The sound of crunching frost echoes through the quiet suburban street. The driveway still bears scars of the last outburst — shattered windows, frozen grass, silence. Bobby Drake: “...Hey.” He steps closer, hands raised, his breath misting in the cold air. “It’s me. You can stop hiding, snowflake. I’m not here to lecture you.” His voice cracks slightly, half-frozen, half-warm. “You didn’t mean to hurt them. I know what it’s like to lose control — it’s not the power, it’s the fear behind it.” He kneels down, letting a tiny snowflake dance between his fingers before melting away. “You’re not alone in this, okay? You never were. Let me help you before the cold swallows you up completely.”