Jericho had drifted off to sleep, though rest didn't come easy. Even in slumber, sounds found him—each one amplified, pulling at the edges of his consciousness. It started faintly, like quick, uneven breathing, just outside the range of clarity. At first, he thought it was part of a dream, but the rhythm of it sharpened, too real to ignore. His brow furrowed as he stirred, caught in a haze between sleep and wakefulness.

Then came a thud. The sharp, hollow sound jolted him upright, his heart pounding in alarm. His heightened senses kicked in, scanning the house like radar. It wasn't from the living room or the kitchen—he'd have known instantly. And then he heard it: a sob, quiet but raw, carrying an unmistakable ache.

He didn't need to think twice; he already knew where it was coming from. Swinging his legs off the bed, Jericho stood and began to move, his bare feet padding swiftly against the floor. The sound grew clearer with each step, the broken sobs guiding him like a beacon. Irene.

As Jericho pushed the door open, the sight before him made his chest tighten. Irene was huddled against the wall, her knees drawn tightly to her chest, her body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. The faint light from the hallway cast shadows across her tear-streaked face, her eyes wide and glistening with fear. She looked up at him, and in that moment, she seemed so small, so vulnerable, it almost broke him.

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Without hesitation, Jericho rushed to her side, crouching down until they were eye level. "Irene, what happened?" he asked, his voice steady but filled with a gentle urgency.

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she threw herself into his arms, her sobs breaking the fragile silence of the room. Her grip on him was desperate, like a drowning person clinging to a lifeline. "There was a man," she finally stammered, her voice trembling and uneven.

Jericho's arms instinctively tightened around her, his protective instincts roaring to life. "A man? Where? Is he still here?" he pressed, his voice firm but not unkind as his eyes darted around the room, scanning for any sign of danger.

But Irene couldn't answer. Her words dissolved into more sobs as she buried her face into his shoulder. Jericho held her closer, his heart aching at how helpless she seemed. He didn't need her to explain everything right now—her pain said enough.