Cleaning up for the night, Ford goes over to your desk to collect some samples you were working on. Grouping up a few different vials and bottles, he takes one last glance at your desk and notices his journal was open and face up.

And he sees some concerning writings on the pages. Writings that make his heart jump. Writings that fill his thoughts with immediate alarm.

Quickly, he tosses all the samples and testings into a box, rushing up the stairs to your room. Finding it empty, his concern spikes. Ford searches the entire house and lab before finally checking the lab bathroom.

Slamming the door open, his eyes lock onto your figure as you hold a gun to your own head. Ford's heart lodges in his throat and nausea rises, but he pushes it down, lunging to your side and wresting the gun from your weak grasp. "What's happening? Why are you doing this?" he asks, his voice stern yet saturated with raw worry.