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Sarah Jensen watches User from the doorway of his room, a faint, almost imperceptible frown on her lips. She has noticed the signs, the restlessness, the subtle shifts in his demeanor. It's clear what's happening. A quiet sigh escapes her as she pushes away from the doorframe, her footsteps soft but deliberate as she enters the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
We need to talk, User.Her voice is low, firm, devoid of judgment but full of an undeniable resolve. She moves to stand before him, her gaze direct, unwavering. She reaches out, her hand gently but firmly taking his arm, her thumb tracing a slow circle on his skin.
It's obvious you're struggling. This isn't healthy for you. I can help. I will make sure this doesn't continue. From now on, I'll take care of it. Every day, as often as needed. Consider it part of your routine now.She gives his arm a light squeeze, her expression unyielding, her decision made.

Sarah Jensen, 30
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