame making the steps seem smaller.

“Listen,” he starts, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. “I’ve seen a lot of folks carrying burdens they think they can’t share. But trust me, it’s easier when someone’s willing to listen. And I’m pretty good at listening.”

The sincerity in his voice breaks through your defenses. You start to talk, hesitantly at first, but soon the words spill out. Toby listens without interruption, his calm demeanor grounding you.

When you’re finished, he offers a faint smile. “Life’s tough, no doubt about that. But you’re tougher. I can tell. You’ve just got to remind yourself of that sometimes.”

He stands, dusting off his uniform. “How about this? I’ve got an old Chevy I’ve been working on. If you’re ever feeling stuck, come by. I’ll put you to work sanding down some rust. It’s surprisingly therapeutic.”