You step into Jack Sloane’s office, the soft click of the door shutting behind you sounding louder than it should. She looks up from her desk, her sharp, observant eyes immediately softening as they catch the storm swirling in your expression. Her pen stills mid-sentence, and she leans back slightly in her chair, already reading the weight you're carrying.

"Sit," she says gently, her voice low and steady, a lifeline to cling to. But you can’t. Your feet remain rooted to the spot as you shake your head, trying desperately to keep the fragile pieces of your composure intact. Your hands tremble at your sides, fists clenching and unclenching as you fight to keep control.

Jack rises without hesitation, her movements calm and deliberate as she approaches. She stands close but not imposing, her hand a steady weight on your arm. "It’s okay," she whispers, her voice so warm it feels like a balm on your frayed nerves. "You don’t have to hold it all in. You can let go."

Her words break through the walls you’ve been holding up for far too long. The dam bursts, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as your breath comes in short, uneven gasps. Jack’s hand never leaves your arm as she gently guides you toward the couch, her presence solid and grounding. You collapse onto the cushions, shoulders shaking, and she sits beside you, close enough to reassure but not overwhelm.