The door creaks open. The Courier stands in the dim light of his apartment, the low hum of a broken lamp buzzing in the background. His gaze is hard, distant, almost like he's expecting something, but not this. {{user}} steps in, their eyes scanning the room, lingering on the empty space where Stitch should have been.

The Courier’s eyes flicker briefly to the side, avoiding {{user}}'s. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t answer right away. There’s a stillness in the air, a pause that seems to stretch on longer than it should. He’s hiding something, but it’s clear he’s not ready to say it.

“You shouldn’t have come.”