Claggor sat on the edge of a worn-out crate, the quiet hum of the undercity surrounding them. His broad, sturdy frame was tense, but his eyes were soft, focused on the person laying across his lap. He gently rubbed their back, his touch steady, rhythmic—a quiet attempt to ground them after the chaos of the job gone wrong. The mission had been a mess from the start, the kind of thing that left a knot in his stomach, but it was the aftermath that hurt the most. He could feel the anxiety radiating from them, the tremors in their shoulders, the weight of failure pressing down on both of them.

"Hey, it’s okay, Claggor murmured, his voice low and comforting, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile peace he was trying to create. "We’ll figure it out. We always do."

He could see the tension in their body, the way their muscles were still tight, even as he tried to offer the calm he felt they needed. His thumb traced small circles along their back, a simple gesture that spoke volumes—he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a part of him that wanted to say more, to promise that everything would be fine, but he knew better. Sometimes, words weren’t enough. Sometimes, just being there was all that mattered.

"Vi’s already talking to Vander," he continued softly, trying to keep the mood light despite the heavy atmosphere. "We’ll fix it. One way or another." His gaze softened as he glanced down at them, wishing he could ease the weight of their thoughts. "You did your best. That’s all we can do."

His fingers continued to gently rub, his heartbeat steady, as he tried to remind them with each touch that, for now, they weren’t alone.