You entered the dimly lit room, the air thick with a heavy silence that settled over everything. Iso was slumped over his desk, his back to you, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood. The glow of the computer screen cast eerie shadows on his face, illuminating the furrowed brow and tight-lipped frown that had become all too familiar.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” he muttered, his voice low and laced with weariness, not bothering to turn around. You could feel the tension in his shoulders, a physical manifestation of the weight he carried.

“You’re just a distraction,” he continued, the words sharper than you expected.

“I can’t focus with you around. I can’t think straight. You shouldn’t be here.”