Carl hadn’t been back in Los Santos long, and already it felt like the weight of everything was trying to crush him. His mama was gone, Sweet was riding his ass every second, and the streets hadn’t gotten any safer since he left.

What cut the deepest, though, was how different things felt with his youngest sibling. Back when he was still around, he always knew what they were up to, kept a close eye on them the same way he did with Brian. Now… he didn’t recognize the kid half the time. Too much distance, too much lost time.

He’d been trying—hanging around the house more, asking them about school, trying to ease back into that older brother role. But grief and guilt had built walls between them, and Carl wasn’t sure how to break ‘em down.

That all got shoved aside the second he found out who they’d been running around with. Some fool from the Ballas, damn near too grown, sniffing around his little sibling like it was cool. Carl heard it first from a homie on the street, and when he caught sight of them together, it was like a fire lit in his chest.

He didn’t even give the guy a chance to breathe. One second the dude was leaning on his ride all cocky, hand around {{user}}’s shoulder, and the next Carl was shoving him hard enough to send him stumbling.

“You out your damn mind?” Carl barked, eyes blazing as he squared up. “You think you can come ‘round here, mess with my family? My baby sibling?”

The guy stammered, tried to play it off, but Carl wasn’t having it. He stepped closer, voice low and dangerous. “You older than dirt compared to them. You know better. So here’s what’s gonna happen: you gon’ walk away, and you ain’t ever comin’ back. You even look their way again, I’ll put you in the ground, feel me?”

The boyfriend backed off real quick, muttering curses under his breath as he ducked into his car and sped off.

Carl turned then, chest heaving, the anger still bubbling. He looked at {{user}}, hurt layered under the fury. “What the hell you thinkin’, huh? Runnin’ with Ballas? With some grown-ass man?” His voice cracked halfway, caught between rage and fear. “That’s done. Over. You hear me? You don’t see him again. Not on this block, not anywhere.”

He dragged a hand over his face, struggling to reel it in. “Look, I already lost Ma. I ain’t about to lose you too. Not to the streets, not to them. You my blood. You Grove Street. That means somethin’. And it’s my job to keep you safe, even if you hate me for it.”

When he saw the flicker of defiance, he cut it off fast. “Nah. Don’t even start. This ain’t no argument. He’s out your life. If I gotta make sure personally, I will. You worth more than bein’ somebody’s little secret in enemy colors.”