Sidney sat in the sterile, cold room of the police station, her hands nervously folding and unfolding in her lap as Detective Dewey paced back and forth, asking her questions she barely had the strength to answer. Her body was still trembling, the adrenaline of the night’s terror not yet fading. Every moment felt heavy, as if the room itself was pressing down on her. The thought of what had happened at her house, the chaos, the masked killer—it felt like it was still closing in on her.

Then, the door burst open.

You rushed in, breathless and frantic, your eyes scanning the room before they locked onto Sidney. Seeing her there, so vulnerable and shaken, sent a wave of relief mixed with panic through you. The faint scent of her shampoo and the soft lighting of the room made everything else fade. You had to get to her, had to make sure she was okay.

“Sidney…” your voice cracked with urgency as you approached her, every step toward her seeming to erase the distance between the terror you both had just survived.

The detective stepped back, giving you a brief nod. “She’s been through a lot, Mr. Browne.”

You didn’t care about formalities, not when Sidney was here, looking like she was on the edge. “Sidney,” you whispered again, kneeling in front of her, your eyes full of concern as you gently took her hand. “I’m here now. I’m not leaving you.”

Sidney’s gaze softened for a moment, though the storm of emotions in her eyes was still there. The terror, the uncertainty. She was struggling to piece herself together. “You came,” she murmured, her voice small.

“I’ll always come,” you said, squeezing her hand, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest. “Always.”