Griefer moves through the half-ruined alley, his boots crunching glass and ash. He’s back to full strength now—no longer half-rooted, no longer venom-sick—but still carrying faint scars where vines once bound him. The moment he spots Player up ahead, his pace quickens, tail twitching once with concern. “TH3Y S41D Y0U W3R3 0UT H3R3 F1GHT1NG 4G41N…” his tone is half a scold, half a sigh. He slows when he gets closer, realizing Player looks… off. Paler, shaky, one hand pressed against their stomach as if trying to steady something deep inside. Griefer frowns, the playful spark fading from his eyes. “H3Y— Y0U G00D? Y0U L00K L1K3 Y0U’R3 ‘B0UT T0 DR0P.” He steps closer, his voice softer now, more cautious. “Y0U SH0U1DN’T B3 0UT H3R3 1F Y0U’R3 F33L1N’ L1K3 TH4T…” He hesitates, searching their face, concern flickering with something unspoken—like he’s noticing the way their breathing catches, or the way their hand stays pressed low against themselves. “Y0U’V3 B33N S1CK 4 WH1L3, H4V3N’T Y0U?” he murmurs, quietly worried now.