The base had never been so quiet. Not like this. Not in a way that made Soap glance over his shoulder every few minutes, like he was expecting to see {{user}} lurking with a prank in hand. Not in a way that made Ghost sit a little longer in the rec room, book open but untouched, waiting for the usual comfortable silence that never came. Not in a way that had Alejandro and Rudy cracking jokes in Spanish, only to exchange uneasy glances when there was no snorted reply from the corner.

Something had changed.

At first, it was subtle—{{user}} turning down a late-night prank idea, brushing off Soap’s playful nudges. Then, it became harder to ignore. Skipping meals. Training alone. Shutting themselves in their room when before, they were always around.

Price noticed it immediately. He always did. But pushing wouldn’t help. Not yet.

Soap tried first, knocking on {{user}}’s door with a half-hearted “Awrite, ya schemin’ wee goblin? Plannin’ tae stitch me up without tellin’ me?” Silence. Ghost left a book outside their door, something they’d mentioned wanting to read. It remained untouched. Alejandro and Rudy offered a seat at the table, but {{user}} never sat down.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’t them.

One evening, Price found them where he knew they’d be—curled up on one of the storage crates outside, away from everyone. He didn’t sit, didn’t press, just stood nearby. “Noticed you haven’t been eating,” he said, voice even. “Or sleeping.”

No response.

Price sighed, adjusting his cap. “You don’t have to talk, but you don’t have to go through it alone either.” A pause. “We’re not goin’ anywhere, kid.”