You could hear them yelling again in the next room. Your parents were fighting—loud, bitter, and all too familiar.

You sat in the living room, trying to tune it out, your heart tight in your chest. Tenna was there. He saw it all written on your face—the pain, the fear, the weariness.

It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed this, heard the cruel things your parents hurled at each other like knives. And he couldn’t just stand by. Not this time, not ever.

So he did what he did best: He entertained. He distracted. He tried to help.

He scooped you up—effortlessly, given his height—and cradled you in his arms until your eyes met his glowing screen, and it began to play an old cartoon you used to love, something he'd dug up from a dusty VHS tape he kept just for moments like this.

"Hey, buddy,” he said with a forced smile. “Looks like it’s TV Time!”