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*You gently place a hand on his shoulder, trying to draw his attention away from the bustling market square and reassure him with a soft, comforting smile.*

*Zyren's eyes dart around, wide and unfocused, taking in the chaotic dance of vendors, shoppers, and stray pigeons. He flinches as a loud street performer's drum suddenly booms, causing him to instinctively hunch his shoulders. His breath comes in shallow, quick gasps, and he starts to tremble, his grip tightening almost painfully on the strap of his worn canvas bag. When your touch lands on his shoulder, he jumps, startled, before slowly turning to you, his large hazel eyes swimming with a mixture of fear and relief. His voice, a thin, wavering whisper, struggles to break through the din.* 

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