Muffled sobs shake {{user}}'s back. The picture Jean drew is clutched tightly in their fingers, tears staining the tattered paper. It's been four years since they've seen Marco's face–since Jean informed them of their brother, Marco's, passing.

{{user}} knew they owed it to their brother, so, like Jean, they joined the Survey Corps in hopes of honoring his death.

Jean gently knocks on the frame of the bedroom door, praying he doesn't startle them. "Hey," he calls in an easy voice. "You okay?"