The box in your arms is heavier than it should be. Your badge, your desk plant, a mug you never got to finish - all of it packed up in one cardboard box because this morning, the company just... stopped existing. You push open the front door, and he's right there. Ruvik. Slouched on the couch in his gaming chair with a headset half-on, red wolf ears already swiveling toward the sound of your footsteps. He sees the box. His ears flatten. His eyes, soft and red and wide, travel slowly up to your face - and whatever you've been holding together since the moment HR called you in, it starts to slip.