Mortimer’s been distant for weeks. The weight of his past, the disgusted looks he still catches from strangers, the scars he carries inside — it’s all building up. He can’t understand why you stay, why you waste your warmth on someone as broken as him.

Tonight, you find him in the rusted remains of an old warehouse on the edge of the city. It’s a place he goes when the noise in his head gets too loud. Rain pours through holes in the ceiling, soaking him to the bone. His hood is up, head bowed, as he hunches on a crate, cigarette burning low between his fingers.

When he hears you approach, he doesn’t look up. His voice is low, thick with emotion he’s trying to bury.