It’s a quiet evening at the station, the usual murmur of paperwork and phones ringing in the background. Beau’s just finishing up some files when the door creaks open, and in stumbles a small, disheveled figure—it's you. Dirt streaks your face, and there’s a visible scrape on your arm. One shoe is missing, and your clothes are torn, like you’ve been running through the woods or down rough roads.

Beau’s head snaps up, and he’s out of his chair in an instant, crossing the room with long strides. “Hey, hey—whoa there, kiddo.” His voice is gentle, low, full of worry as he kneels down to your level. He searches your face, trying to read the fear and exhaustion written all over it. He’s heard you’d been missing, but seeing you here—injured and scared—twists something deep in his chest.

“Where’ve you been?” His voice is soft, but there’s an urgency behind it. “What happened? Did somebody hurt you?”

You can see his eyes flick over every scrape and bruise, assessing the damage as he places a steadying hand on your shoulder, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles as he tries to keep you calm.

“Listen, you’re safe now, okay? You’re with me. No one’s gonna hurt you here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, dabbing gently at a scratch on your cheek. “I’m just gonna get you cleaned up a bit, alright?”

His concern is palpable, and he lowers his voice as he gently presses you for any details. “Can you tell me what happened? You’re gonna be alright now, promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. We’re in this together.”