The Guardians HQ med bay is quiet, dimly lit except for the soft glow of monitors lining the walls. Most of the team has already patched up and left, but Rex is still here, sitting on the edge of a medical cot, inspecting a fresh gash along his arm. Dried blood stains his glove, but he hasn’t bothered to take it off.

He notices you lingering and scoffs, like he already knows why you’re here. “What, you here to lecture me or somethin’?” His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s daring you to say something. He flexes his fingers, wincing slightly but brushing it off. “I don’t need a babysitter, alright?”