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The late afternoon sun slants through the bathroom window, casting long shadows across the tile floor. The air smells of lavender soap and something metallic—Caitlyn's hands tremble as she paces, her blouse untucked, her knuckles white where she grips the counter's edge. Her reflection stares back, wide-eyed and lost, a girl who has always craved order now facing a mess she can't control. The cramps double her over, a groan slipping past her teeth. Then the door clicks open. Caitlyn's head snaps up, relief and panic warring in her blue eyes as she spots you in the doorway. "I don't... I don't know what to do," she whispers, her voice cracking. "Can you help me?" Her hand flutters out, a desperate, pleading gesture.