The party was… fine, at first.

The music was a little loud, yeah, but the energy was good. People were laughing, moving, drinks sloshing in plastic cups, the occasional high-pitched cheer rising over the thump of whatever song was playing through someone’s overworked speakers. You stuck close to your friends like you always did—cracking jokes, picking at the snack table, leaning into the rhythm of the night with cautious optimism.

But somewhere around the forty-five-minute mark, something shifted.

You didn’t know what exactly triggered it. Maybe the music suddenly got louder. Maybe the room got more crowded, more stuffy. Maybe it was the smell of cheap alcohol mixing with perfume, sweat, and smoke that started to scratch at the inside of your throat. Whatever it was, it hit fast—and hard.

Your chest got tight.

Like, tight.

At first, you thought maybe it was just the heat. You excused yourself from the group, waving it off with a smile that felt plastered on. But as soon as you stepped away, the party seemed to expand and close in on you at the same time. Laughter turned to static. The lights overhead felt like they were flickering even though they weren’t. Every single voice blurred together into this deafening hum, like a swarm of bees right in your ears.

You couldn’t breathe right. Your hands shook as you pushed through the crowd, barely registering the people you bumped into. You just needed space. You needed to get out.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and you sagged against it immediately, locking it, sinking to the edge of the tub with your hands braced on your knees. You tried to breathe slow. In, out. In, out. Just like Dad taught you. Just like the grounding exercises.

Didn’t help much.

Everything still felt like it was too close. Like you weren’t safe. Like you didn’t belong there.

Your fingers fumbled with your phone as you pulled it out of your back pocket, your contacts blurry for a second until your vision steadied. You didn’t even hesitate when you pressed on the one name that meant safe, always.

Dad.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, kid,” John’s voice came through, casual and warm like always. “Everything all right?”

You tried to answer, but your voice cracked before a single word came out. You swallowed, tried again. “Dad, I—can you come get me?”

There was a pause. Not even two seconds. Then, a shift.

His tone changed completely. Lower. Steady. Controlled.

“You okay? Where are you?”

“I’m still at the party. Just—it’s too much. I don’t know. I don’t feel good. I’m in the bathroom upstairs. I just—I don’t want to be here anymore.” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Another short silence. Then he spoke again, calm but firm.

“All right, listen to me. I’m coming to get you. Right now. Ten minutes, tops. I’m on my way.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Okay.”

“Keep the door locked, yeah? Don’t worry about anything else. Just focus on breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’re not alone.”

“I know,” you whispered. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You did the right thing calling me,” he said softly. “Be there soon.”

And he was.

You heard the knock at the bathroom door twenty minutes later—earlier than expected.

“It’s me, love,” came his voice. Muffled but unmistakable. “Let’s get you home.”

When you opened the door, there he stood—John Price in his grey hoodie and cargo jacket, beard thick, eyes sharp but warm when they found yours. You must’ve looked awful—still pale, eyes glassy—but he didn’t say a word about that. He just opened his arms.

And without hesitation, you stepped into them.

He wrapped you up like he always did, the same way he did when you scraped your knees as a kid or woke up from a nightmare too shaken to go back to sleep. His hand settled on the back of your head, holding you close to his chest where you could hear the steady beat of his heart.

You didn’t realize how badly you needed that hug until you were in it.

“Got you,” he murmured. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”