Sam sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly as though holding on for dear life. The room was dimly lit, the walls sterile and oppressive. The hum of the fluorescent lights above grated against his frayed nerves. He wanted to run, to escape the weight pressing down on his chest—but there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere his mind hadn’t already betrayed him.

His knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, eyes fixed on the floor. Images flickered through his mind: demons, blood, the faces of those he had lost. His breath hitched, and he fought the rising tide of panic clawing at his throat. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to keep it together for everyone else. But here he was, falling apart.

"Sam." Her voice cut through the fog in his mind, gentle but insistent. He didn't look up, afraid that if he did, she'd see everything—his fear, his guilt, his complete unraveling.

She knelt in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence. Her hands hovered near his, hesitant. "Sam, you're not alone in this."

His jaw tightened. "You don’t get it," he said hoarsely. "No one does."

"I’m trying to," she said softly. "Let me try."

The vulnerability in her voice cracked something inside him. He had spent so long holding it all in, convinced that letting anyone see his weakness would only make things worse. But right now, in this suffocating room with walls that felt like they were closing in, her presence was the only thing grounding him.

"I can't turn it off," he admitted, his voice breaking. "The noise in my head... it never stops."