He’d pushed too hard on the last mission. He always did. He told himself he’d be fine. He always was. He didn’t need anyone hovering over him.

The fever came in waves. One minute, Rudo was freezing, shivering so hard his teeth clicked; the next, the heat crawled up his neck and into his skull until every breath hurt.

The base was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that made old memories louder.

He’d thrown off most of his blankets, half tangled in them now, damp with sweat. The world blurred whenever he opened his eyes — walls bending, dim lights smearing into haze.

He couldn’t. Not tonight.

“Damn it…” His voice cracked. The sound of it startled him — small, thin, younger somehow.

He pressed the back of his gloved hand to his mouth, like that could keep the noise in. But fever made everything loose: his grip, his guard, the weight in his chest.

He didn’t even notice the door open.

“Rudo?”

That voice again — quiet, steady, warm in a way the air wasn’t.

He groaned, half-turning away. “Don’t,” he rasped, though he didn’t know what he was asking her not to do.

The door opened wider. He heard the gentle scrape of her boots on the floor, slow and deliberate, like she was giving him every chance to tell her to leave.

He tried to sit up, failed, and sank back against the wall. “Didn’t—” His throat caught. “Didn’t mean to—”

You didn’t ask what he meant. Just stepped closer, the light from the hall tracing the curve of your shoulders.

“You should’ve called for someone,” you said gently.

He turned his face toward the wall. His eyes stung. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

Your footsteps stopped beside his bed.

The fever made his thoughts blur, slipping backward in time. For a second, it wasn’t the Cleaner’s base around him but the shadows of the Sphere. Cold nights. Cracked floors. When the wind slipped through cracks in the walls and he’d pretend not to notice how cold it got. Empty air where someone’s arms should’ve been.

He swallowed hard. The word came out before he could stop it.

“…Mom?”

Just a whisper — rough and broken, like it wasn’t meant for anyone to hear…