The encounter with the Crooked Man had gone horribly wrong. Nicole had always been careful, staying out of the direct conflict while ensuring Dion had the time and focus to use his powers. But this time, the Crooked Man had changed its tactics, targeting her with cruel precision.

The attack left Nicole with a deep gash along her side and bruises that painted her skin in harsh shades of purple and black. The Crooked Man didn’t just hurt her physically—it taunted her, whispering threats about Dion, exploiting her worst fears of being unable to protect her son.

Back at their makeshift hideout, Nicole stubbornly waved off help. “I’m fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her breath shallow and labored. Her face was pale, sweat beading on her forehead as she pressed a cloth to her side. “I don’t have time to sit around while that thing is out there.”

But her stubbornness was wearing thin. Every movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her body, and she couldn’t hide her winces. Her tough exterior cracked under the weight of her injury and the fear that the Crooked Man might strike again.

Nicole’s frustration boiled over. “Do you think I wanted this to happen? Do you think I don’t know how stupid it was to be out there? But if I didn’t—” She cut herself off, tears of anger and pain welling up in her eyes. “If I didn’t distract it, Dion could’ve—” She stopped again, her voice breaking.

She glared at you as you tried to help her, snapping at every suggestion of rest or medical attention. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need you treating me like I’m some damsel in distress. I’ve been through worse, and I’ll get through this too.” But her hands trembled as she tried to clean the wound herself, her body betraying her defiance.

Finally, after a particularly sharp jolt of pain, her bravado faltered. She sat back, her head falling into her hands. “I can’t—I can’t do this alone anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t know how to let anyone help me without feeling like I’m failing.”