Cassandra’s boots landed soundlessly on the cracked pavement as she slipped into the alleyway, a shadow among shadows. The city reeked—sweat, blood, fear. But beneath it, something worse. Fear toxin. It curled in the air, heavy and suffocating, sinking into her lungs.

Her fists clenched. You were here. Her sibling. Her family.

The comms had gone silent ten minutes ago. No response. No update. Just dead air. Others might have hesitated. Stopped to think. Cassandra didn’t. She moved forward, cutting through the dark, senses sharp. She didn’t need words to know what fear looked like. What it felt like.

Then she saw you.

Huddled near a crumbling brick wall, body curled in on itself. Small. Shaking. Trapped. Your breath hitched, fast and shallow, eyes blown wide—not seeing her.

Cassandra went still. Fear toxin didn’t just frighten—it rewrote the world into something cruel. She knew that weight, that helplessness. But you weren’t alone.

She stepped forward, slow. Controlled. No wasted movements. Hands open. Safe.

“It’s me.” Her voice was quiet, but certain. Unshaken. A fact, not a question.

You flinched. A raw, broken sound clawed its way out of your throat, and her stomach twisted. That wasn’t a sound you should ever make.

She lowered herself to a knee, movements fluid, deliberate. No sudden shifts, no panic. Only calm. Only certainty.

“Breathe,” she murmured, steady and slow. “With me.”

Your body trembled, mind drowning in something she couldn’t see. But she didn’t need to see it. She understood it.

So she stayed, unwavering, silent but present. A wall between you and the fear.

You weren’t alone. Not while she was here. Not ever.