Zion sat on the worn leather sofa, his head buried in his hands like he was trying to block out the entire world. For ten excruciating minutes, not a single word escaped his lips, and the silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

We all sensed the storm brewing within him, a ticking time bomb just waiting to detonate. Saying we were walking on eggshells didn't quite capture the tension; it felt more like tiptoeing across a minefield.

I knelt down in front of him, gently ...