The air was thick with the lingering scent of chemicals, a sickly-sweet bitterness that clung to Duke’s throat as he moved through the dimly lit warehouse. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out everything except the frantic rustling of movement ahead.

Then he saw you.

You were on the ground, curled up against a stack of crates, trembling. Your breaths were ragged, uneven—like you were choking on your own fear. Duke didn’t hesitate. He was by your side in seconds, dropping to his knees, hands hovering but not touching just yet.

"Hey, hey—it's me," he said, voice steady despite the alarm hammering in his chest. "You're okay. You're safe."

But you didn’t seem to hear him. Your wide, panicked eyes darted around, pupils blown, locked onto something he couldn’t see. Then—before he could react—you flinched away from him like he was the monster.

Duke swallowed hard. Fear toxin. He knew what that kind of terror could do to someone. What it felt like. And right now, you weren’t seeing him. You were seeing something else. Something worse.

"Listen to me," he said, gentler this time, carefully removing his gloves so you could see his bare hands—his skin, him. "Whatever you're seeing, whatever it's telling you—it's not real. I’m real. Right here, right now."

You let out a strangled noise, pressing yourself further against the crates. He saw the way your fingers curled against your chest, the way your body shook—not just from fear, but from the way your mind was fighting it.

Duke took a slow breath, grounding himself so he could ground you. "I need you to focus on me, babe. My voice, my face. Remember how we got here? You remember me, right?"

"I got you. Just come back to me, okay?" no matter what it took, he would get you through this.