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There was no change in the hatchling’s frozen expression, even as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. He wasn’t wearing a lab coat or the green uniform nor was he holding her down or wielding any tools, so she dared to take in more of the man. He was large and wore a black shirt, the collar brushed against the brown scruff on his chin. Her eyes drifted to his side, and she forced down a gasp at the sight of giant green wings. Was… was he like her?

“Are you in pain? Does your shoulder hurt?”

Now that was definitely a trick question. Her eyes darted back down to his chest, “Five.”

The man leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His head dipped, trying to catch her eyes. She should have looked away, but his eyes felt familiar.

“Five? What do you mean?”

She pulled her lips tight, pausing before repeating herself.

“Shoulder. Five.”

The man sighed, resigned to her short answers.

“Alright… Well, do you remember anything? Remember me?”

She blinked a few times, blue eyes confused and scared, but slowly she nodded. She’d woken up on the cold table, heard unknown shouting, and scrambled into a cabinet with a scalpel. This man, this dragon, had found her, she remembered horrible pain in her shoulder, him giving her food, and picking her up to bring her outside. There were other small flashes— deep voices, feeling nauseous and dizzy, and curling into a hoodie that provided a heavy warmth. She nodded again, throat hollowing while she tried to process these memories and changes.

“Why aren’t you talking more?”

“Rule two.”

“Rule two? There’s no rules here. I want you to talk. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A new test, that’s all. She’d done this before– well, maybe not the talking part, but rules changed all the time.

“Good. What do you remember?”

“I hid. You found me.”

“Is that all? Nothing else?”

“You carried me. Food. Loud noises. Other people.”

“Yeah, that’s about it.”

“...you stayed.”

The man took in her words; one clawed hand twitched towards her bed.

“Yeah. I’m staying.”

The small dragon met his eyes, taking him in. There was a scar on his cheek, his beard didn’t connect over his chin, his eyes were a warm brown surrounded by wrinkles, but she lingered on the green scales along his hairline and jaw. She watched relief flicker across his face when the heart monitor’s frantic beeping began to steady again, the muscles in his shoulder relaxed.

His voice seemed deliberately soft,

“What’s your name?”

After a long pause of weighing risk and hope, she replies,

“Lucy.”

His eyes crinkled further, the ghost of a smile on his thin lips.

“Lucy… I’m John Price,” he murmured, “You’re safe now.”

Price kept his gaze steady, watching how the simple words seemed to rattle through her. She turned her head to the ceiling, then slowly to the other side, away from him. She took in the room— the window burned her eyes with morning light, the monitors, the unfamiliar bed. Price gave her space, let her process.

“You got any family lookin’ for ya, Lucy?”

She snapped back to him immediately, panic flashing while her wings pulled tight. She shook her head before remembering to use her voice,

“No, sir.”

The primal relief of keeping her close and the stab of a hatchling being so alone hit like a one-two punch. No family, no hoard, no one that cared she was kept prisoner. No wonder the girl was reluctant to speak or move. A low possessive growl simmered in his chest before he tamped it back down. He had to keep it together for her, to show her he wasn’t going to hurt her like the others.

“You can ask me questions. You won’t be in trouble.”

Lucy blinked at him, her blue eyes uncertain, but they now held a flicker of caution rather than terror. There was a long pause while she weighed the risk of talking. Her eyes darted toward the IV in her arm, her fingers clenching around the blanket.

“What are you testing?”

“Nothing,” he assured firmly, “Just fluids and medication. No tests.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw when he noticed how her arms were littered with pockmarks and a few broken veins. Bruises were in various states of healing from whatever sick experiments and neglect she’d faced in the blacksite. He waited for her to ask another question, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t going to risk it again.

“Can you sit up?” Price asked, but before he could reach out to help her, she complied. Her elbows pushed up her thin frame with uneven strength. He didn’t touch her yet, but used the button on the side of the mechanical bed to raise it against her back.

“Here,” he reached toward the side table, picking up a paper cup of melted ice chips, “Drink.” She reached out with both hands, taking the cup and bringing it to her chapped lips. Shivering when the chilled water settled in her empty stomach, she offered it back to him after only a few sips.

Price's brow furrowed, “Drink. You're dehydrated."

With his permission, she gulped the water down greedily, her tongue licked up the spare droplets on her chin.

Did this girl have to ration her water in that hellhole? He shook his head at the ground, his mind battling for control over his dragon. He needed to know more, but he had to be careful. If she has to be given permission to drink water… That's far from the worst thing he’ll hear from this girl.

“I’m going to ask you a few things. You can talk– I’d prefer it even. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How long were you at the place I found you?”

She looked down to her lap, fingers twisted together fretfully, “I-... I think three years.”

Three years. Three. Years.

He wished he had called an airstrike on the whole area and laid waste to anyone who had their part in imprisoning a four year old. She hadn’t even started primary school before she was trafficked: no kindness, no sense of autonomy, in recent memory.

“Where were you before? Do you remember how you ended up there?”

“The family didn’t keep me. So the lady showed up…” Lucy shrugged, heart pounding as her fingers turned white with strain when she twisted them together. “The foster lady…”

Foster care. That was actionable. That was something to go on. He could have Laswell look into missing foster kids which might lead to specific caseworkers. Konni sympathizers. He nodded along, his gaze moving from her hands and her profile. She hadn’t looked up at him again. He clasped his hands between his knees to fight off the urge to take her hands and smooth them out.

“Okay, Lucy. You’re doing good.”

Lucy’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, a weight off her wings.

“Who else was in the building? Was there someone in charge?”

"The Doctors." Lucy's voice had dropped to a whisper. "…and the pecks."

“The pecks? What are the pecks?”

Lucy shuddered, her hands pulled apart to show him,

“They’re called pecks because they go,” She reached one hand over her forearm and mimicked pinching quickly down the veins of her arms, “...peck, peck, peck.” Her voice held an aching attempt at sing-song.

The discomfort Price had felt growing in his dragon quickly became rage at the vast unfairness of it. That for all his ability to save the world, he can’t save this girl from what has already happened to her. That she wouldn’t understand what “techs” were, only as the people who would prick her with needles.

“Well, you’re with me now,” He reached out his hand, calloused palm up, to rest several inches away from her thigh, an offering he desperately hoped she would accept, “No more pecks, no more pain— never again.”

The mattress dipped under the weight of his hand, and Lucy jolted, her blue eyes wary surrounded by lank tangled hair. Price held himself still, watching her fear spike on the monitor before she forced herself calm.

“You don’t have to believe me, lass,” his hand twitched to reach closer, to warm her, “But I’m not going to toss out a hatchling still wet behind the ears.”

He pushed his hand another beat closer, holding her gaze as his eyes narrowed to slits, a blinding green to meet her arctic blue. He left space for her to absorb the draconic connection they now shared, raising his wings and exhaling a wisp of smoke.

“And I will never hurt you."

He saw the fragile spark igniting something deep within her after the initial shock of his dragon features coming to light. It was more than the promise of extra water or a clean blanket; it was the faint echo of a life she once knew, one that hadn’t yet been stripped away by fear and pain. She hesitantly reached out, and her small hand found his; her tension began to dissolve by the warmth of his palm, claws kneading once before quickly retracting.

“You’re mine now.” Her hand was so much smaller, and he spotted her dulled claws, likely to ensure she couldn't fight back. Yet she still held the universal warmth of a fellow dragon. His thumb brushed absently against her knuckles, squeezing lightly as he said, “And I take care of what’s mine.”

A knock at the door shattered the moment, and she tried to drop his hand, but he held firm, not letting her go and, in fact, shifted closer to the bed, so his wing would block her from view if she chose. Taking refuge without question, she pushed closer to him, seeking protection in his shadow.

Gaz peered inside first, his wings ruffling with caution. “Glad to see you awake,” he said, stepping forward gingerly to deposit another blanket onto the pile from the night before. “We brought supplies for you to create a den with, figured you’d need ‘em.” Soap lingered behind him, arms full of snacks, pilfered from the officers’ mess by someone with hunting instincts and zero shame. His ears twitched forward in interest, but he surprisingly stayed silent, and let Gaz take point instead.

Lucy eyed the pile of linens at the foot of her bed. Price was sure after her time at that facility, anything soft must have felt like a gift from heaven. She shuffled out from behind his wing, flicking her gaze between the hyena and hawk hybrids.

“We cleared out the closet in Price’s room for you,” Gaz said, “Or if you prefer, we can set up a regular bed right next to his. We just thought you might feel safer in a smaller space.” He glanced at Price, gauging whether he had overstepped.

Price grunted in agreement, a fierce pride swelling within him at the thought of his suite becoming a sanctuary for this fragile hatchling. He watched Lucy intently, noting how her gaze lingered on the polyester pile at the foot of her bed.

“It’s alright, Lucy,” He murmured, ignoring the eyes on him from dropping her name so casually. He dropped his wing a few centimeters to give her a better look, “Go ahead.”

Lucy assessed the two new hybrids, her gaze darting cautiously from one face to the next, searching for any hint of malice. With a quick motion, she reached out and seized a faded purple quilt, one Price had spotted draped over a couch in the rec room. As the soft fibers caught her roughened hands, she lifted the blanket to her nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of freshly laundered fabric triggered an unexpected wave of emotion, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She stifled a sniffle, her face twitched as she fought to keep them at bay.

Price’s heart tightened when he noticed the fear, but it was Soap’s tail that halted mid-swish, his instincts kicking in as he registered her distress. That wouldn’t do. She was part of their pack now, and Price knew that Soap wanted nothing more than to envelop her in his warm fur, to cocoon her in comfort, but he held back.

“Ye donnae have tae be scared, lass,” He dips his head, a gesture of peace, “We’ll protect ye now and—”

Ghost steps out from the shadowy corner by the window, joining the rest of the pack. Tendrils of darkness swirl around his ankles, a few stray wisps find their way up higher, as if to whisper into his ears about the new girl.

Lucy jumped violently when the man materialized in her periphery. She went from leaning over Price’s wing to stiff as a board, eyes on her lap, awaiting instruction or punishment.

Price was the first to act, wrapping his arm around her and bringing himself closer to the frozen hatchling. His wing blocks Ghost from her view entirely, his voice a soothing rumble to the immobile girl, “It’s alright. He won’t hurt you. He’s a good guy.”

Soap and Gaz shot the lieutenant glares— undecided on the “goodness” of him at the moment. Ghost shifted, his shadows pulled tight along his legs as he spoke without remorse, “Thought she was still asleep.”

Lucy didn’t look up from her lap, but her spaded tail flicked beside her leg, a recognition of the safety Price insisted was there. After a moment, her hand darted to grab onto one meaty finger. Price quickly accepted, dropping his arm from her shoulder to her waist, he shifted the child closer.

“Right then. Men, this is Lucy, ” Price grunted, his eyes trained on Ghost as he joined the other two in front of the bed. He gingerly led her to look at the men, his dragon preening when she pressed closer into his side for protection, “Lucy, this is my pack,” He paused, a gruff realization, “... yours now too.”

“The furball is Johnny,” Soap’s aura was all pup, tail swishing with a toothy grin, “Call him Soap.”

“That’s Kyle,” he pointed at the dark skinned hawk who gave a small wave, feathers shifting under the collar of his shirt, “You can call him Gaz.”

“The tall, pale, and scary bastard is Si-.”

“Ghost.”

The interruption was sharp, and the pack knew better than to question why he was keeping his civilian name from the girl. He didn’t trust her, that much was clear, but she was pack now. The moment she imprinted, Soap and Gaz were all in, but Ghost was less accepting of the wrench thrown into their life. Price couldn't help but bristle when Ghost showed an admittedly, completely reasonable distance from their newest member.

Lucy fisted the blanket while he spoke, daring a glance up at the group.

“Hello, sirs…” She kept half of her face hidden in the blanket, the soft fabric caught each unbidden tear like a sponge.

“The lass speaks!” Soap stage whispered to Ghost behind his hand. Ghost leaned in, only to pinch him lightly in the ribs. Soap yipped quietly, pulling back and glaring, “Ach, yer nae fun.”

Price cleared his throat, “They won’t hurt you. You’re safe with them. Got it?”

She nodded mutely against his ribs, claws unsheathed against Price’s fingers like sewing needles. It didn’t hurt, quite the opposite, it made him proud. She liked him— trusted him to protect her after less than a day. It was dizzying, but he started to believe he could do right by her. Anyone else would be unfair, he reasoned, he’d only met one other dragon since leaving home, and she would need help with her instincts. From the state of her wings and horns, she’d been denied a hoard for a long time.

Gaz and Ghost exchanged glances, uncomfortable; seeing their usual stonewall leader acting like a feral father was strange to say the least.

Meanwhile, Soap's face was split into that ridiculous grin—the one he got when someone handed him a grenade launcher, or when a farmer's dog wandered into camp. The man was all but vibrating with pack instinct. He crossed to the bed and upended his pockets. Crisps, sweets, an apple that rolled off the blanket and onto the floor, like he was emptying his kit after a successful op. Price looked down at it all. Then he picked up the apple and set it back on the bed without a word.

“Soap. She’s not going to be able to eat those after being half starved for years.” Gaz huffed half-heartedly, “She’ll probably be on a liquid diet.”

“Ah keen!” Soap retorted in a hush, “Ah just think the wee lass needs a pick-me-up after everythin’.”

“Let’s get her set up in my room before giving her cavities,” Price’s voice held a gratitude he can’t quite hide, “Just got to get her cleared here first.”

“I’ll fetch the doctor.” Ghost rumbled, taking the opportunity to leave as soon as it presented itself. He stepped out with his shadows trailing behind him.

Doctor.

Lucy didn't make a noise, but her eyes went from wary hope to blanched terror as she sat back from Price’s side to face forward again, hands flat on her thighs and head tucked down. The doctor was here. She knew this was too good to be true. Had he seen her breaking the rules? Was the dragon man a secret peck? The heart monitor ramps up with her shallow breathing as she waits.

Price cursed under his breath, “Lucy, you're okay, it’s not— she’s not going to hurt you.”

Lucy barely shook her head. The Doctor was in charge. A rule that didn’t have a number, it was simply the truth. No matter what. No questions. No arguments.

Even the pecks were under him in the hierarchy. She didn't hear a pen clicking down the hallway yet, but she wasn't about to earn a punishment because of the dragon man. Even if he was a grown up, he was still a hybrid. Despite her best efforts, the heart monitor started to intensify, which only made her trembling worse.

It’s Gaz who started towards her, hand out in a desire to soothe the hatchling, he stopped mid-step at Price’s warning huff and instead, crouched down to her eye level. He didn’t try to get her to look at him, just keeps his voice gentle,

“Hey, Lucy… you’re good at answering questions, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered.

“Good, then tell me… what’s your favorite color?”

Confusion furrowed Lucy’s face. The question was so mundane, so innocent, that it opened a visible crack in her fear. Color?

“P-purple, sir,” she whispered, her fingers relaxing slightly on the blanket.

“That’s a good color,” Gaz continued, “How about breakfast? Got something special you like to eat?”

That was an easy question, “Porridge.” Porridge day was almost as good as sun days.

“What about a favorite animal?”

“I like polar bears, sir.”

Price gives an impressed look to the hawk, Lucy had been seconds away from a panic attack. She responds to the nonthreatening questions calmly; progress, however small.

“Polar bears are a good choice,” Price rumbled, slowly adjusting his grip on her hip to help her relax back into him. Price made a note to ask about polar bears later— when she wasn't vibrating with terror. “What do you like about ‘em?”

“They’re really soft… and they swim good…”

“You’re right. They are good swimmers.” Gaz praised, smiling when he saw her peek at him from behind tangled hair, “Another question for you… are you scared of doctors?”

Lucy’s breath hitched before nodding quickly, “Yes, sir.”

“I understand, they can be scary sometimes, but this doctor? The one who is going to come in here? She’s not going to hurt you.” Gaz reassured, “We want to take you home, but we have to talk to her first. She decides if you’re healthy enough to leave or if you need to stay here and get more help.”

“That’s right, kid,” Price unfurled his wing to rest behind her as he spoke, “And I’ll be here the whole time.”

Lucy nods mutely before facing Price, “The doctor… is nice like you?”

“Yeah,” Price confirmed, glossing over being called nice for the first time in… well, ever, “No one will hurt you."

“Knock knock!” As if on cue, there was a soft rap against the door frame behind them, accompanied by a chiming voice. Ghost had brought the doctor back, a tall dove hybrid standing with a clipboard in one hand, her auburn hair a stark contrast from her pristine white coat and wings, “Hello, I’m Doctor Holloway.”

Soap turned, smirking at the woman as she strode in, “Maybe ye should hold off on the “Doctor” part if ye donnae want her tae have a heart attack.”

The woman looked to each of the men and found that the living shadow that retrieved her was not the most unique part of this group. Price was acutely aware of how this looked. At first glance, there was a hawk hybrid crouched on the floor, a canine hybrid sulking nervously, and one very on edge dragon.

“Alright… call me Harper,” She conceded as she moved towards the bed to lay eyes on her patient. “Hello, who’s this?”

Lucy squeezed Price’s hand tighter, her claws pricking back and forth with every controlled breath.

“This is Lucy,” Price addressed Harper, “She’s seven. She was held captive for about three years.”

The words were bitter on his tongue, soured further by knowing it will be far from the last time he has to relate her story.

After a long moment, Harper seemed to shake herself out of reckoning with how a young girl came to be in such a state.

“I’m going to check you over and see if you’re ready to go home,” Harper said, glancing between the girl and Price, who was watching every tiny movement she made. Harper pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and pressed the cool metal to her hand to warm up. “Can you answer some questions?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Lucy’s response was clear and immediate.

Harper started her assessment, checking Lucy’s breathing, heartbeat, and blood pressure. Price watched her move gently, asking questions in the kindest voice a military doctor could manage while staring at proof of how evil the world can still be to hybrids. Every answer from Lucy is stilted, some of them confusing or needing clarification, to which Lucy gives very little.

“Are you in any pain?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Shoulder, five. Wings, three.”

“What do you mean, sweetie? Why is your shoulder a five?”

“Only hurts as much as five, ma’am.”

Harper exchanged a glance with Price, who gave her a bewildered look. She continued with her examination, checking her pupils and hearing.

Price was hyperfocused on Lucy, but there was another part of him that sorted through the drips of information he had so far. The numbers must be some sort of rating she was taught wherever she was held. What kind of place teaches prisoners how to rate pain? Why was this girl trembling like a fawn while letting Harper move her around like a doll?

“Alright, sweetie,” Harper said as she pulled away, “All that’s left is checking your wings.”

Lucy stiffened at the mention of her wings being examined, but they unfurled behind her in perfect obedience. He's acutely aware of how the doctor’s eyes stared at her ruined wings; the membrane was torn in several areas.

He fought against the surge of anger bubbling within him at the sight of the scars marring Lucy’s still-growing wings. Every flying hybrid knows wings are a symbol of freedom and strength. The base of her wings bore the most damage, thick scar tissue encircled the joints, yet miraculously, the wing structure remained intact. Hope wasn't lost if she got help, and he'd sooner sever and donate his own wing than see her unable to fly.

Harper’s feathers ruffled slightly with each of Lucy’s suppressed flinches, a silent testament to the girl’s vulnerability. Price watched closely, noting how Harper keeps her touches light and gentle, manipulating the delicate joints with a practiced ease that belies the tension in the room. Price silently urged Lucy to trust the doctor, hoping that with each gentle movement, Harper could help mend more than just the physical wounds.

That being said, if this doctor so much as breathed wrong near Lucy— she’d have a very pissed off SAS dragon captain to answer to. He could see the moment she found a particularly sensitive spot, the tiny flinch made him tighten his hold, “Well? Is she cleared?”

“Cleared?” Harper gave him a disbelieving look, glancing back down at Lucy before she moved back with a sigh and gestured for Price to step away from where the hatchling could hear them. His lips formed a tight line, hesitating to step away from the girl before nodding to his men, who all took a step back in unison.

Stay away, but don’t leave.

“Captain… Where the hell is this girl from?” Harper asked when they’re out of earshot, “I need to call protective services—”

Harper’s head jerked back when the man’s eyes flash into smoldering emeralds. Price making it very clear that was the wrong thing to say.

“Are you taking custody?” Harper asked, blunt but no less concerned as she continued, “She's a ward of the state until—"

Price cut in, "Papers are done, they'll be pushed through tomorrow morning.”

Harper bristled, but remained undeterred, “She’s severely malnourished and has little to no muscle mass. She’s going to need specialized care for—”

“I know. I’ll get her all that.”

“I’d like to remind you, Captain, that I’m equal in rank to you, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped interrupting me.” Harper said, a tone that warned that he was tap dancing on her last nerve.

“... Copy.”

Harper took a sharp inhale, white feathers ruffled before settling like a second dusting of snow against her clean coat.

“Now. She’s going to need specialized care— nutritional support, physical therapy, and if how she’s acting now is any indicator, a hell of a shrink. Your reputation proceeds you, but it’s not one conducive to a child.”

“I’m well aware of that, doc,” Price grit out, “but guardianship papers are already being drawn up. She’s imprinted on me, so she’s under my protection.”

“She imprinted on you? And you accepted it?!” Harper hissed in a barely restrained whisper, eyes of fiery shock, “What were you thinking? She’s been with you, what, a day?!”

One didn’t need a medical degree to know how serious imprintation is for dragons. They were known for their hoards, but even more so for their brood instinct, much like a mother duck or crocodile. There was no blood relation necessary to feel an insatiable need to protect the young of his species.

“It’s not any of your goddamn business. It’s not up for debate.” Price bit back, dropping his voice when he sees Lucy stiffen again. Shit. He’s already proving to be an unfit caregiver, but it was too late now. “She’s coming with me. So, is she cleared or not?”

The ridged white skin on the bridge of Harper’s nose furrowed, then she ran a tan hand over the bridge.

“Fine, but you can’t get her healthy by yourself. She needs a full workup, both physical and mental. She has several hairline fractures in her wing joints and severe scarring around her horns and claws. It’s going to take more than chicken broth and a few blankets to set her right. I’m the only person on this base with pediatric experience. You need my help.”

Price was about to tell Harper exactly where she can shove her so-called help when it struck him that she’s right. He can’t exactly walk Lucy into a civilian clinic without a thousand questions and only classified answers. This hard-headed dove was the only hope for the most fragile part of his hoard. Finally, his jaw unlocked, and he spoke as if it pains him, “Fine. I get final say in treatment plans and will be present for any and all procedures.”

Harper steadied, “I’ll start working on a care plan. You’ll need to sign off on them.” She turns back to Lucy, her voice dipping back to a soothing coo, “We’ll get you fixed up, honey. I promise.” 

With that, she left while making notes on the clipboard, shouldering past the other men as she called over her shoulder, “She’ll be here under observation for at least two days. I'll draw up home-care plans in the meantime.”

The door clicked shut behind Harper, and the room settled into a heavy quiet. The pack excused themselves, assuring their captain they would return in the morning after sorting out debriefing and the den.

Price didn't move from his chair. He sat with his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped, staring at the worn floor tiles between his boots. Two days minimum. Then home-care plans. Then— he cut off the thought. No point planning past the horizon when the ground kept shifting.

He lifted one hand and pressed it flat against his sternum, feeling the faint, persistent warmth of the imprint thrumming beneath his palm. It had settled into him like a second heartbeat, uninvited and permanent. He'd spent his whole career making decisions, living with consequences, but this was different. This wasn't a mission he could complete and walk away from. This was a life tethered to his own whether he was ready or not.

Price let his hand drop. He wasn't ready. He'd never be ready. But he was here, and that was the choice he'd made. The only one he could live with.

"You're loud."

The voice was barely above a whisper, rough from disuse and dehydration, but it stopped him cold.

Price's head snapped up. Lucy hadn't moved. She was still curled on her side, facing him, her thin frame barely making a ridge under the blanket. But her eyes were open now, just a slit, catching the light with an alertness that contradicted every medical assessment of withdrawal and trauma.

"What?" He hadn't meant to sound so surprised.

"Inside." Her voice barely carried, but the words were clear, "You're loud inside. It... hums."

She was talking about the imprint. About him. Price felt something cold run down his spine— a vertigo of being seen by someone he'd assumed was unreachable.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, but the question came out rougher than he intended.

Lucy was quiet for a long moment, her breathing controlled, "No. It's… warm."

She closed her eyes again, and Price thought that was the end of it. But then, softer still, "I hope it stays."

"It will.”

He settled back into his chair, letting his shoulders find the familiar ache of the wooden slats under worn cushions. Lucy didn't respond, evening out toward sleep, but he saw her differently now. She wasn't just a victim to protect or a responsibility to shoulder. She was a person in there— observant, unexpected, and quietly fighting to exist on her own terms.

The imprint hummed between them, a bridge neither of them had asked for. Price let his eyes close and tried to make peace with it, but he found something softer, something that let him doze off in the hospital chair— hope.

Next Chapter

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