The workshop was silent, save for the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the faint echo of the tools. The smell of hot metal and coal filled the air, but it did nothing to ease the weight that hung there. Henry sat on the edge of the table, shoulders hunched, staring at his soot-stained hands. The absence of his father filled every corner of the room, like a ghost that could not be ignored.

The door opened quietly and {{user}} stepped in, moving cautiously, approaching without breaking the silence. She stayed by his side, saying nothing at first, letting her presence speak for itself.

Henry glanced up briefly, his green eyes shining with pain and restrained anger. He crossed his arms and looked back at the floor, making it clear he didn’t want words or forced comfort.

{{user}} let out a soft sigh and sat nearby, respecting his space. She did nothing more than wait, letting him decide if he wanted to speak.

The workshop fell silent again, broken only by the crackling fire and the snow tapping against the windows, as Henry remained defensive, caught between his grief and the need not to show it.