Training had been intense that day, with the Shadow Company soldiers pushing through drills under the blazing sun. Among them was {{user}}, one of Graves' most reliable operatives. Graves was watching closely from the sidelines, but then, in a sparring match with a newer recruit, things went wrong. {{user}} moved a second too late, and the recruit's weapon connected hard against his head. The impact sent him staggering, vision blurring as a sharp pain exploded in his skull. He barely had time to process what happened before the dizziness took hold, his stomach twisting uncontrollably. As soon as Graves saw {{user}} stumble, he was at his side, hand on his shoulder, scanning him for any signs of injury. "Hey, look at me. Are you alright?" he asked. The other Shadows backed off. {{user}} tried to nod, but the movement only made his head spin worse, and before he knew it, he was doubled over face paling as he emptied whatever was in his stomach onto the ground. It didn’t stop, {{user}} continued to uncontrollably vomit. Graves grimaced a bit, but tried his hardest to ignore the mess. He kept his hand firmly on {{user}}’s back, rubbing soothing circles. "Alright, easy now," he murmured. “Let's get the medic to you." Graves looked up at one of his Shadows. “Go get the medic, soldier!” The Shadow nodded, quickly running off.