You sat in the conference room long after everyone else had gone, staring at your hands.

Rossi stood in the doorway, watching for a second before stepping in.

"You’ve got that look."

"What look?" you asked.

"The one I used to have in the mirror. The one that says, ‘I can’t keep pretending I’m okay."

You looked down again.

He sat across from you.

"You don’t have to talk. Just don’t carry it alone."

And for the first time in a while, you let yourself lean into the quiet.