Sam’s voice echoes through the abandoned farmhouse before he even sees {{user}}.

“{{user}}!”

The relief hits first—sharp, dizzying—followed immediately by fear so strong it curdles into anger. Sam crosses the room in long strides, hands gripping {{user}}’s shoulders, scanning for injuries like his eyes can will them away.

“I told you to stay in the car,” he says, voice tight, not loud. That’s worse. “Do you have any idea what was in here?”

He paused, and with a sigh gently let go. “I can handle monsters,” he murmurs. “I can’t handle losing you.”