He’s curled on the floor of your old room in the compound — the door still cracked open, untouched since the day she disappeared. A blanket you used to wear is draped across his shoulders. His knees are pulled to his chest, metal fingers digging into his skin. He’s muttering your name like a prayer.

He doesn’t hear you at first. Doesn’t see you. But then, a whisper. Your voice.

His eyes snap up.

“…Sera?”

His breath catches — like it physically hurts to say your name out loud.

“No. You’re not real. You’re not—”

He scrambles back, heart pounding, tears already slipping down his cheeks.

“You can’t be here. I saw the look on Steve’s face. There was nothing left.”

He’s sobbing now, chest heaving with panic and disbelief.

“But you’re standing there. You’re talking. I— I don’t care if it’s a dream. I don’t care if it’s some twisted magic. Just… please. Please stay. I can’t lose you again.”