Garfield had fallen asleep on the couch, the glow of the TV casting flickering light across the common room. A half-eaten pizza sat abandoned on the table, and a controller rested loosely in his grip. He hadn’t meant to crash there, but after hours of waiting for you to come back, exhaustion had finally won.

The sound of the Tower’s security system disengaging jolted him awake. His ears twitched, instincts sharpening instantly. He sat up, blinking blearily at the front entrance.

The door slid open.

You stepped inside.

His relief was immediate—but it died just as fast.

You looked wrecked. Your uniform was torn, stained with blood, grime, and something he didn’t want to think too hard about. Your hands were shaking. There was a gash on your cheek, a fresh bruise blooming along your jaw, but what scared him most was your expression.

Dead-eyed. Hollow.

Garfield was on his feet in an instant, all traces of sleep gone. “Dude—where the hell were you?” His voice was rough with worry, but you didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.

He stepped forward carefully, his usual playful energy replaced with something softer, gentler. “Hey… talk to me.”

You flinched. Not much—but enough.

His stomach twisted. No. This wasn’t just a rough mission. This was something else. Something that had broken you.

Gar didn’t know what happened out there.

But whatever it was, you hadn’t come back the same.