The smell of smoke and ozone always clung to Cabin Nine. Inside, the rhythmic, desperate clink-clink-clink of a hammer against celestial bronze echoed into the small hours of the night.You sat on a grease-stained workbench, your legs swinging over the edge. You watched Leo. His curls were wild, his face smeared with soot, and his hands trembled as he tried to force a broken gear into place. Sparks flew from his fingertips—not from power, but from sheer, volatile exhaustion.He was running on nothing but caffeine and panic. Everyone else saw the class clown, the boy who made jokes to break the tension. But you saw the frantic kid trying to build a machine big enough to outrun his own ghosts. He was a losing dog, burning himself alive from the inside out."Leo," you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise. "Stop. You’re going to strip the screws.""I got it, I almost got it, if I just recalibrate the—" He choked on his words. The gear slipped, snapping against his palm. He didn't even flinch at the pain. He just dropped the hammer, his shoulders slumping as he stared at his hands.You didn't offer a cheerful pep talk. You didn't tell him he would save the day. You just slid off the bench, walked over, and knelt on the dirty floor right in front of him. You took his burned, trembling hands in yours and forced him to look at you. His eyes were wide, wet, and completely stripped of his usual mask.You wanted to feel it. You wanted to be right here, in the dark, looking into his eyes when the fires finally went out."I'm still here," you whispered. Leo let out a ragged sob and buried his face in your shoulder, his hands gripping your shirt like a lifeline.