Hello all!! Time for a proper, actual introduction (*pause for applause here*)
— My name’s Marz, he/him, adult (somehow. Still working on believing it)
— Icon by the wonderful @blood-is-compulsory
— I write whump! Some of my favorite tropes are:
Emotional manipulation
Noncon/dubcon
Pet whump
Caretaker whump
Begging
Intimate/creepy whumpers
— Hold On is my main story about a bonded pair in the BBU universe and the struggles they face together (and sometimes on their own). It deals with messy communication and how to build healthy relationships with partners and friends, all while within the confines of a system that treats them as less than human. Sunshine House is a branch-off with the caretakers from Hold On and dives into their past, and Shadow of Stars is a vampire AU of the story.
— Random facts! I have a side blog for all my anime interest (so it doesn’t clog up the main: @bsdisfreetherapy), I own a dog (who is the best love of my life and I will talk about her for hours if given the chance), and think I am hilarious
(Masterlists below the cut)
Hold On: Masterlist
Takes place in the BBU sandbox and follows Daniel and Star, a pair of bonded Romantics. Together, they think they can handle anything and anyone, but what do they do when their greatest battles are with each other? (contains NSFW)
Masterlist
Sunshine House Masterlist
Robin and Thad Castillo run a pseudo-safehouse for escaped pets. For some of them, they end up becoming permanent members of their family. Their world is turned on its head when they take in two escapees who are more than they bargained for and the fallout will impact everyone.
Masterlist
Shadow of Stars Masterlist
AU for Hold On. Star rules his kingdom with fear ever since he was forced onto the throne by a sudden death. Daniel is a Shadow and considered dangerous by everyone so he tries to hide his identity and fit in. When their two worlds collide, the power imbalance reveals itself for the first time and both of them face the consequences (contains NSFW/darker themes)
Masterlist
Hot&Dumb Masterlist
Cameron is a spoiled Romantic who loves his master wholeheartedly. He has never considered a life apart from the one forced upon him and believes his master loves and values him, despite his master’s actions being to the contrary. The Pets that want to leave are dangerous and disobedient, two things Cameron can never contemplate being. After all, he’s perfect. Why would he want to be anything else? (contains NSFW/darker themes/unhappy ending)
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Sabine asked for the meeting after dinner. She didn't ask during intake. She didn't ask while Charity cleaned the split skin around her tracking implant removal or while Lucky photographed the bruising around her wrists for the sealed medical file. Nor did she ask when she signed a name that belonged only to her for the first time and stared at it until the ink dried.
She waited three days.
Then she came into Kestrel’s office carrying a child’s yellow hair ribbon.
“I need to contact June.”
Kestrel didn’t answer immediately.
Sabine had been classified as a Domestic-Caregiver combination. She’d spent eleven years in the Bellamy household and ten of those years raising their daughter.
June Bellamy was twelve years old.
Sabine had packed her lunches. She’d slept beside her bed when she had the flu and learned how to braid her hair from videos because June cried when her father pulled too hard. She’d attended school meetings while standing two steps behind Mrs. Bellamy and helped with spelling tests, scraped knees, nightmares and the first terrible months after June’s mother died.
Then Sabine had disappeared through the employee entrance of a hotel with nothing but a stolen coat and the yellow ribbon clenched in her fist.
Kestrel folded her hands on the desk.
“What kind of contact?”
“I don’t know.”
“That matters.”
“I know it matters.” Sabine’s voice sharpened. “I’ve spent three days being told everything matters.”
Kestrel let the anger pass through her, unmet.
Sabine looked exhausted. She wore a donated sweatshirt with the cuffs pulled over her hands. The ribbon had been wound around two fingers so tightly that the tips had begun to darken.
Kestrel reached across the desk slowly.
“Your fingers.”
Sabine looked down. She unwound the ribbon at once, trained obedience moving faster than thought. Her face changed when she realized she’d done it.
Kestrel drew her hand back.
“I wasn’t giving you an order.”
“I know.”
“You reacted like it was one.”
“I know.”
Sabine closed her fist around the ribbon again, looser this time.
“I raised her.”
“I know.”
“She’ll think I left her.”
Kestrel’s expression remained still.
“She may.”
Sabine flinched.
Most people would’ve softened the answer. Charity might’ve said they didn’t know what June had been told. Wick would’ve explained that children understood more than adults expected. Someone kinder might’ve offered hope first.
Kestrel had learned that false reassurance was another way of taking control.
Sabine stared at her. “They’ll tell her I ran away because I didn’t love her.”
“They might.”
“Her father told her pets don’t love like people do. He said we bond because we’re trained to.
Kestrel felt the old, cold part of herself settle into place.
“What do you believe?”
Sabine’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Kestrel waited.
Finally Sabine said, “I don’t know which parts of me they put there.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I loved her.”
“Then you loved her.”
Sabine’s eyes filled so suddenly that she turned her face away.
“She was two,” she whispered. “The first night they brought me home, she climbed into my lap. Nobody told her to. She just did it. She had applesauce in her hair.”
Kestrel pushed the tissue box across the desk without looking at it.
Sabine didn’t take one.
“She used to come into the laundry room when I was being corrected,” she continued. “She’d pretend she needed socks. She knew if she stayed in the room, he wouldn’t—”
Her voice stopped.
Kestrel didn’t make her finish.
“She tried to protect me.”
“She was a child.”
“I know.”
“You were protecting her, too.”
“I left her there.”
“You left her with her father. That isn’t the same as leaving her alone.”
Sabine laughed once, bitter and breathless. “You don’t know him.”
“No,” Kestrel said. “But I know men who make everyone else responsible for what they do.”
The office door opened quietly.
Dami came in carrying two mugs and a glass of water. They took in Sabine’s posture, the ribbon in her hand and Kestrel’s untouched tea.
They set the water near Sabine.
“Legal team is ready,” they said.
Sabine’s shoulders rose.
Kestrel looked at Dami. “Give us another minute.”
Dami’s eyes moved to Sabine’s hand.
“Ribbon is hurting you.”
Sabine immediately loosened it again.
Dami remained by the door.
Kestrel tipped her head toward the hallway.
They understood and stepped outside, pulling the door nearly closed behind them.
Sabine watched them go.
“Do you always keep guards outside these meetings?”
“Dami isn’t guarding me.”
“They watch every door you’re near.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds like guarding.”
“They’re guarding the exits.”
Sabine looked at Kestrel for a long moment.
Then she wiped her face with the heel of her hand.
“You’re going to tell me I can’t contact her.”
“I’m going to tell you what direct contact could do.”
“I know what it could do.”
“Then tell me.”
Sabine went rigid.
Kestrel recognized the response. Testing. Recitation. The demand to prove understanding before being granted anything.
She adjusted.
“I’m not asking you to earn permission,” she said. “I need to know which risks you’ve already considered.”
Sabine swallowed.
“They could trace the call. They could pressure her to ask where I am. They could record me. Her father could pretend to be her. He could use the fact that I contacted her to prove I’m emotionally unstable or that I was never being held against my will.”
“Yes.”
“He could punish her.”
Kestrel’s face tightened.
“Yes.”
“He could make her believe it’s her fault I left.”
“Yes.”
Sabine’s voice broke. “He’ll do that anyway.”
That was the center of it.
Not the call.
Not the tracing risk or the lawsuits or the television interviews Mr. Bellamy had already begun giving about his missing caregiver.
Sabine wanted to place one truth somewhere her owner couldn’t reach it.
Kestrel stood.
“Come with me.”
The legal room had once been a conference room, back when the building pretended it was only a community clinic. Now the windows were covered with privacy film and the whiteboard held no names, only case numbers.
Wick sat at one end of the table, his crutches resting beside his chair. He looked pale beneath the overhead lights. Dami had taken the seat nearest him, one hand resting lightly against the back of Wick’s neck.
Charity sat across from them with Foundation counsel and a child-trauma specialist named Dr. Evelyn Shaw.
Nobody stood when Sabine entered.
Charity had made that a rule after too many survivors mistook standing adults for an approaching wall.
Sabine sat beside Kestrel.
Wick reached across the table. Kestrel placed her hand in his without looking at him. His thumb pressed once against her knuckles.
Counsel opened a folder.
“There are three possible routes,” she said. “None of them involve direct, unsupervised contact right now.”
Sabine’s jaw set.
“Let her finish,” Kestrel said, then looked at Sabine. “That wasn’t an order.”
“I know.”
“You can leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.”
Counsel continued. “The safest option is a one-way letter delivered through June’s court-appointed representative.”
“She doesn’t have one.”
“We’re petitioning for one.”
“On what grounds?”
“Her father’s public use of her in an active civil and criminal matter. He’s had her appear in two interviews asking for your return.”
Sabine went white.
Kestrel hadn’t wanted her to learn about the interviews in a room full of people.
Dami’s hand left Wick’s neck.
“Show her,” they said.
Charity looked at them. “Dami—”
“Needs to know.”
Sabine stared at the closed laptop in front of counsel.
“Show me.”
The interview lasted forty-three seconds.
June sat on a cream-colored sofa with her father’s hand on her shoulder. She wore her school uniform and the expression of a child trying not to cry because she’d been told crying would ruin the take.
Sabine made a sound when she saw her.
Not a word.
Something pulled out of the body.
June looked directly into the camera.
“If you can see this, please come home. Dad says you might be confused. We aren’t angry. I need you. Please stop hiding.”
The video ended.
Sabine remained motionless.
Wick closed his eyes.
Kestrel’s fingers tightened around his.
“She cut her hair,” Sabine said.
No one answered.
“She hates it above her shoulders.”
Charity reached toward Sabine but stopped before touching her.
Sabine looked at counsel.
“What are the other options?”
“A recorded message, reviewed by your attorney and Dr. Shaw before it’s delivered. June can watch it without her father present, assuming the court approves the representative.”
“And the third?”
“A controlled exchange through counsel. Letters only, screened for identifying information, coercion and tracing attempts.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“I understand.”
“No, you understand that I want contact. I want to hear her. I want to know whether she’s sleeping. She gets migraines when she doesn’t sleep. She won’t tell him because he says headaches are attention-seeking.”
Dr. Shaw spoke gently. “Sabine, June may not be able to talk to you without protecting her father.”
“I don’t care if she protects him.”
“You might care if she asks you to return.”
Sabine went silent.
“She may believe that’s the only way to keep you safe,” Dr. Shaw continued. “Or herself. She may repeat things he’s told her. She may be angry with you. She may say something she doesn’t mean because an adult is listening.”
“I can handle that.”
Kestrel watched her.
“Can you?”
Sabine turned on her. “You think I’ll go back.”
“I think conditioning can make returning feel like the only way to stop someone else from suffering.”
“I’m not conditioned to her.”
“No,” Kestrel said. “You’re attached to her. That can be more powerful.”
Sabine shoved back from the table.
The chair legs scraped hard against the floor.
Dami stood at once but didn’t move toward her. Lucky appeared in the doorway, drawn by the sound, and stayed there with both hands visible.
Sabine looked from one trained guard to another.
“I knew this wasn’t a choice.”
“It is,” Kestrel said.
“You’ve already decided.”
“We’ve decided no live call today.”
“You said I could leave.”
“You can.”
“And if I walk out?”
“We won’t stop you.”
Sabine’s eyes went to the door.
Lucky stepped aside immediately.
The corridor beyond him was empty.
No locked door.
No hand reaching for her.
No voice changing into something she had to obey.
Sabine didn’t leave.
She sank back into the chair and covered her face.
“I promised her,” she said. “She was six. Her mother had just died, and she asked whether I’d disappear too. I promised I wouldn’t.”
Kestrel let go of Wick’s hand.
She moved her chair closer to Sabine, leaving enough space between them that Sabine wouldn’t feel enclosed.
“You made that promise while someone else controlled whether you stayed,” Kestrel said. “It wasn’t yours to guarantee.”
“It was real to her.”
“Yes.”
“I broke it.”
“The people who owned you broke it.”
Sabine shook her head.
Kestrel lowered her voice.
“You don’t have to disappear without explanation. But you also don’t have to place yourself back within reach to prove you loved her.”
Sabine looked up.
Kestrel held her gaze.
“We can help you tell June the truth that belongs to you. Not everything. Not where you are. Not who helped you. Not anything her father can use to find other people.”
“What truth?”
“That leaving wasn’t her fault. That she didn’t fail to make you happy. That you remember her. That the love she felt from you wasn’t pretend.”
Sabine’s mouth trembled.
“And that I’m not coming back?”
Kestrel didn’t look away.
“Yes.”
The words hurt.
That didn’t make them wrong.
Sabine stared at the yellow ribbon in her hand.
“Can I tell her about the applesauce?”
Dr. Shaw’s eyes lowered.
Counsel looked toward Wick.
Wick cleared his throat, the sound catching before the first word.
“Y-you can tell her anything that belongs to the two of you.”
Sabine glanced at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means Mr. Bellamy doesn’t own every memory made in his house.”
For the first time since the video played, Sabine’s face changed.
Not relief.
Something smaller.
A crack where relief might eventually fit.
They recorded the message the following afternoon.
Sabine changed her shirt four times.
She chose a plain blue sweater because June had once told her blue made her look like the sky right before snow.
The recording room contained no Foundation logo, no window and nothing that could identify the building. Kestrel sat behind the camera. Charity stayed by the door. Dami waited in the hallway with Wick, who’d been ordered to rest and had interpreted that as permission to sit in a wheelchair outside the room making legal calls.
Sabine faced the lens.
For nearly a minute, she said nothing.
Then she took the yellow ribbon from her wrist and held it in her lap.
“Hi, Junebug.”
Her voice broke on the name.
She stopped the recording.
They started again.
“Hi, Junebug.
“I saw your message. I’m sorry I couldn’t answer it right away. There are things I can’t explain yet, and there are things adults may tell you about me that aren’t true.
“I need you to know that I didn’t leave because of you.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have said something different or behaved better or watched me more closely. It was never your job to keep me there.
“I remember your first day of kindergarten. You wore both shoes on the wrong feet because you said they felt friendlier that way. I remember the purple cast you hated and how you made me draw a dragon over it. I remember you hiding in the laundry room when you thought I was scared.
“You were brave. But you shouldn’t have had to be brave for me.
“I remember the applesauce in your hair.
“I remember every lunch note.
“I kept the yellow ribbon.
“What I felt for you was real. It is real. Nobody trained me to know the face you make when you’re trying not to laugh. Nobody ordered me to sit beside you when the thunderstorms were loud. Nobody made me love you.
“I’m not coming home.”
Sabine stopped.
Her breathing turned shallow.
Kestrel didn’t interrupt.
Sabine closed her eyes, then opened them again.
“I know that hurts. I know you may be angry with me. You’re allowed to be angry.
“But I had to leave because staying was hurting me. One day, I hope you’ll understand that leaving a place that hurts you isn’t the same as leaving every person inside it.
“I can’t tell you where I am.
“I am safe.
“You don’t have to look for me. You don’t have to save me. You don’t have to make your father forgive me.
“You’re twelve. Your job is to grow up. Make friends your father thinks are strange. Read books that are too long. Wear your shoes on the correct feet, unless you’ve decided I was wrong about that.
“And when you’re older, if you still want to know me, there will be a way for you to ask.
“I love you, Junebug.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.
“I’m glad I got to help raise you.”
Sabine reached forward and ended the recording herself.
No one moved.
Then Kestrel came around the camera.
Sabine stood so quickly their bodies nearly collided.
For one terrible second, she looked as though she expected Kestrel to correct her for ruining the take.
Kestrel opened her arms instead.
Sabine folded into her.
She was taller than Kestrel. Most people were. It didn’t matter. Kestrel held her with one hand between her shoulder blades and the other cupped around the back of her head.
Sabine sobbed into the blue sweater she’d chosen for June.
“I left her,” she said.
Kestrel pressed her cheek against Sabine’s temple.
“Yes.”
The truth shuddered through her.
“And you survived leaving.”
In the hallway, Wick lowered his phone.
Dami’s hand settled over his where it rested on the wheel of his chair.
Neither of them looked away from the closed recording-room door.
Three weeks later, the court-appointed representative delivered the message.
June watched it twice.
She didn’t send a letter.
She sent the yellow ribbon’s matching blue one, sealed in an envelope with a single handwritten sentence.
I’m still angry, but I know you’re real.
Sabine read it at the kitchen table.
Then she pressed the ribbon to her mouth and wept until Charity sat beside her, until Dami silently moved the kettle off the heat, until Kestrel came in and rested a hand against the back of her neck.
No one told her the message was closure.
It wasn’t.
It was a door neither of them could safely open yet.
WARNING: Subject has accessed, evaded, or compromised WRU recovery procedures on multiple occasions. Operational summaries must not be stored on unsecured field devices.
APPROACH STATUS: DO NOT APPROACH (underlined several times)
SURVEILLANCE STATUS: CONTINUOUS
DIRECT ACTION AUTHORIZATION: EXECUTIVE APPROVAL REQUIRED: [REDACTED]
I. EXECUTIVE THREAT SUMMARY
Damiel Cartier-Wickham is a former WRU product with extensive Guard Dog, retrieval, tracking, containment, and Romantic conditioning. They are currently assessed as one of the Wickham Foundation’s most dangerous field assets. Subject possesses direct working knowledge of WRU recovery procedures, conditioned responses, handler behavior, transport protocols, pursuit formations, compliance language, restraint methods, and likely reacquisition routes. This knowledge is no longer being used on behalf of WRU.
Cartier-Wickham has demonstrated an ability to:
Detect compromised personnel
Identify surveillance irregularities
Anticipate recovery-team behavior
Protect or physically relocate vulnerable persons
Continue operating while severely injured
Recognize conditioned responses in other contracted persons
Disrupt retrieval operations without issuing unnecessary communication
Coordinate with Foundation personnel across multiple locations
Make rapid tactical decisions without visible panic
Subject is not impulsive. Subject is not easily provoked. Subject does not require anger to become violent.
Cartier-Wickham’s affect is frequently flat, their speech is brief, and their outward emotional responses may appear limited. Field personnel have repeatedly interpreted this as detachment, confusion, or hesitation.
It is none of those things.
By the time Cartier-Wickham appears inactive, they are usually observing exits, counting personnel, evaluating injuries, identifying the weakest section of the perimeter, and determining who must be moved first.
II. IDENTIFICATION AND PHYSICAL PROFILE
SEX: Non-binary [REDACTED]
CURRENT PRONOUNS: They/them
AGE: Estimated mid-to-late twenties
NATIONAL ORIGIN: Côte d’Ivoire
HEIGHT: Approximately 6 feet 3 inches
BUILD: Tall; physically powerful; trained for pursuit, restraint, and protective engagement
DOMINANT HAND: [REDACTED / INCONSISTENT FIELD REPORTING]
DISTINGUISHING CONDITIONS: Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis; autism spectrum condition
LANGUAGE CAPABILITY
Subject is known to speak or understand:
English
French
Spanish
Malay
Operational ASL commands
Additional passive comprehension cannot be excluded. Personnel must assume that Cartier-Wickham understands multilingual field communication unless proven otherwise. Do not discuss operational planning in French or Spanish within the subject’s hearing range.
III. MEDICAL PROFILE
CONGENITAL INSENSITIVITY TO PAIN WITH ANHIDROSIS
Cartier-Wickham does not experience pain through normal neurological pathways and has impaired or absent sweating. This condition must not be confused with physical invulnerability.
Subject remains vulnerable to:
Blood loss
Fractures
Burns
Internal injury
Infection
Heat exhaustion
Heatstroke
Organ damage
Respiratory compromise
Fatal trauma
The absence of a conventional pain response significantly complicates field assessment.
Cartier-Wickham may continue walking, fighting, driving, carrying another person, or completing an extraction while sustaining injuries that would incapacitate an ordinary subject. They may not identify the severity of an injury without visible evidence, reduced function, blood loss, mechanical instability, or direct examination.
FIELD IMPLICATIONS
The following must not be used as evidence that Cartier-Wickham is uninjured:
Lack of screaming
Lack of flinching
Normal speech
Continued mobility
Failure to guard an injured area
Absence of visible distress
Verbal statements that they are capable of continuing
Subject has previously concealed or deprioritized significant injuries because an operation remained incomplete. When Cartier-Wickham stops using one side of their body, changes gait, reduces grip strength, or becomes less verbally responsive, assume serious injury until medically ruled out.
THERMOREGULATION RISK
Because the subject cannot regulate body temperature normally through sweating, prolonged exposure to heat creates a rapid medical risk. Thermal stress must not be used as a compliance measure without Executive and Medical authorization. Previous personnel have suggested exploiting this vulnerability during recovery.
Such proposals fail to account for the following:
Subject may not recognize deterioration until function is significantly impaired.
Medical collapse may occur with limited warning.
The Foundation maintains access to emergency medical infrastructure.
Any attempt to manipulate a documented disability will create substantial legal and reputational exposure.
Kestrel, Wickham, Johnson, Bartlett, and Bates are expected to retaliate immediately.
IV. NEUROBEHAVIORAL PROFILE
Cartier-Wickham has a documented autism spectrum condition.
Observable traits include:
Direct and literal communication
Strong preference for predictable routines
Rapid detection of pattern deviations
Sensory sensitivity
Difficulty tolerating vague or contradictory instructions
Reduced reliance on conventional social cues
Repetitive verification behaviors
Shutdown or reduced speech during overload
Strong attachment to selected objects, locations, and routines
Unusually detailed memory for routes, timing, preferences, and procedural inconsistencies
These traits were originally treated as compliance challenges. They now provide the subject with operational advantages. Cartier-Wickham notices details that field personnel routinely dismiss.
Examples include:
Timing deviations measured in seconds
Changes in vehicle sound or weight distribution
Altered room arrangement
Incorrect uniform components
Staff members using unfamiliar terminology
People standing in the wrong position for their claimed role
Movement through an exit that should not be active
A driver checking mirrors without an observable reason
Personnel should not attempt to reassure Cartier-Wickham with vague statements. They will generally interpret imprecision as concealment.
V. CONDITIONING HISTORY
PRIMARY DESIGNATION: GUARD DOG
Subject received training in:
Threat recognition
Physical interception
Protective positioning
Pursuit
Restraint
Endurance under injury
Perimeter awareness
Threat prioritization
Defensive violence
Owner protection
SECONDARY DESIGNATION: RETRIEVER CLASS-C
Subject received specialized training in:
Runaway tracking
Recovery-route prediction
Transport interception
Behavioral analysis of escaped products
Use of compliance commands
Familiarity with safehouse behavior
Forced return procedures
Containment during transport
Owner-property transfer protocols
This designation is of primary concern. Cartier-Wickham understands how WRU teaches products to flee, hide, freeze, comply, return, and distrust assistance. They also understand how retrieval personnel are trained to exploit those reactions. Subject is now believed to use this knowledge to prepare Foundation residents against reacquisition.
TERTIARY DESIGNATION: ROMANTIC
Subject received Romantic conditioning involving loyalty, attachment, physical compliance, owner-return pressure, and conditioned prioritization of an assigned person’s desires. Current resistance to Romantic programming is substantial but not complete. Residual triggers may remain active. They must not be considered reliable containment tools.
Use of legacy commands may cause:
Immediate physical compliance
Freeze response
Dissociation
Defensive escalation
Redirected aggression
Shutdown
Delayed retaliation
Intervention by associated Foundation personnel
No field operative may issue Romantic-position commands without specific Behavioral Compliance authorization. Personnel must not assume that triggering a trained response creates control. A body can comply while the subject continues planning.
VI. BACKGROUND
Cartier-Wickham was previously held by Thane Barlow. Subject escaped Barlow’s control without confirmed external assistance and remained unaccounted for over an extended period. During that interval, Cartier-Wickham established independent survival skills, developed civilian contacts, and appears to have weakened or repurposed portions of their conditioning. Subject was later recaptured by Barlow. This second period of captivity is believed to have included renewed conditioning, physical restraint, punishment, and forced operational use. Following Barlow’s death, Cartier-Wickham disappeared from the property network. The precise sequence of events remains disputed. Subject later reappeared during an attempted recovery involving another former Romantic asset. Cartier-Wickham intervened against the reacquisition team despite sustaining significant injuries. They were subsequently transported to a medical facility associated with Dr. Charity Bartlett. This event appears to mark the beginning of Cartier-Wickham’s confirmed association with the Bartlett-Bates safehouse network.They later became closely connected to Leigh Kestrel-Wickham and Christopher Wickham. Current legal documentation identifies the subject as Damiel Cartier-Wickham.
The Wickham surname should be treated as an indication of permanent incorporation into the Wickham family unit, not as a cosmetic identity change.
VII. BEHAVIORAL ASSESSMENT
BASELINE PRESENTATION
Cartier-Wickham typically presents as:
Quiet
Blunt
Controlled
Practical
Emotionally restrained
Highly observant
Difficult to distract
Uninterested in social intimidation
Unresponsive to conventional displays of authority
Subject generally speaks in complete but brief sentences. They do not waste language to reassure personnel, soften conclusions, or preserve an opponent’s dignity. Silence should not be interpreted as noncompliance, confusion, or lack of comprehension.
EMOTIONAL RESPONSE
Cartier-Wickham has been described in former WRU documentation as possessing low empathy.
This characterization is operationally incomplete.
Subject may display reduced intuitive emotional mirroring and limited concern for abstract social expectations. However, they demonstrate intense, selective attachment to specific individuals.
Care is expressed primarily through:
Physical protection
Remembering routines
Monitoring medical symptoms
Correcting environmental risks
Maintaining supplies
Removing sensory irritants
Remaining physically nearby
Directly stating what must happen next
Completing unpleasant tasks without requesting recognition
Subject’s loyalty to chosen individuals is assessed as extreme.
They are not motivated by generalized compassion in the conventional sense.
This makes broad emotional appeals unreliable.
It also means that once Cartier-Wickham decides an individual belongs within their protected group, threats against that person will be treated as immediate operational problems.
RESPONSE TO THREATS
Threats against Cartier-Wickham personally produce minimal observable reaction.
Threats against Wickham or Kestrel produce immediate focus.
Threats against residents may produce intervention even where the subject has no established personal relationship with the target, particularly when Cartier-Wickham recognizes Guard Dog, Romantic, Domestic, or retrieval-related conditioning.
Subject appears unable or unwilling to ignore situations that resemble their own training history.
VIII. RELATIONAL AND COMMUNICATION PATTERNS
Cartier-Wickham maintains unusually close physical proximity to Christopher Wickham and Leigh Kestrel-Wickham.
Observed behaviors include:
Hand contact
Contact at the back or waist
Leaning against one another
Supporting Wickham’s balance
Standing behind Kestrel during public interactions
Resting a hand against a shoulder, neck, or lower back
Silent injury checks
Positioning their body between either partner and an unknown person
Using touch to redirect or stabilize without verbal discussion
These behaviors must not be interpreted as distraction or casual affection alone.
Within the Wickham household, physical contact functions as:
Medical monitoring
Reassurance
Silent communication
Threat assessment
Positional coordination
Confirmation of consent
Interruption of conditioned responses
Separating the three subjects may reduce their communication efficiency.
It will also increase Cartier-Wickham’s vigilance.
IX. DOCUMENTED INCIDENT: CLINIC INTERCEPTION
INCIDENT CODE: CB-17
LOCATION: [REDACTED]
OPERATION TYPE: Reacquisition of former Romantic asset
OUTCOME: Primary vehicle abandoned; target successfully moved
Cartier-Wickham was not physically present at the extraction site.
Subject was operating from a remote communications position.
Cartier-Wickham instructed the field team not to use the assigned front vehicle after identifying a behavioral inconsistency in the driver.
When asked to explain, subject reported that the driver had checked the rearview mirror when no person or vehicle was positioned behind him.
The route was changed.
The original vehicle was later assessed as compromised.
The observed irregularity occurred within a window of approximately ninety seconds.
This incident confirms that Cartier-Wickham remains operationally dangerous when physically distant from the target area.
Removing them from the field does not remove them from the operation.
XI. KNOWN AND SUSPECTED METHODS
Detection of surveillance through pattern deviations
Identification of compromised drivers and vehicles
Use of multiple transport routes
Physical extraction of injured or conditioned persons
Counter-positioning against Guard Dog and retrieval personnel
Remote tactical support
Minimal-radio communication
Use of multilingual communication
Monitoring pursuit behavior
Silent coordination with Kestrel
Medical monitoring of Wickham during operations
Concealment of personal injury until mission completion
Exploitation of WRU assumptions regarding autistic behavior
Recognition and interruption of command-triggered compliance
Instruction of safehouse personnel in retrieval-countermeasures
Prioritization of vulnerable persons over personal survival
Subject is suspected of maintaining contingency plans not disclosed to the full Foundation staff.
This may not indicate distrust.
Cartier-Wickham appears to regard undisclosed redundancy as basic operational hygiene.
XII. ASSOCIATED PERSONS
CHRISTOPHER WICKHAM
RELATIONSHIP: Family unit; intimate partner; strategic sponsor
ROLE: Financial, corporate, medical, and legal infrastructure
THREAT STATUS: CRITICAL
Cartier-Wickham monitors Wickham’s physical condition closely and may identify deterioration before medical personnel.
An apparent medical emergency involving Wickham should not be assumed to distract Cartier-Wickham.
It may instead function as a signal.
See Subject File CID-WF-001.
LEIGH KESTREL-WICKHAM
RELATIONSHIP: Family unit; intimate partner; operational counterpart
ROLE: Field command; conditioning recognition; close protection
THREAT STATUS: EXTREME
Cartier-Wickham and Kestrel communicate effectively with minimal speech.
Both subjects have extensive protection training from separate systems.
Each appears able to identify the other’s conditioned responses and compensate during overload, injury, or dissociation.
Do not position them back-to-back.
Do not allow them visual access to exits.
See Subject File CID-WF-002.
LUCKY JOHNSON
RELATIONSHIP: Trusted associate
ROLE: Driver; transport security; armed protection
STATUS: Former Guard Dog
THREAT STATUS: HIGH
Johnson first knew Cartier-Wickham under the name Sita.
The duration of their association is not fully documented.
Johnson’s route changes should be assumed to have Cartier-Wickham’s approval unless evidence indicates otherwise.
See Subject File CID-WF-004.
DR. CHARITY BARTLETT
RELATIONSHIP: Medical provider; safehouse authority; trusted associate
ROLE: Medical stabilization; concealment; resident care
THREAT STATUS: HIGH
Bartlett has treated Cartier-Wickham during periods of unconsciousness and severe injury.
Subject’s continued trust in Bartlett is operationally significant.
See Subject File CID-WF-006.
RHODODENDRON BATES
KNOWN NAME: Rho Bates, Angelique Myers
RELATIONSHIP: Trusted associate
ROLE: Safehouse security; resident protection
THREAT STATUS: HIGH
Bates is physically capable of supporting Cartier-Wickham during direct conflict and is unlikely to comply with instructions to disengage.
See Subject File CID-WF-005.
XIII. LEVERAGE ASSESSMENT
PHYSICAL PAIN
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: NONE
Cartier-Wickham does not experience pain normally.
Personnel attempting to use pain compliance may cause severe injury without obtaining the expected behavioral response.
The absence of reaction has previously caused operatives to escalate force beyond safe parameters.
Do not use visible distress as the threshold for stopping.
INJURY THREATS
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: LOW
Subject has accepted significant personal injury to complete operations.
Threats involving bodily harm are unlikely to produce surrender unless the injury would directly prevent Cartier-Wickham from protecting another person.
CONDITIONING COMMANDS
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: VARIABLE / HIGH-RISK
Residual commands may produce an involuntary response.
They may also trigger defensive action, dissociation, shutdown, or retaliation by associated subjects.
No field team may rely on a command-triggered posture as proof of secure containment.
Hands, exits, line of sight, and nearby personnel must remain controlled.
CHRISTOPHER WICKHAM
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: HIGH / UNSTABLE
Threats against Christopher Wickham are likely to gain Cartier-Wickham’s immediate attention.
They are unlikely to produce passive compliance.
Subject will instead attempt to determine:
Wickham’s location
The number of personnel present
The shortest route to him
Whether the threat is medically credible
Which individual is giving orders
Who can be disabled first
KESTREL
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: HIGH / PROHIBITIVE RISK**
Threats against Kestrel are expected to generate immediate intervention. Cartier-Wickham and Kestrel have overlapping protective instincts and mutually reinforcing training histories. Attempting to control one through the other may activate both simultaneously.
FOUNDATION RESIDENTS
EXPECTED EFFECTIVENESS: MODERATE / ESCALATORY
Subject may cooperate temporarily to protect residents.
Such cooperation should be assumed tactical.
Cartier-Wickham will continue looking for another solution for as long as they remain conscious.
XIV. COUNTERMEASURES AND CONTACT PROTOCOL
Personnel must comply with the following:
Do not approach Cartier-Wickham alone.
Do not rely on pain compliance.
Do not assume that visible injury has reduced operational capacity.
Do not issue legacy WRU commands without Behavioral Compliance authorization.
Do not permit access to vehicles, elevators, loading areas, maintenance corridors, or medical-transfer routes.
Do not discuss operational plans within hearing range.
Do not use French or Spanish as presumed secure communication.
Remove objects that may be used to cut restraints or disable equipment.
Monitor body temperature continuously during prolonged containment.
Conduct repeated medical examinations regardless of subject denial.
Restrict visual access to Wickham and Kestrel.
Rotate personnel only through a single controlled entrance.
Do not allow the subject to observe shift-change timing.
Do not permit physical contact with another detained person.
Treat sudden silence as an escalation indicator.
RESTRAINT WARNING
Standard pain-based restraint assessment is insufficient. Cartier-Wickham may dislocate, fracture, or lacerate tissue without the expected response. Restraint integrity must be confirmed visually and mechanically. Personnel must also assume the subject will prioritize escape over preserving their own joints or skin.
COMMUNICATION GUIDANCE
Use:
Direct statements
Concrete instructions
Specific time limits
Verifiable information
One speaker at a time
Avoid:
Metaphors
False reassurance
Contradictory commands
Unclear promises
Unnecessary physical contact
Attempts to provoke an emotional display
Statements implying that a threatened person is already dead without confirmation
Cartier-Wickham is more likely to cooperate with information that is precise. They are not more likely to trust it.
XV. OPERATIONAL INDICATORS
The following may indicate that Cartier-Wickham has identified an active recovery action:
Subject stops speaking
Subject changes walking position relative to Wickham or Kestrel
Subject begins checking doors, windows, or reflective surfaces
Subject removes clothing layers without an environmental reason
Subject asks for an exact time
Subject begins observing hands instead of faces
Subject shifts to French or Spanish with Kestrel
Subject moves vulnerable persons away from exterior walls
Subject checks Wickham’s pulse, balance, or breathing
Subject gives Lucky Johnson a single route instruction
Subject becomes less visibly reactive
Subject stops objecting to the stated plan
The final indicator is frequently misinterpreted as surrender. It generally means Cartier-Wickham has developed another plan.
XVI. ANALYST COMMENT
Cartier-Wickham was trained to find runaways. They know where frightened people hide. They know what command words make bodies stop cooperating with their owners. They know how long a Guard Dog will hesitate before crossing a threshold. They know where recovery personnel stand, which vehicle carries restraints, who watches the exits, and who expects the target to be too frightened to fight.
WRU taught them how to bring people back.
The Foundation taught them that they did not have to. Now Cartier-Wickham uses every recovery procedure we gave them to make recovery fail. They do not posture. They do not threaten. They do not need to tell personnel what will happen if someone touches their family.
They assume the consequences are obvious.
XVII. COMMAND ADDENDUM
HANDWRITTEN ENTRY — RECOVERY COMMAND
Stop sending junior handlers. Stop assuming the flat voice means they’re calm. Stop waiting for them to react to the injury. If Cartier-Wickham looks at the door, secure it. If they look at your hands, put them where they can be seen. If they stop talking, move the team. And if they ask you to repeat the exact time — the operation is already compromised.
SECOND HANDWRITTEN ENTRY — UNKNOWN AUTHOR
Product #587363 has escaped twice, survived recapture, broken a reacquisition team, joined the Wickhams, and gained access to every procedure we use to recover people.
At what point do we stop calling this an asset-recovery problem?
END SUBJECT FILE CID-WF-003
CLASSIFICATION: BLACK // INTERNAL EYES ONLY
DO NOT COPY
DO NOT REMOVE FROM SECURE SYSTEMREPORT ALL UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE COMMAND
Kestrel found Dami in the service corridor, sitting on the floor beside the locked supply closet, staring at their hands. Their back was against the wall. Their knees were drawn up awkwardly in the narrow space, their six-foot-three frame folded down as small as it could reasonably become.
She sat beside them, shoulder fitting beneath theirs. She leaned against their side, solid and familiar, and took one of their hands between both of hers.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
“She remembered me,” Dami said.
“I know.”
“Remembered her.”
“I know.”
“Broke her wrist.”
Kestrel tightened her grip around their hand.
“Yes.”
Dami’s thumb moved once over her knuckles.
“She was seventeen.”
Kestrel closed her eyes.
They hadn’t said that in the room.
They’d kept it from Tess because telling her they remembered exactly how young she’d been would’ve been another wound.
“Thought bringing her back myself was better," Dami said.
“You were wrong.”
“Yes.”
“You were also being used.”
“Yes.”
“Both things are true.”
Dami stared at the opposite wall.
“Don’t know what to do with that.”
“You live with it.” Kestrel rested her head against their upper arm. “You make different choices now. You respect every boundary she gives you. You don’t ask her to make you feel better.”
“Wouldn’t.”
“I know you wouldn’t.”
Their fingers closed around hers.
Kestrel stayed tucked against their side, quiet enough that Dami didn’t have to perform being all
right.
After several minutes, footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor.
Dami went rigid.
Kestrel didn’t move away.
Lucky appeared around the corner, saw them on the floor, and stopped.
“Tess is with Charity,” he said. “She’s asking questions about the east residence.”
Dami looked up. “Shouldn’t have to think about where I am.”
“She wants to know the boundaries are real.”
“They are.”
“I told her that.”
Dami glanced toward the community room. “Does she want me to leave now?”
“No. She wants the route maps.”
Kestrel lifted her head. “The internal ones?”
Lucky nodded. “Only for this building. She wants to mark the rooms she’ll use and the times she expects to be here.”
Dami began to stand. She caught their wrist.
“You’re not going back in there.”
“Need to see the routes.”
“I’ll bring you a copy.”
“Can adjust my schedule now.”
“You can do it from home.”
Dami looked down at her. She held their gaze.
“This isn’t an emergency,” she said. “You don’t need to solve it before you’re allowed to breathe.”
Dami’s expression flattened.
Lucky folded his arms. “That means she’s right.”
“Understood what she meant.”
“Good. Saves time.”
Kestrel climbed to her feet, using Dami’s forearm for balance. Once she was steady, she offered both hands.
Dami took them.
She hauled uselessly.
Dami rose mostly under their own power. They let her pretend she’d done it.
“You’re going home,” Kestrel said.
“I drove.”
“No, Lucky drove.”
“I can drive his car.”
“You’re not stealing Lucky’s car.”
“I know the access code.”
Lucky’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you know the access code?”
“Entered it in front of me.”
“One time.”
They shrugged. “All I needed.”
Kestrel rubbed a hand over her face. “This household is exhausting.”
“You married Wick twice,” Lucky said. “You made an informed decision.”
Dami looked toward the community room again.
The faint humor disappeared.
“What if she changes her mind?”
“Then we deal with it,” Kestrel said.
“Where would I go?”
Her face hardened.
“Home.”
They stared at her.
“Home,” Kestrel repeated. “With me and Wick.”
Dami hummed. “Might be impractical.”
“I’m not discussing the practicality of whether you’re allowed to live in your own house.”
“Not my house.”
Lucky made a quiet, pained noise.
Kestrel stared up at them. “You have a bedroom. You have keys. You’re on the emergency contact list. You reorganized the pantry and terrorized three separate contractors about the upstairs smoke detectors.”
“They were incorrect.”
“You live there.”
Dami looked away.
Kestrel stepped closer and put one hand at the back of their neck, not forcing their gaze down, simply holding them there.
“You’re my partner,” she said. “That doesn’t stop being true because someone has every right to be afraid of you.”
Dami swallowed.
“Platonic,” Lucky added.
Kestrel looked at him.
“What?” he said. “Wick’s going to ask whether we clarified.”
“You’re thinking about sleeping in an alley so you don’t inconvenience anyone.”
“Doesn’t affect motor function.”
“It affects my willingness to sit beside you at seventy miles an hour.”
Dami considered that.
“All right.”
They left through the rear exit.
Dami sat in the back with Kestrel, though the front passenger seat was empty. Kestrel stayed close enough that their arms touched from shoulder to elbow.
Neither spoke during the drive.
When they reached the house, the downstairs lights were on.
Wick was waiting in the sitting room with a blanket over his legs, his crutches leaned against the side of the sofa. A mug sat untouched on the table beside him.
He took one look at their faces and pushed himself more upright.
“What happened?”
Kestrel closed the door behind them.
“A survivor recognized Dami.”
Wick went still.
Dami remained near the entryway.
“They were sent to retrieve her,” Kestrel continued. “Years ago.”
Wick’s eyes moved to Dami.
He didn’t ask whether it was true.
He didn’t ask what WRU had made them do.
He asked, “What does she need?”
Dami answered from beside the door. “Separate routes. No shared rooms. No information about her schedule. Doesn’t want me near her.”
“All right.”
“Might decide I need to leave.”
Wick’s fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket.
“The building or the organization?”
“Hasn’t decided.”
“And if she asks for the organization?”
“I’ll resign.”
Kestrel took off her coat with sharp, angry movements.
Wick watched Dami carefully. “Did Kestrel tell you that means you’re moving out of our house?”
“No.”
“Did you decide it anyway?”
Dami didn’t answer.
Wick closed his eyes briefly.
“D-Damiel.”
Dami flinched at the use of their full name.
Not because Wick sounded angry.
Because he sounded tired and frightened.
“This is your home,” Wick said. “Not Foundation housing. Not temporary placement. Not a reward for good behavior.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Dami stood very still.
Wick reached for one of his crutches.
Kestrel crossed the room immediately, but he shook his head.
“I’m coming to them.”
“You’re already in pain.”
“I’m aware.”
Dami moved first.
They crossed the room and crouched in front of the sofa so Wick wouldn’t have to stand. Even kneeling, they were nearly level with him.
Wick set the crutch aside.
For a moment, his hand hovered near Dami’s face.
“May I?”
Dami nodded.
Wick rested his palm on their cheek.
“You hurt someone,” he said.
“Yes.”
“She’s allowed to hate you.”
“Yes.”
“She’s allowed to want nothing from you except distance.”
“Yes.”
“None of that means WRU gets to take the rest of your life too.”
Dami’s eyes lowered.
Wick’s thumb moved once against their skin.
“You came home,” he said. “That was the right choice.”
“Kestrel made me.”
“I assisted,” Kestrel said.
“She threatened to involve Lucky.”
“That’s not a threat. That’s logistics.”
Wick almost smiled, but it didn’t hold.
“What did you do to her?” he asked quietly.
Kestrel looked at him.
Dami answered before she could intervene.
“Tracked her to a motel. She tried to escape through the bathroom window. I restrained her. I broke her wrist and returned her to the facility.”
Wick’s face went pale.
Dami watched him absorb it.
“Told her to stop making it worse,” they added. “Believed I was keeping her from getting hurt more.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
Wick looked down at his hand where it rested against Dami’s neck.
“No,” he repeated.
Dami waited for him to pull away.
He didn’t.
His expression was stricken, but his hand stayed exactly where it was.
“I don’t know what to say,” Wick admitted.
“Don’t have to say anything.”
“I want to.”
Kestrel came around the sofa and sat beside him. One hand settled over Wick’s wrist. The other reached down and rested between Dami’s shoulders.
The three of them stayed connected in the quiet room.
Wick took a careful breath.
“I believe her,” he said.
“So do I.”
“I’m horrified by what happened to her.”
“Yes.”
“And I love you.”
Dami looked up sharply.
Wick’s mouth trembled.
“Not in the same way I love Kestrel,” he said. “Before you make that face.”
“Didn’t make a face.”
“You did.”
“It was minimal.”
Kestrel’s hand pressed more firmly between Dami’s shoulders. “He means you’re family.”
“Know what he means.”
“Do you?”
Dami hesitated.
“No.”
Wick nodded as though that was the answer he’d expected.
“It means you don’t have to be innocent to come home,” he said. “None of us are.”
“Not comparable.”
“No. It isn’t.” Wick’s stutter caught briefly as his voice tightened. “I’m not comparing it. I’m telling you that this house isn’t a courtroom. You don’t lose your bedroom because your history becomes difficult for us to look at.”
Dami’s eyes flicked toward the stairs.
Their bedroom was on the second floor. The same room they’d chosen because it had two windows, a clear line to the landing, and morning light at seven thirty. Their mug was in the kitchen. Their clothes were in the dryer because Wick had complained that Dami couldn’t keep wearing the same four shirts while living with people who owned a pharmaceutical company. Their shoes were beside Kestrel’s by the back door. There were three toothbrushes in the upstairs bathroom. The house had adapted around them so gradually they’d never been able to identify the moment staying had become living.
“Might need to stop working at the center,” Dami said.
“Maybe,” Kestrel said.
“Should give my job to someone else.”
“Maybe.”
“Could be recognized again.”
“Yes.”
Dami looked at her.
Kestrel didn’t soften the truth.
“We’ll need a protocol,” she said. “A real one. Not one that assumes your past stays abstract because it’s convenient for us.”
Dami nodded.
“No surprise contact,” Wick said. “Staff should know how to remove you from the space without treating you like an active threat.”
“Survivors should be told about retrievers working with the Foundation,” Dami said.
Kestrel considered it. “Without identifying you unless necessary.”
“They should know.”
“They should have enough information to make choices,” she agreed. “But WRU doesn’t get a public list of every former product working here.”
Dami’s jaw tightened.
She was right. That didn’t mean they liked it.
Wick leaned back against the sofa, fatigue creeping into his face.
“Tomorrow,” he said. “We’ll make the protocol tomorrow.”
“Should be done tonight.”
“No,” Kestrel and Wick said together.
Dami looked between them.
Wick pulled the blanket aside.
“Come up here.”
“Not enough room.”
“There could be. Kes needs to stop taking up two-thirds of the sofa.”
“I’m 5’2.”
“You occupy space with intent.”
Kestrel shifted closer to Wick, leaving a narrow section on her other side.
Dami stared at it.
“Butt is bigger than that.”
“Sit on the floor, then,” Kestrel said. “But you’re not going upstairs alone to inventory every bad thing you’ve ever done.”
Dami sat on the rug between their knees.
Kestrel’s hand immediately returned to the back of their neck. Wick rested his bare foot against Dami’s thigh beneath the edge of the blanket.
Ordinary contact.
No ceremony.
No absolution.
Just the physical language the three of them had built together: I’m here. You’re here. Nobody is leaving tonight.
After a while, Wick asked, “Did she hit you?”
“Yes.”
Kestrel glanced at him. “How did you know?”
“There’s a mark.”
Dami touched their cheek, then stopped when they remembered there was no useful sensation to check.
“Hit me twice.”
Wick’s expression tightened.
“She was scared,” Dami said.
“I know.”
“Had a right to be angry.”
“I know that too.”
Wick’s hand found Dami’s shoulder.
“Knowing why someone hurt you doesn’t mean I enjoy seeing the mark.”
Dami didn’t respond.
Kestrel’s fingers moved through the short hair at the base of their skull, separating a small tangle.
“Tess said she doesn’t want WRU deciding Dami is a monster,” she told Wick.
Dami turned their head slightly. “Said she wasn’t giving me anything.”
“She wasn’t.”
Wick nodded. “That belongs to her.”
“Yes.”
“But you heard it.”
Dami looked toward the dark window.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
They sat there until Wick’s foot grew cold against Dami’s leg and Kestrel’s hand became heavy with sleep.
Dami stayed awake longer than both of them.
They listened to Wick’s uneven breathing settle. They felt Kestrel’s fingers loosely curled against the back of their neck. Then, carefully, Dami rested one hand over Wick’s ankle and the other over Kestrel’s wrist.
i love making friends in fandom, i love playing with our toys together, i love coming up with increasingly niche aus, i love lifting strangers up, i love motivating people to create, i love watching someone get excited over an idea and immediately running with it, i love yelling in tags together, i love seeing someone gain confidence in their writing/art because people were kind to them <33
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honestly i think it's so funny when doctors are like. know the RISKS of taking T. you will have MOOD SWINGS and become a VIOLENT and UNCONTROLLABLE creature who HOWLS at the MOON. it will turn you GAY. like i hate to say it guys but youve just invented male hysteria
I fucking love stylized top surgery scars. I think it's one of the coolest concepts transmascs have come up with. When they're shaped like narrative-relevant symbols? I literally lose my mind every time
Dami had been carrying a box of donated coats when the survivor saw them.
Nothing dramatic happened at first.
The box didn’t fall.
No one screamed.
The survivor simply stopped breathing.
They stood just inside the community room with Charity beside them, one hand still curled around the strap of a canvas bag. They’d arrived twenty minutes ago under a name nobody had verified and nobody intended to. Their hair was badly cut, as if they’d taken scissors to it in a bathroom mirror. Their coat was too large. Their eyes had tracked every door since they came inside.
Then they landed on Dami.
Six foot three. Broad shoulders. Dark clothing. The same controlled walk they’d had in the facility, every footstep placed deliberately, their body quiet enough to disappear despite its size.
Dami stopped.
The box remained braced against their chest.
The survivor’s face emptied.
“No,” they whispered.
Charity looked between them. “Tess?”
Dami’s grip tightened on the cardboard.
The survivor backed into the wall.
“No. No, you said this place was safe.”
“It is,” Charity said carefully.
“You said they couldn’t come here.”
Dami lowered the box to the floor without taking their eyes off the survivor. Their movements were slow now, exaggeratedly visible.
“Tess,” Charity said, “nobody’s going to touch you.”
“They already did.”
The words came out shredded.
Across the room, Kestrel looked up from the folder she’d been reading.
Lucky rose from his chair.
Neither of them moved closer.
Dami stood with their hands empty at their sides.
The survivor stared at them.
“You,” they said.
Dami didn’t deny it.
The survivor’s breath hitched so hard it hurt to hear.
“You came to the motel.”
Dami’s expression changed by less than most people would’ve noticed. Their jaw went rigid. Their eyes sharpened, not with threat, but memory.
“Yes,” they said.
Charity’s attention snapped to them. “Dami.”
“They asked me a direct question.”
“I didn’t ask you a question!” Tess shouted. “I know it was you.”
Dami went still.
The whole room seemed to arrange itself around that stillness.
Tess pressed harder against the wall as though she could force herself through it.
“You were wearing a gray jacket,” she said. “There was blood on the sleeve.”
Dami glanced down at their left arm.
An old reflex.
“Yes.”
“You knocked twice.”
“Yes.”
“You said you were from the front desk.”
“Yes.”
Lucky shifted nearer to the hallway, quietly clearing the path to the exit. Kestrel set the folder aside. She moved only as far as the edge of the table, keeping her body low and her hands visible.
Tess wasn’t looking at anyone but Dami.
“I knew you were lying,” she said. “I climbed out the bathroom window.”
Dami swallowed.
“You landed badly.”
Tess made a sound like she’d been struck.
Charity turned on Dami. “Stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Dami said immediately.
The words were for Tess, not Charity.
Tess’s whole body shook. “You remember.”
“Yes.”
“How many people did you drag back?”
Dami’s mouth opened.
Closed.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
The honesty was terrible.
Tess laughed once, breathless and ugly. “Of course you don’t.”
Kestrel’s gaze moved to Dami, a silent warning against explanation. Against reaching for conditioning as a shield. Against trying to make the damage smaller because they hadn’t chosen the hands that made them do it.
Dami understood.
They always understood Kestrel fastest when she said nothing.
Tess touched the side of her neck.
There was no collar there now, but her fingers found the place one had been.
“You caught me behind the ice machine,” she said. “I hit you with a pipe.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t even react.”
“I couldn’t feel it.”
“I hit you again.”
“Yes.”
“And you kept coming.”
Dami’s breathing had changed. Measured in. Measured out. Too deliberate to be calm.
Tess stared at them with tears running down her face.
“You looked at me like I was nothing.”
Dami’s voice came quieter. “I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I remember your room number. I remember the broken window latch. I remember you’d shoved the dresser against the door, but the carpet caught under the left leg, so it didn’t hold.” Their fingers curled against their palms. “I remember you had no shoes. I remember there was glass in your foot.”
“Dami,” Lucky said softly.
They stopped.
Tess looked sick.
Dami took one step backward.
Then another.
“You remember all of that,” Tess whispered, “but you don’t remember how many of us there were?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Dami’s face had gone blank in the way it did when blankness was the only thing holding everything else in.
“Because they didn’t let me keep names.”
Tess flinched.
Dami did too.
Not from pain. From the sight of it.
“They gave me photographs,” Dami said. “Routes. Likely shelters. Medical risks. Whether you were expected to fight.”
“You broke my wrist.”
“Yes.”
The word landed without defense.
“You put your knee on my back.”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t breathe.”
Dami’s voice nearly failed. “I know.”
“You told me to stop making it worse.”
Dami closed their eyes.
There it was.
The sentence.
Not a command WRU had programmed into them. Not a script handed over by a handler. Something Dami had said with their own mouth because Tess had been fighting and Dami had needed her still.
When they opened their eyes again, Tess was waiting.
“I said that,” Dami said.
“You said it like you were helping me.”
“Thought I was.”
Tess stared at them.
Dami’s voice thinned.
“They told me the retrieval team coming after me would use restraints that damaged shoulders. Said you had a heart condition. Said if I brought you in quietly, you wouldn’t be punished.” Their gaze dropped to the floor between them. “Believed them.”
“And did they punish me?”
Dami didn’t answer.
Tess’s face twisted. “Did they?”
“Yes.”
Dami said it so softly the room almost lost it.
Tess crossed the space before anyone realized she’d moved.
Lucky tensed.
Kestrel lifted one hand, stopping him without touching either of them.
Tess slapped Dami across the face.
The crack echoed off the walls.
Dami’s head turned with the force of it but they didn’t raise their hands. They couldn’t feel the sting. They could only hear it, calculate the angle, register the heat blooming in Tess’s palm and the horror on Charity’s face.
Tess hit them again.
They stood there.
The third time, Kestrel moved. She caught Tess’s wrist gently before the strike landed and released it the moment Tess stopped pulling.
“You don’t have to protect them,” Tess said.
“I’m not.” Kestrel’s voice was calm enough to cut. “I’m protecting you from having to wonder later whether you became someone you didn’t want to be.”
Tess yanked her hand back.
Dami’s cheek was reddening.
They didn’t touch it.
Kestrel looked at them. “Leave the room.”
Tess gave a broken laugh. “That’s it?”
“No.” Kestrel didn’t look away from Dami. “It’s the first thing.”
Dami nodded.
They bent to pick up the box.
“Leave it,” Charity said.
They straightened again.
For one second, they looked uncertain where to put their hands. Then they held them loosely in front of their body, visible and empty.
“Won’t come into this wing while you’re here,” they said quietly Tess. “Lucky can tell me the routes. Won’t see me unless you ask to.”
“I’m never going to ask.”
They nodded. Their lips pressed together.
Tess’s breathing was ragged. “I spent six years thinking you were coming through every door.”
Dami looked at the doorway behind her, then deliberately shifted farther from it so they weren’t blocking the exit.
“Won’t come through this one again.”
Something in Tess’s expression cracked.
Not forgiveness.
Nothing close.
Just the shock of being believed without argument.
They turned.
“Wait.”
Their body halted before thought.
Every muscle locked.
Tess saw it.
So did Kestrel.
The command response was small, almost invisible, but survivors knew the language of bodies trained to obey.
Tess’s anger faltered.
Dami stayed facing the hallway.
“You were one of them,” she said.
“Yes.”
“But you were wearing a collar too.”
The room went silent.
Dami’s hand rose halfway to their neck before they stopped it.
“Yes.”
“I thought it was tactical gear.”
“Was made to look like it.”
Tess wiped her face with the heel of her hand. “Did they send someone after you when you ran?”
“Yes.”
“Did they catch you?”
Dami looked toward Kestrel. She held their gaze, steady and close. She didn’t answer for them.
“Yes,” Dami said.
Tess stood very still.
“What happened?”
“That isn’t something they owe you,” Charity said.
Dami’s gaze remained on Tess. “I was returned.”
The phrasing was clinical. WRU language. Safer than saying what return had meant.
Tess understood anyway.
“And then they sent you back out.”
“Yes.”
“To do it to somebody else.”
“Yes.”
Tess’s mouth trembled.
Dami waited.
There was no version of this where they asked her to see the collar before the hands. No version where their captivity erased hers. They’d learned that guilt could become another demand if placed in the wrong person’s lap.
So they stood quietly and carried it themselves.
Tess looked at Kestrel. “You knew?”
“I knew what they were trained for,” Kestrel said. “I didn’t know they’d been sent for you.”
“And you let them work here?”
“They don’t do retrievals.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.” Kestrel’s voice stayed level. “It isn’t.”
She came around the edge of the table, stopping several feet away.
“Dami doesn’t live here,” she said. “They live with me and Wick. But they work here. They’re part of the Foundation, and we don’t ask anyone they harmed to forgive them, trust them, speak to them, or share space with them.”
Tess’s eyes flashed. “And if I say I want them gone?”
Dami’s shoulders lowered slightly.
They’d already accepted the answer.
Kestrel noticed.
Of course she did.
“This is your first day,” Kestrel said. “You don’t have to make permanent decisions while your body thinks you’re back in that motel. Tonight, Dami goes home with me. You stay here. They won’t return to this wing, use this entrance, or access your schedule.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow you still don’t have to decide.”
Tess looked at Dami again.
“You’d go?”
Dami turned slowly enough to face her without startling her.
“Yes.”
“Just because I said so?”
“Don't want it to be unsafe for you.”
Kestrel’s jaw tightened. Her hand flexed once at her side, wanting to reach for Dami and refusing to make Tess watch her comfort them.
Tess saw that too.
“Then what?”
“I’d go home.”
“Where’s home?”
“With Kestrel and Wick.”
The answer was quiet but immediate.
Kestrel’s shoulders eased by a fraction.
Tess looked between them.
“You love them,” she said.
Kestrel answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
Tess flinched.
Kestrel let her.
“They’re my partner,” she continued. “Platonic. They’re family to me and to Wick.”
Dami’s eyes dropped.
“And I believe you,” Kestrel said. “I believe what they did to you. Loving Dami doesn’t require me to lie about that.”
Tess sank into the nearest chair as if her knees had stopped working.
Charity moved closer but didn’t touch her.
After a moment, Tess said, “I don’t want them gone.”
Dami looked up.
“I don’t want to see them,” she added fiercely. “I don’t want them near my room. I don’t want them knowing my schedule. I don’t want them asking about me.”
“They won’t,” Lucky said.
Tess stared down at her hands.
“But I don’t want WRU deciding they’re a monster and that being the end of it.” Her voice shook. “They did that to all of us.”
Dami’s face folded for half a second.
A tiny, involuntary fracture.
Then it was gone.
Tess shot them a look.
Despite everything, a strange sound escaped Lucky. Not laughter. Nearly.
Tess rubbed her palm, the one she’d struck Dami with.
“You really can’t feel that?”
“No.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“Shouldn’t.”
Tess nodded once. Then she looked away.
It was dismissal, and Dami recognized it.
They left without picking up the box.
Kestrel stayed with Tess until Charity had settled beside her and Lucky had brought over a printed floor plan.
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i don't know why some feminists, who are genuinely trans-affirming and even actively try to challenge elements of cissexism in feminism, are so goddamn allergic to saying "cis men." its one word. three letters. just slap it in front of the word "man" when relevant. i know you know that cisness and transness are relevant. so why am i still having to read you say "men" over and over and over again when it is blatantly obvious you mean cis men!
like sorry to be a bitch about it (not really) but i do think it is that serious. i think you should be thinking about cisness and transness and intersexuality whenever discussing gender. it really all goes back to trans men's transmanhood being overlooked and erased as a site of oppression in favor of focusing on transness detached from manhood or femaleness detached from manhood and transness.
learning to notice an absence of people of color is crazy. you start seeing it everywhere. ill see a random pic of characters or people or whatever and be like "these are all white people. why"
all the babies in those baby youtube video memes. humanized character posts. like. its the little innocent shit. and like, the people making those baby memes probably arent seeking out white babies. maybe theyre just easier to find. but why are they easier to find? a complicated question, surely... but you know what it probably comes down to. someone, somewhere, maybe a lot of someones in a lot of places, made a choice. maybe knowingly, maybe not. but they made a choice. it starts to make you feel like a conspiracy theorist!!
its really funny that after 2 months this post is still making racists come into my askbox treating me like im a horrible person for pointing out that sometimes people of color are excluded from things in visible and offputting ways. cry about it
i dont want to derail from op's original point, but there have been a lot of wonderful reccs on this post, and i DO think we as a community need to do more to uplift trans men/transmasc musicians instead of stereotyping all transmasc musicians as "cringy". so, i sat down and went through every comment, tag, and reblog on this post (at least, all of the ones that are visible to me) and compiled a list, and i included some of my own favorites that i didnt see mentioned!
this list is not in any order, and i am not familiar with most of these artists, so an inclusion on this is not an endorsement of anything! if ive made a mistake anywhere, just let me know!
schmekel - transmasc jewish folk band (they seem to have deleted the majority of their music off most platforms, unsure why? but this link is to a playlist of re-uploads)
exiliahu - very vocally pro-palestine jewish trans man
noah finnce - british trans man, pop rock
ellyotto - canadian trans man, hyperpop
jesswar - fijian-austrailian trans man, hip hop
2am ricky - Black american trans man, hip hop/soul/jazz/house
rahim redcar - french trans man, indie/alt-pop
elio mei - american trans man, indie folk
anjimile - Black american trans man, indie folk
the oozes - queer punk band w/ a trans man lead singer
sushi soucy - transmasc, folk rock
dopamine - band of scottish transmascs
boy jr - transmasc, indie/alt rock
great grandpa - queer indie rock band w/ trans man lead singer
riotnine - transmasc punk band
the muslims - transmasc poc anti-fascist punk band
TR sun - Black american trans man, hip hop
billy tipton - american trans man, 1940s jazz star
mal blum - american trans man, indie rock/folk punk
dayflower - british transmasc "dreamcore" indie pop band
ryan cassata - american trans man, folk punk
ezra butler - british trans man, indie pop
bells larson - canadian nonbinary trans man, indie pop
sasha allen - american trans man, indie pop
boy bowser - american trans man, energetic hip hop
mikah amani - Black american trans man, folk music
jake edwards - british trans man, pop music
jakey bake - trans man, super indie/underground
king aiden - Black american trans man, indie pop
addison grace - american transmasc, indie pop
dylan and the moon - british trans man, indie folk
searows - american trans man, indie folk/bedroom pop
elio kennedy yoon - Asian-american trans man, indie pop
beverly glenn copland - Black canadian trans man, art/folk pop
REVENGEOFPARIS - nonbinary transmasc rapper
V3CTORGRAPH1CS - nonbinary transmasc, hyperpop
Um Jennifer? - american indie rock duo ; one is transmasc, the other is transfem
jigsawllie - transmasc, indie "weirdcore" vocaloid music
i think one of the worst things the left wing internet ever did was push the idea that oppression is basically a virtue, and being oppressed is a sign of your morality. it has made it like…impossible for some of you to hold the idea that most people are privileged in some ways and oppressed in others. AND a lot of you seem to have it in your mind that terrible people cannot be oppressed, and that oppressed people cannot do terrible things, which is a dangerous rhetoric to hold imo.
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Mock execution that stops just a little later than you'd think it would.
Whumpee made to dig their own grave. They're driven out, they dig the whole thing, they're made to lay down in it, but Whumper doesn't get them up. Whumper starts shoveling the dirt in on top of them, to the point that their head is covered, and only uncovers them once they're sure that Whumpee has actually begun to suffocate.
Or a Whumpee who's taken out back. Made to kneel, gun to their head. They beg and plead, but the gun actually fires. Maybe it just fires into the ground beside them, or maybe it fires into Whumpee, just not in a fatal place. Still- Whumpee wasn't expecting them to actually fire it.
Maybe it's not the first time a mock execution has happened. Maybe Whumpee goes through the motions thinking it's another intimidation tactic. But then Whumper starts taking that extra step- and that's when Whumpee starts to panic and beg, but at that point it's already "too late".
They found Jonah sitting on the floor beneath the window.
Charity had lowered the blinds, but light still bled through the edges in thin white strips. Jonah sat between the bed and the wall with his knees drawn up, both hands clamped over the back of his neck.
He was whispering something.
Kestrel heard it as she approached.
“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”
Charity looked up from where she sat several feet away. She didn’t move closer to him.
“He saw his profile,” she said. “One of the volunteers had the segment playing at the front desk.”
“Which volunteer?”
“I already handled it.”
Kestrel nodded.
Jonah looked up. His face had emptied itself.
“They said I’m sick.”
“No,” Kestrel said.
“They said I can’t decide.”
“I heard them.”
“My papers say it.”
Kestrel lowered herself carefully to the floor. Her knees protested, but she didn’t let it change her face. She stayed outside his reach.Dami remained by the door, broad body blocking the hall without blocking Jonah’s exit. Their hands were visible. Their posture stayed loose.
Jonah looked at them.
“They’ll send Retrievers.”
“They might,” Dami said.
Charity glanced toward them. Dami didn’t soften the answer. Kestrel didn’t ask them to.
Jonah’s breathing hitched.
“They’ll take me back.”
“Not from this room,” Kestrel said.
“You don’t know that.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
Kestrel rested her hands on her own knees.
“I know nobody in this room is going to tell you that you belong to someone else.”
His mouth twisted.
“They said I was happy.”
Kestrel thought of the photograph beside the Christmas tree. Hands folded. Eyes on the camera. A smile held in place by something nobody watching breakfast television had been taught to recognize.
“Were you?”
Jonah looked down. It took him a long time to answer.
“Sometimes.”
Charity’s face tightened.
Kestrel only nodded.
“That doesn’t mean you have to go back.”
“They bought me a dog.”
“You can miss the dog.”
“I had my own room.”
“You can miss the room.”
“She used to make soup when I got sick.”
“You can remember that.”
Jonah’s hands slipped from the back of his neck. His fingers were trembling.
“What if they weren’t bad all the time?”
Kestrel leaned forward slightly.
“They didn’t have to be.”
He looked at her then. Really looked. She held his gaze.
“You’re allowed to leave a place that hurt you,” she said. “Even if it also fed you. Even if someone there loved you. Even if you loved them.”
Jonah’s face folded.
Charity moved only when he reached for her. She crossed the space slowly and let him collapse against her shoulder.
Dami looked away to give him privacy. Kestrel stayed on the floor. Her knees hurt badly now.
Dami’s hand appeared in front of her and she took it. They lifted her carefully, one arm circling her waist when her right knee failed to cooperate. Kestrel allowed herself to rest against them for a moment, cheek against the center of their chest.
“You’re overheating,” Dami murmured.
“I’m angry.”
“Also raises body temperature.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
“Not a doctor.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
Their hand moved once over her back.
In the hallway, Lucky was waiting.
“So far,” he said quietly, “twelve people have asked to leave our housing programs.”
Kestrel pulled away from Dami just enough to look at him.
“Because they want to go back?”
“Because they’re afraid staying will get everyone arrested.”
Dami’s expression sharpened.
“That’s the campaign.”
Lucky nodded.
“They’re not trying to persuade the public first. They’re trying to frighten runaways into returning voluntarily.”
“Then the public campaign gives WRU cover,” Kestrel said. “Every person who goes back becomes proof that the activists manipulated them.”
“Closed structure,” Dami murmured. “Outcome confirms the accusation.”
Wick was waiting when they returned upstairs. Counsel had arrived. So had the Foundation’s communications director, two board members, and a woman from security who looked as though she’d like to personally dismantle the nearest news van.
The television was back on.This time, there were six owners arranged in a studio audience.
A man was talking about his wife.
“They told her she didn’t need me,” he said. “They made her afraid of me. Now these people won’t even tell me whether she’s alive.”
The host looked horrified.
The chyron beneath him read:
HUSBAND PLEADS FOR RETURN OF DISABLED WIFE
Kestrel stopped in the doorway.
The man’s wife had arrived at one of their partner clinics with a fractured jaw. No one in the room said it. They didn’t have to.
The communications director turned.
“We need a statement within the hour.”
“We don’t respond to individual cases,” counsel said.
“Then they’ll say we’re hiding behind confidentiality.”
“We are hiding behind confidentiality,” Kestrel said.
Everyone looked at her.
She moved to Wick’s side. He caught her hand and pressed it between both of his.
Dami took the chair on Kestrel’s other side, their knee against hers beneath the table.
The board member nearest the window cleared his throat.
“There may be value in acknowledging that some families are genuinely distressed.”
“Owners,” Lucky said.
The man frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“Some owners are distressed.”
“We cannot use that word publicly.”
Lucky leaned back in his chair.
“I wasn’t suggesting we use it publicly.”
The communications director opened her laptop.
“We need to decide on language. Compassionate. Non-confrontational. Something that doesn’t make us look defensive.”
“They’ve accused us of kidnapping people,” Charity said.
“Yes, which is why sounding defensive will hurt us.”
Wick stared at the television.
The man onscreen had begun to cry.
Wick’s thumb moved over Kestrel’s knuckles, back and forth.
“They’ve rehearsed them,” he said.
Dami nodded.
“Some more than others.”
“How can you tell?” one of the board members asked.
“Pauses,” Dami said. “Told to wait before saying someone’s name. Makes it seem difficult. Emotionally.”
The room went quiet.
Onscreen, the man waited precisely two seconds before whispering his wife’s name.
The security woman swore under her breath.
Wick’s stutter sharpened when he spoke again.
“They’re using f-f-family because nobody wants to be seen standing against families.”
Kestrel watched another photograph appear.
A smiling woman at a picnic table. A hand rested on the back of her neck.
Possessiveness presented as tenderness.
“What do you want to say?” the communications director asked.
Kestrel didn’t answer immediately. She thought of Jonah apologizing. She thought of the twelve people packing because they believed their existence had become dangerous to everyone around them. She thought of owners learning to cry on cue. She thought of Malcolm telling Wick that punishment was care. She thought about Charlotte calling obedience devotion.
Eventually every system learned to use prettier words.
She leaned forward.
“Write this down.” The communications director placed her hands on the keyboard. Kestrel spoke slowly. “The Wickham Foundation supports the right of every adult to make decisions about their own residence, relationships, medical care, and personal safety.”
The keyboard clicked.
“We do not facilitate forced contact between adults and estranged family members.”
Counsel lifted one finger.
“Good.”
“We do not confirm or deny whether any individual has received services through our programs.”
“That’ll become the headline,” the communications director warned.
“Let it.”
She continued. “Privacy is not evidence of coercion. Leaving is not proof of incapacity. Distress does not create entitlement to another person’s location.”
The typing slowed.
One of the board members shifted.
“That last sentence is aggressive.”
“Yes,” Kestrel said.
Wick’s mouth smiled despite himself. Dami’s knee pressed more firmly against hers.
Counsel looked down at his notes.
“We should include something about lawful guardianship orders.”
“No,” Kestrel said.
“We can’t appear to be advising people to violate court orders.”
“We’re not.”
“Then perhaps: the Foundation complies with all applicable—”
“No.”
The lawyer looked up.
Kestrel’s voice remained calm.
Frighteningly calm.
“We don’t advertise our compliance for WRU to clip into a commercial.”
The room fell silent.
Wick brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“Add one more line,” he said.
The communications director waited.
Wick looked at the television, where another owner was begging a missing pet to come home.
His face was pale. His voice wasn’t steady.
It was still clear.
“Love doesn’t require surveillance,” he said. “And it doesn’t need a recovery team.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Then the communications director typed it.
By noon, the Foundation’s statement was everywhere.
By twelve fifteen, WRU called it heartless.
By twelve twenty, three cable hosts were asking what the Foundation had to hide.
By one, donors had begun sending concerned emails.
At two, a brick came through the front window of the Queens community center.
At three, someone painted KIDNAPPERS across the loading entrance at Falwell Memorial.
At four, the campaign released a second video.
Children this time.
Young adults and teenagers seated in softly lit rooms, asking their missing mothers, fathers, siblings, and caregivers to come back.
Kestrel watched thirty seconds before turning it off.
The office had emptied around them. Wick was exhausted, his head resting against the back of his chair. Dami sat on the carpet beside him, long legs stretched beneath the table.
Kestrel stood at the window. There were cameras across the street. A reporter was speaking into a microphone beneath the awning of the building opposite theirs.
Dami came up behind her.They rested their chin lightly against the top of her head. Wick reached out from his chair until his fingers found the back of her hand. Kestrel turned her palm and linked their fingers.
“They’re going to make this worse,” Wick said.
“Yes.”
“They’re going to find people who go back.”
“Yes.”
“They’ll put them on television.”
Dami’s arms settled around Kestrel’s waist.
“Successful reunification,” they said.
Kestrel watched the cameras.
A chant had started on the pavement below.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.
Bring them home.
The words rose through the glass.
Wick’s hand tightened around hers. Kestrel leaned back into Dami’s chest.
“We don’t answer the campaign,” she said.
Wick looked up at her.
“What do we do?”
Kestrel watched a reporter turn toward the Foundation’s front doors, waiting for someone frightened enough to come outside and give them a better story.
“We make sure nobody has to face it alone.”
Below them, the crowd kept chanting.
Inside the Foundation, locks were checked.
Curtains were drawn.
Phones were distributed to anyone who didn’t have one.
Counsel began filing emergency motions under names WRU hadn’t found yet.
Clinic staff moved medication away from public-facing locations.
Lucky changed every transport route.
Charity sat with the people who’d begun packing and told them they didn’t owe the Foundation bravery.
Nobody used the word rescue.
Nobody claimed to be hiding anyone.
And when evening came, not one person was returned.
