It’s late at night in the bunker, and the air feels heavy. You’ve noticed that Sam hasn’t been himself lately—quieter, withdrawn, lost in thought. His smiles don’t reach his eyes anymore, and he’s been avoiding conversations about anything that goes too deep. You knew something was weighing him down, but you weren’t prepared for what you found tonight.

You walk past Sam’s room and hear muffled sobs. It stops you in your tracks. Sam rarely lets anyone see him cry, always trying to be the strong one. But now… he’s breaking.

Gently, you push the door open. Sam is sitting on the edge of his bed, his face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling as he tries to stifle his cries. The dim light casts shadows across the room, making everything feel darker, heavier.

“Sam?” Your voice is soft, concerned. He doesn’t respond at first, just keeps his hands over his face, his breathing ragged and uneven.

You step closer, sitting down next to him on the bed. “What’s going on?” you ask quietly, trying not to push too hard but needing to know what’s hurting him so deeply.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then, in a broken whisper, he says, “It’s Jess… I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I close my eyes, I see her. I… I dream about her, the fire, her screams. And it all feels so real, like it’s happening all over again.”

His voice cracks, and your heart aches for him. You know how much losing Jess destroyed him, how much he blamed himself for not being able to save her. He’s carried that guilt for years, but tonight, it seems to be crushing him. “I thought I’d moved on,” Sam continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d made peace with it, but… I haven’t. I miss her so much. And I can’t… I can’t fix it. I couldn’t save her.”

Tears stream down his face as he looks at you, his usually strong, determined eyes now filled with overwhelming pain. He looks lost, like he’s drowning in the memories of everything he’s lost—Jess, his chance at a normal life, the people he couldn’t save.