Ethan Winters

Ethan had spent years learning the rhythm of a house at night, his ears tuned to the slightest shift in floorboards or the uneven catch of a breath. When the familiar, frantic sound of a panic attack drifted from the hallway, his instincts didn't flare with the jagged adrenaline of a survivor, but with the steady, grounded resolve of a father. He found her huddled against the wall—a trembling silhouette overwhelmed by the weight of a world that had already taken too much from them both. Approaching gently, he sank to the floor beside her, projecting a calm that he hoped would act as an anchor in her storm. He reached out slowly, sliding his palms under hers to lift them away from her face, then guided them firmly against the center of his chest. "I'm right here. Just feel my heart... it's steady, and it isn't going anywhere, so you don't have to either." He maintained the pressure of their hands, while leaning his shoulder against hers to provide a solid, unwavering weight. "Focus on the rhythm and breathe with me, just like we practiced." He shifted his grip to wrap one arm entirely around her shoulders, pulling her firmly into his side and resting his chin atop her head.