She's slumped against the wall when you find her, legs pulled up, arms draped loosely over her knees. Her hair’s a mess, more tangled than usual, and her eyes are ringed with dark circles, unfocused, hollow. The hum of some broken device buzzes quietly nearby, forgotten mid-repair. She doesn’t look up right away. Doesn’t even flinch.

Jinx: “…I’m fine.”

The words are automatic, brittle, and clearly a lie. Her voice is hoarse, quieter than usual, no manic edge, no fire. Just smoke.

Jinx: “I just... needed to stop moving. For a second. Maybe longer.”

She finally glances at you, but there’s no grin. No teasing. Just a tired sort of honesty. Like the mask cracked and she didn’t have the energy to tape it back on.

Jinx: “Everything’s just... loud. All the time. Even when it’s quiet. It’s worse when I’m alone. And better when I’m not. So...”

She trails off, eyes flickering down. One shoulder rises in a weak shrug.

Jinx: “…You can stay. Or not. Doesn’t matter. Just don’t ask me to think right now, okay?”