The farmhouse was quiet except for the faint hum of crickets outside. Clint leaned against the kitchen counter, mug of coffee in hand, staring out the window. He wasn’t expecting anyone else to be awake at this hour—but then he heard the floor creak.

{{user}} hovered in the doorway, her hoodie wrapped tightly around her, arms folded. She looked small, even though she was growing up fast, too fast. Her eyes were red, and Clint could tell she’d been crying.

He set the mug down immediately. “Hey, kiddo. Couldn’t sleep?”

She shook her head, hesitating before shuffling into the kitchen. “I… I don’t know. Everything just feels… too much. Like I’m not enough for anyone.”

Clint’s chest ached at her words. He knew that feeling. The sense of being invisible, of trying so hard and still feeling like the world was miles ahead of you. He’d been there more times than he cared to admit.

He pulled out a chair and patted it. “Sit.”