#Caleb has ptsd | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 3 months ago

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THE COLONEL'S SAINT.

in wartime, there are no saints. only broken souls, like yours and his, both scarred by battles fought in a world that has forgotten mercy. but perhaps peace was simply never meant for everyone. perhaps it only ever comes at a cost—freedom paid for by the ruin of another.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. heavy angst, smut, historical au, 18+

➤ tags. colonel!caleb, nurse!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, wartime, unrequited love, profanity, violence, explicit smut, depression, PTSD, recollection of extremely traumatic events, references to past sexual assault (not from caleb), obsession, possessiveness, jealousy, injuries, blood, killings, morally gray dynamics, grief, death. themes contain material that are heavy and disturbing—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 9.8k wc. divider by thecutestgrotto. all i can say is i enjoyed writing this au so much :)) reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

➤ previous. 001 the colonel’s keeper | colonel caleb playlist

“I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m here now. I’ve killed every single one of ‘em for you,” he said in a tone so affectionate you almost wondered if it was a dream. “I’ll take you home. No one’s gonna touch you ever again.”

The irony, however, presented itself the moment Caleb touched you. Because rather than feeling a sense of relief in his own way of apologizing, a deep, all-consuming dread wrapped around your bones instead.

Because this wasn’t salvation. This wasn’t a rescue. This was a return to a different kind of prison.

Your battered body trembled in his grip as his presence, something you once ached for, now loomed over you like a final, cruel joke. You thought being here—being dragged through hell, used, and discarded—was the worst fate imaginable.

But, no.

The true horror was returning to Caleb.

Because you knew now. You finally understood. There was no future for you. Not in his arms. Not in this world. And the look in his eyes, that dangerous, unhinged gleam that he would never let you go. Not now. Not ever.

So before he could react, before he could drag you back into the nightmare of his possessive grasp, your trembling fingers wrapped around his gun.

His own gun. His own weapon.

For the first time, his cold, calculating gaze faltered, widening in shock as you tore it from his holster with the last of your strength. “Y/N—”

The barrel was already pressed to your temple.

…

But you couldn’t pull the trigger.

You thought you could. You had rehearsed it in your mind over and over again—how the metal would feel in your hands, how your fingers would squeeze the trigger with defiance instead of hesitation. In the fantasy, it was clean. Controlled. Almost poetic as you would have told him he deserved to be left by the women he loved.

Reality wasn’t like that, however.

Because the moment Caleb dropped to his knees before you, his face contorted into something grotesque, something desperate, something inhuman, and you froze. Not out of fear. Not exactly. It was something deeper. You lay there, your heart thudding like a drum as your trembling fingers closed around his gun. You could still feel the warmth of his hand on the grip, still smell the gunpowder and oil. The heavy weight of the weapon wasn’t just from the metal, it was the amount of men he killed with it. With an obsession for power and control.

In another life, maybe you did it.

In another life, you imagined yourself pulling the trigger without flinching. In another life, maybe you were brave enough—or broken enough—to leave like that. To end the story on your own terms.

But in this one?

You couldn’t. God, you just couldn’t. You were a coward. And when Caleb whispered your name—his voice cracked, soft, pleading. It shattered the illusion completely. “Don’t do this, baby,” he begged. “I’m taking you home.”

And you didn’t run. You didn’t scream. You didn’t even look away. You just let him. You let him take your hand, let him lift you to your feet as if your bones hadn’t turned to ash. You let him wrap his coat around your shoulders and murmur something unintelligible against your hair, his breath warm, his touch careful.

“I’ll protect you, Y/N.”

You didn’t believe him, of course. But you let him.

You let Caleb bring you back to the base—not because you forgave him, not because you trusted him, and certainly not because you still loved him, but because you were done fighting. Because your body moved without you, like something detached from soul and will. You weren’t a woman anymore. Not in that moment.

You were something to be carried. Something to be watched and managed and contained. You were no longer a person. You were property of a war, of a man worse than the devil.

And still, you walked beside him.

Because sometimes survival doesn’t feel like victory.

Sometimes, it just feels like surrender.

Back at base, the atmosphere was more chilling than you remembered. Or maybe you were just too far gone to feel warmth. Maybe you’d become so detached, so hollowed out, that even warmth refused to settle in your bones anymore. The world moved around you like normal. People walked, spoke, ate, lived—but you? You couldn’t feel a part of it. You were merely a presence.

Yet, everyone stared. They always did. In passing, in the corridors, during drills, in the infirmary. Some in pity, others with quiet contempt. A few just looked because they could. Because even bruised and broken, you were a spectacle. Like you always were.

“Has she gone crazy?” “Is it the PTSD kicking in?”

You didn’t meet their eyes. You stopped meeting even your own in the mirror. And as the days passed, Caleb didn’t leave your side. He was always hovering, always watching you in silence, always studying the catatonic expression on your face as you moved with listless effort. Perhaps he was watching you out of guilt, or perhaps out of something sinister. Did he enjoy the look of desolation in your eyes? Did he think he’d won this war, now that you no longer fought him?

The whispers followed you even into the mess hall, the one place people pretended to be too busy to gossip. Except now, they didn’t pretend at all. Not when it was you sitting there, quietly picking at your food like a prisoner fed only to stay alive. Today’s rationed meals were stale bread and bland starchy soup—a probable reason why they’d rather channel their energy towards you than their food.

“She brought it on herself.”

“Should’ve stayed in her place.”

“He only wants her because she reminds him of the wife.”

The spoon in your hand paused midair, with your eyes fixed on the dull metal surface, seeing your reflection warped and small in the curve. You set it down slowly, and let out a short, broken laugh. There was nothing funny, of course. But for you, the humor was in the hell you returned to. Did they think the worst had already happened? They were wrong. The worst was this. Coming back. Living.

And while in your hysteria, silence suddenly filled the hall. A strange stillness swept through like a cold wind, and you didn’t even need to look to know why. As boots stomped across the tiled floor, you already knew what caused the sudden silence within the slate grey walls.

Caleb, stern as ever.

Surely, he never came here before. High-ranking officers often ate in private rooms or their quarters, never with the rest of the unit and the civilians. But here he was now, his commanding presence turning heads and stiffening spines. No one dared look your way anymore. Not when he was near.

And as for him, he approached you slowly like how he would to a skittish animal. Yet you kept your gaze on your tray, eyes glazed over, expression unreadable. The frenzied smile left your face the moment he was near. It was as if he didn’t exist.

He stood there for a moment. Then, to everyone’s quiet horror, he sat beside you. No, he lowered himself beside you, crouching so his face was nearly level with yours.

“What are you doing eating here?” he asked softly. “You know the food’s better in my quarters.”

You didn’t answer. You never really spoke to him. You hadn’t even opened your mouth to say anything at all since the day he ‘rescued’ you, and simply because words had abandoned you. Everything had. And the odd part about this was the fact that Caleb was openly speaking to you like this. Because before everything fell apart, he never acknowledged you in public. Not once did he show everyone that you were someone he cared for. So, what cruel actor was crouching down next to you now?

You stared forward like he wasn’t even there.

And you could hear him sigh, at least before his voice dropped even lower, gentle enough that only you could hear it. “Let me take care of you,” he murmured. “Let me nurse you back to health. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything. Just stop tuning me out.”

And still, you said nothing.

Because what could you want from a man who said he wanted you, but only knew how to possess? From a world where the only safety you were offered came in the shape of your captor’s hands, life was absolutely brutal. You sat in silence, surrounded by soldiers, nurses, and civilians who couldn’t even look at you anymore. And yet, the only person who truly saw you—saw the hollow, broken wreck you’d become—was the very man who helped destroy you.

Night flight was always the quietest kind of hell.

The sky was an endless stretch before him, a black void littered with stars he no longer believed in. Inside the cockpit of the FY-29, the most advanced multirole fighter in their fleet, the world shrank down to the hum of electronics and the flickering glow of digital readouts. HUD projection blinked green against his helmet visor. Altitude holding steady. Speed: Mach 1.4. Engine thrust calibrated to optimal efficiency.

“Colonel, enemy radar ping detected. Recon drone at ten o’clock, altitude three hundred feet below,” came the voice in his comms.

“Visual confirmed,” Caleb replied flatly, adjusting his yoke with one hand. “Engage radar dampeners. Veer five degrees north. Let the bastard scan a ghost trail.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sharp tilt of the aircraft rolled the horizon sideways. Caleb barely noticed.

He’d done this too many times—cutting through foreign airspace like a silent reaper, completely invisible in the dark. His hands moved with muscle memory, flipping switches, adjusting trajectory. But his mind…

His mind drifted.

To you.

To the way your voice once sounded when you still spoke to him with warmth. The way your eyes used to light up when he returned from missions. Now, they were empty. Now, they didn’t even flinch when he entered the room.

Guilt had lodged itself into the pit of his stomach and made a home there. He told himself he had brought you back to protect you. He told himself you needed someone to hold you up. But lately, he couldn’t tell who was holding whom hostage.

You had begged him once, asked him to love you, asked him to forget about his dead wife and just be with you. Now, with the way you were acting, it felt as though he was no better than the monsters who took you.

The truth was—he knew he had made a grave miscalculation. He never truly meant for the punishment to go that far. It had been anger, impulse, the heat of a moment he should’ve controlled. He should’ve gone to the frontlines sooner. He should’ve been there before the enemy got to you… before they shattered the sanctity of your body and stole the softness that once defined you.

Goddamn it.

A flicker on the monitor snapped him back. One of the secondary comms flashed: High Priority Incoming – Ground Squad Gamma 4. He tapped it.

“Colonel,” came the crackling report, “we’ve captured a batch of civilians—all women, army wives. Enemy ranks. Found hiding in one of the ravaged villages, just outside Sector 11. Orders?”

Caleb didn’t answer at first.

Instead, his jaw clenched. He closed his eyes briefly, long enough to picture your face contorted in sleep; how you cried out some nights from dreams you never remembered, or maybe remembered too well. How sometimes you whispered “Please don’t touch me,” to a room that was empty but for him. How you devastatingly screamed, “No more! No more!” as the memories of traumatizing hands touching you over and over, flooded back to you in a form of a nightmare.

His voice, when it came, was cold steel.

“Do what you want with them,” he said in full conviction. “Leave none behind.”

There was a pause on the other end. Hesitation.

“Sir…?” the voice wavered.

“You heard me,” was Caleb’s firm response. “Whatever they did to ours—we’ll repay it in kind.”

He didn’t wait for confirmation. He cut the channel, flipped the frequency, and angled the jet into descent mode.

Everything you do is morally justified during war, Caleb.

Lights flickered overhead as he walked through the empty corridor of the officers wing, the soles of his boots bouncing too loud against concrete. He didn’t bother knocking the second he arrived at his quarters, seeing that his room was dark, and you lay curled under the thin blanket, hair stuck to your face from cold sweat. Seeing you like that made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

And then the screaming started.

You thrashed—kicking off the sheet, twisting against invisible restraints. Your cries weren’t words but whimpers, pleading, raw sounds from your throat like you were being torn apart all over again. Caleb froze in the doorway. For a second, his legs wouldn’t move. The war inside his chest, the storm he unleashed with just a single order—it all paled in comparison to the agony carved into your sleep. When he finally stepped forward, his hand twitched as it reached out.

“Hey,” he whispered, kneeling beside you. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re not there anymore.”

You didn’t wake, and neither did you calm. You just screamed harder, fingers digging into the mattress like it was the only thing keeping you shackled to this world. Caleb embraced you in his arms like a fragile object he was protecting, but nothing comforted you at this point. Not his storm-violet eyes nor his saintly face.

Even when he wiped your sweat, brought you tea, and sat in silence.

And perhaps, he finally understood. The reason for your silence hadn’t been just the trauma. It wasn’t just the violence or the bruises or the way your voice cracked when you said nothing at all. No, it was simpler than that. More human. It was because he had never actually said sorry.

Sure, he remembered whispering it in a shattered breath when he pulled you out of the enemy’s grasp—covered in bruises, half-alive, delirious. But that wasn’t the kind of apology you needed. That had been panic. Guilt. A bandage over a wound that needed surgery. And you, you deserved something slower, softer, and more honest. Something earned.

And so he found himself sitting at the edge of your bed now, studying the glazed look in your eyes. You weren’t with him. You were locked somewhere far inside yourself, behind doors he had helped bolt shut.

“You feel hot,” Caleb murmured as he reached for your forehead, calloused fingers brushing your clammy skin with an unexpected tenderness. “Should I call one of the nurses? They can wipe you down with a cold towel.”

Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have allowed anyone near you. His protectiveness knew no bounds, especially not after what happened. But tonight, he understood. You didn’t want his touch. Maybe you couldn’t bear it. Maybe the thought of his skin on yours only reminded you of everything you had survived.

So he offered space, even if it killed him.

But you didn’t respond. You just quietly rose from the bed like a graceful ghost. Your bare feet padded across the cold floor, not a sound made with every step. The moonlight slashed across your face as you entered the bathroom, and then you undressed slowly, wordlessly, under its silver glow.

He knew better than to follow. But he still did. Only to make sure you were safe. Only to watch over you, because watching was all he could do now. From the doorway, he saw your silhouette curled under the cascade of water. You weren’t washing. You were scrubbing. Frantically. Desperately. Your fingernails dug into your own skin as you scrubbed, over and over, rubbing raw the places where their hands had once been. You weren’t trying to get clean. You were trying to disappear. As if your skin still remembered the hands that touched you. As if water could erase what the world had done to you.

You sobbed without sound, and that was somehow worse. Because your pain had learned to stay quiet.

Without thinking, Caleb stepped inside. His boots soaked instantly, and the water darkened the fabric of his uniform in seconds, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a towel from the rack and walked toward you slowly.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. “You’re going to make yourself bleed.”

You didn’t flinch when he wrapped it around you. You kept scrubbing even when he gently pulled you into his arms and let yourself cry like someone who had run out of ways to survive.

He just held you in silence. In stillness. And in that moment, something in his gentleness made you snap. Your hands shook violently and your voice cracked into a shriek. “You m-monster!” you sobbed, your throat raw from disuse and despair. It was the first time you spoke to him again since… “Y-You animal!”

“Y/N—”

“You let me—” your voice choked on grief. “You let them do that to me! You left me! And now you act like y-you… like you care—?”

Caleb took every word, every blow, and let it tear through him. He didn’t know how to fix something so broken. It was like a shattered glass that can never be repaired. The cracks would always show, no matter how hard he tried to put them all back together.

You collapsed against him, the towel sliding loose. “Why n-now?” you whispered, tears flooding your eyes. “Why are you pretending like I still matter? Isn’t this w-what you wanted?”

“I’m not pretending,” he said hoarsely, barely able to speak past the guilt in his throat. “And no, I didn’t want this, Y/N. I didn’t.”

You shook your head violently, water flinging from your hair. “No. No, I’m dead, Caleb. You won. This is what you wanted me to become—someone who’s been passed around like a rag. I’ll never be like your wife!”

While he held his breath, you must have expected him to deny it. To recoil. To offer some hollow line about how you were still you and that he didn’t care about his dead wife anymore. Instead, Caleb wrapped your body again with the towel, tighter this time around, before he carried you out of the bathroom.

“I still grieve for her every day,” he said. “But I’m not leaving you again.”

You shut your eyes and refused to meet his again. His words seemingly have no effect on you anymore.

I should’ve gone sooner, he thought to himself. I should’ve lowered my pride and reached you faster. I should’ve said sorry when it still mattered.

“I can’t take back what happened,” Caleb said, chest rising and falling raggedly. “But if there’s a version of hell where I can stay with you, then I’ll take it. I’ll live there. With you.”

He would learn how to love you gently, if you’d let him.

He would speak with actions now: the soft blankets, the untouched side of the bed he never crossed, the way he learned the names of every nurse you trusted, the way he installed new locks on your door so you would feel safe again, the way he trained the soldiers himself—brutally—so no one would ever think of hurting you again.

And when he wasn’t looking, when you were too tired to keep your eyes open, he would sit at your bedside every night and whisper a prayer. Not for redemption.

But for your peace.

A YEAR AGO — INFIRMARY

“This might sting a little, sir.”

A gentle furrow settled between your brows as you dabbed at Caleb’s shoulder, cleaning the angry gash that sliced through his skin. He sat still, shirt peeled halfway down, and his jaw tense, but not from pain. He wasn’t even looking at the wound. His gaze, all of it, was fixed on you like he was considering a thought.

Your hand paused.

“…What?” you asked, a nervous laugh escaping.

“Nothing,” he murmured. “You’re just… very good at what you do.”

You smiled faintly. “You say that every time you come in here half-dead.”

“I like repeating things that are true.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. He saw that, too. You tried to turn your back to his shoulder, resuming your task, or rather, to hide the heat that suffused your cheeks. “Do you ever get tired of coming back here wounded?” you asked. “I know you're high-ranking and invincible and all, but maybe don't catch bullets with your body next time.”

He chuckled. “But didn’t you say you wanted to see me a lot?”

“Well…” You looked away, blushing. He knew about your silly little crush on him, that’s for sure. “Not in this way, sir.”

There was a long pause. Comfortable, almost. So comfortable that you could almost hear Caleb’s breathing. And then, like it had been on his mind the whole time, he asked, “Do you want to move in with me?”

Your hand froze again, gauze hovering just above the wound. “…I’m sorry?”

He turned slightly to face you, wincing only a little. His voice was calmer than you expected. “It’s cold in my quarters. Too quiet. And I keep thinking how I’d rather have you there.”

You stared at him, stunned. You knew what he wanted. You knew why he asked for it.

“You barely know me,” you whispered, heart racing in your chest.

“I know enough,” Caleb replied, eyes searching yours. “I know you care more than most people do. I know you’re smart, and patient, and you smell like peppermint and laundry soap.”

Your lips parted, caught between surprise and disbelief.

“And I know,” he added, softer, “that I feel a lot less lonely when I’m around you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Tense, but not in fear. And when your eyes flickered to his lips, just for a second, he noticed. He took that as a sign to lean in slowly. Like a man trained to read danger, but still willing to take the risk. His hand, still rough and bloodied, hovered at your cheek, asking without words.

You didn’t stop him.

The kiss was soft and hesitant at first. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as his lips pressed gently to yours and moved with perfect sync. For a moment, you forgot the war. Forgot who he was and what you were. You just remembered what it felt like to be wanted.

When you pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours before pecking your lips once more.

“I’ll look forward to your answer, Nurse Y/N,” Caleb whispered through your lips. “You’ll live a more comfortable life if you’re with me.”

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – NIGHT

The storm outside was brewing with anger, but it didn’t reflect in the way he kissed you.

He was right, sleeping in the private quarters was much better than the bunkers, but that wasn’t the main prize. It was him, Caleb, the man you offered your heart and yourself to, knowing full well that he wanted you just the same.

“Mmh—Caleb!”

The room only carried the flicker of an old lamp forming shadows over military-issued sheets and disheveled clothes strewn across the floor. Your bodies were tangled in the warmth of each other, breathless, bare. Caleb had you laying sideways, and him positioned at your back, lifting your leg so he could get better access. His skin was slick with sweat, his hand moving to squeeze your mound, anchoring you close like he couldn’t stand a single inch of distance.

It wasn’t rushed this time. Neither desperate.

He moved with reverence. As if he wanted to memorize the exact shape of your body, the slope of your waist, the sound you made when his member hit your sweetest spot. And you, you let yourself melt into him, allowing him to fill you in for as many times as you both wanted, so long as you still had the strength.

“Caleb,” you whispered, fingers threading through his hair.

His grip tightened on your hip. This time, he was increasing his pace. Ramming into you sideways might be his new favorite thing, because whenever he was near, he would usually go for the traditional missionary. Not this time, however.

“Fuck. You’re so tight for me, baby.” And just when you were at the peak of your pleasure, he suddenly whispered another woman’s name.

His wife’s name.

You froze.

He didn’t notice. Or maybe he did—and just kept kissing your neck, as if saying her name didn’t gut the room into silence.

You didn’t say anything. Not that night.

Even when it was over. You cuddled deeper into his chest, heart twisting, the back of your throat stinging. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe he wasn’t even fully awake. You told yourself it didn’t matter. You told yourself his body was warm, his arms wrapped around you, his breath even and calm—and that should be enough.

You told yourself you were alive, and she wasn’t.

INT. CALEB’S PRIVATE QUARTERS – AFTERNOON

Supper was quiet. Too quiet.

You sat across from Caleb at the small table he rarely ever used—usually preferring to eat on the go, or not at all. But tonight, he had insisted you two start dining together so you didn’t have to leave the room. The portions were modest: military rations dressed up with a little too much seasoning, but it was so much better than MRE, or even the ones served at the mess hall. And you could ask for seconds if you wanted to.

Yet, no matter how abundant your table was, the silence was what was making you full. Your fork scraped softly against the plate, wondering why Caleb wasn’t eating much. He was just pushing food around with the edge of his fork, his eyebrows furrowed after what appeared to be a terrible day in the skies.

You cut into the silence with the question that had been gnawing at you since dawn. “Do you think you’ll ever remarry?”

Caleb’s body stiffened. His fork stilled mid-motion. His features were blank, but something behind his eyes tightened, like he wasn’t sure he had heard you right that he even had to repeat it. “Remarry?”

You nodded, keeping your tone as casual as possible, though your hand trembled just slightly where it gripped the stem of the water glass. “I mean, the war can’t last forever. Things might calm down someday. You’re still young. Still capable of—”

“Stop.” He cut you off, voice low and firm.

You swallowed. “It’s just a question, darling.”

“No, it’s not,” he muttered, dropping his fork with a quiet clatter. “You’re tryin’ to make me say something I’m not ready to say.”

“I’m not trying to do anything,” you replied, your voice soft. “I just want to know where I stand.”

His expression hardened, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “Don’t turn this into some kind of—what, a proposal? A plea for commitment? Because if that’s what this is—”

“No, Caleb… I just,” you paused, looking away and exhaling through your nose. “I don’t want to feel like I’m competing with a dead person.”

Silence.

He didn’t like it. Your words, how callously you called his wife a dead person. The sharpness of his eyes seemed to have considered ways of killing you. But Caleb stood abruptly, and his chair scraped back with an ugly screech.

“Lost my appetite.” He didn’t look at you as he said it. He just turned, grabbed his coat from the hook near the door, and walked out—quiet, controlled steps, like if he didn’t leave now, he might say something he couldn’t take back. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth and don’t talk about this bullshit with me ever again.”

You were staring at the ceiling again.

Stiff sheets under your back. The sharp antiseptic sting of alcohol soaked into gauze. Somewhere far off, a nurse was whispering instructions—Claire. You recognized her voice all too well.

She never liked you before. She loathed you even more now.

“She’s acting like some kind of war princess,” she scoffed not even a meter away. “Wouldn’t be surprised if she’s carrying every disease known to man. After what she’s been through? God, Colonel should’ve left her to rot.”

You didn’t react. You simply shut your eyes, allowing her words to come and go without making an impact. Empathy was a luxury no one could afford in wartime, and you’d long stopped expecting it from anyone, least of all her.

“She lost a lot of blood. The glass… it was lodged deep—”

“She’s lucky she didn’t hit an artery. If she wants to kill herself, at least do it right.”

Lucky.

You almost laughed.

Because it wasn’t your first time trying.

They thought Caleb had it all figured out. They thought that locking you away in his quarters, removing every shard of metal, every sliver of risk, every ounce of danger would be enough to keep you alive. You were a silent prisoner under the guise of protection. Doors locked from the outside. Soldiers who shadowed your every step when you were allowed to walk beyond four walls. They even took your combs, your mirror, your goddamn belt—anything that could snap or slice or wrap around your throat.

They watched you like you were sacred.

But no one realized that glass, when cracked the right way, could become a weapon, too.

It had started with something so small, during the time when Caleb had to leave base for a few days. It was from a small picture frame that had Caleb’s formal military photo inside. During an intense, heavy bombing outside, you were alone, unsupervised for the first time in days. The entire base shook with a violent thud, and the picture frame fell on the floor. You tried to pick it up and aimed to put it back.

Only to see that the glass had shattered.

And you had just… stared. At the jagged edge sticking out of the frame. At the glittering fragments on the floor.

You didn’t hesitate.

You grabbed a shard like it was salvation, and before your brain could catch up, your arm was already bleeding. The kind of bleeding you don’t come back from if you were left alone long enough. You slumped against the wall. Felt the warmth of it leaking down your skin, soaking into your lap. You welcomed the numbness, the strong smell of iron gushing out of your open wound.

But someone found you too soon.

You remembered the soldier’s face as he stumbled into the room—young, horrified, hands shaking as he shouted for help. “She’s cut—fuck, she’s bleeding bad! Get the medics! Get the fucking medics—!”

Now, back in the present, one of the guards paced at the edge of your hospital bed, too afraid to look you in the eye. “The Colonel might kill us for letting it happen. For not watching you close enough.”

You blinked slowly, eyes unfocused, lips cracked.

“Then he should kill himself, too,” you whispered.

The room fell silent. You turned your head slightly toward the door—the new one they’d installed. Reinforced. Bulletproof. No cracks this time. Just a clear view of the world you weren’t allowed to be part of anymore.

“We can’t reach Colonel Caleb—he’s at the outposts, but he’ll be back soon,” was the last thing you heard from him before the medicine took over. “As for what happened to you in enemy territory, miss… don’t worry about it. The Colonel made sure to return the favor.”

Caleb stepped into the room, the heavy door creaking as it closed behind him. His footsteps were deliberate, yet silent, as he made his way toward the bed where you sat, eyes cast downward and clearly avoiding his gaze. The silence between you two was suffocating, so much so that he forgot he had ears for a second.

He didn’t say anything at first. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the bandages wrapped around your arm to look at the remnants of your self-inflicted wounds that he had heard about during the day. His jaw tightened, but he remained silent, studying the way the white bandages were stained with a deep red. Finally, eventually, his voice cut through the thick air. “When are you going to stop hurting yourself?”

Your heart clenched, and without lifting your eyes to meet his, you muttered, “When you die.”

The grudge had been simmering inside you for so long. Now, spoken aloud, you couldn’t look at him. You didn’t want to see the effect it had on him. But you also couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“Every time you’re out there, I pray…” you paused, closing your eyes. “I pray that a bullet finds its way to you or that your jet crashes somewhere far from here.”

Even if it was the darkest part of your soul that had spoken, it felt true. The thought of him gone, of being free from the torment, it made your chest ache and flutter at the same time.

Caleb’s lips, on the other hand, pressed into a hard line. His gaze narrowed ever so slightly, though the pain in his eyes was undeniable. He didn’t speak right away. His hand moved toward the bandage on your arm, fingers brushing over the rough cloth. “You really want me dead?”

“I do.” You met his gaze then, your eyes bloodshot, heart raw. “I want you dead and forgotten.”

Strangely, Caleb’s fingers lingered on your skin, a tender touch that felt out of place given everything that had happened between you. His thumb brushed over your bandaged arm, then gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so that you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The distance between you two felt like a chasm, a vast emptiness, and yet, somehow, his touch still grounded you. It made your heart race, and you hated it.

“You hate me that much?” His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. You closed your eyes, and for a good minute, it was almost peaceful. The quiet of the room, the warmth of his hand on your skin. But then you remembered the things he had done, the way he’d broken you down and built you up again, only to crush you once more. You pulled away slightly, but Caleb wouldn’t let you. He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve killed everyone who touched you. And will continue to do so for as long as I’m alive.”

You didn’t say anything. The words were stuck in your throat, the ones that you really wanted to say. The ones that would’ve made it easier to break away, to cut the ties that had bound you together for so long.

But out of everything he could have done, he chose to kiss you. Not like the first time. Not passionate or filled with fire. This kiss was different. It was filled with regret, with longing, with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say. It was slow, gentle, like he was afraid to break you even more than he already had.

When he pulled away, his eyes were filled with something more than guilt. “I’m sorry,” Caleb whispered, but the words didn��t fix anything. Nothing could. Even if your tears were falling freely now. You didn’t even know what you were crying for—him, or the person you used to be. The one you had lost along the way. Still, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you to his chest like you were something fragile he wanted to protect, even if he’d been the one to break you. You could feel the slow, steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. At least, until he pulled away, tucked the blankets around you with care, and planted a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I have business in the morning,” he murmured, like you were a wife he needed to give an update to. “I might not come home for a few days.”

When he said he wouldn’t be home for a few days, you welcomed it as a small mercy. A pocket of peace. Because his absence was like hell quieting down, as if the demon retreated to its shadows. And yet, despite the relief, you couldn’t help but feel a strange unease curling in your stomach. A gut feeling whispering that maybe he was up to something far more than he let on.

And just as you suspected, the muffled sound of soldiers’ voices filtered through the door carried everything you ought to know. Their words were barely distinguishable as they spoke in low tones. But something—an instinct, maybe—had your heart racing, and you could swear you caught bits and pieces of their conversation.

“The medical convoy has been rerouted. New order,” one of them said, his voice hoarse. “No explanation. A few nurses, including one named Claire..."

The fragments of the conversation hit you like a punch to the gut. Then and there, every muscle in your body tensed. Claire. Claire was one of the nurses that had been tormenting you ever since you had been back at the base. And then there was Caleb whose orders were law. It all clicked into place.

You could feel the edges of your mind unraveling as the pieces fell together. Caleb wasn’t just holding you hostage here. He was controlling everything. Manipulating the people around you like pieces on a chessboard. The convoy rerouting wasn’t some minor shift—it was a move. A dangerous one. And you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it meant, but you had to.

Swallowing down the nausea rising in your throat, you took a deep breath and turned toward the guards outside your door. You didn’t have time to waste. Whatever Caleb was planning, whatever he thought he was going to do, you had to stop him.

“I want to see Caleb,” you demanded sharply, a command that left no room for argument. The guards didn’t even flinch. They just stood there, their backs rigid, as if they were expecting you to say something like that.

“You know we can’t do that, miss,” one of them said. “Orders.”

“Then, I’ll tell you what,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll tell him that you touched me. I’ll tell him that you hurt me, and forced yourself into me.”

The look in their eyes was one of pure terror and scandal. It was as if you just sentenced them to death. One of them even shifted uncomfortably, but neither of them moved toward you. They were afraid—afraid of Caleb and everything that had to do with him. But you knew something they didn’t. They were afraid of losing their position, of Caleb’s wrath, but you? You had nothing left to lose.

“He had ordered to burn a traitor alive once,” you threatened, your voice dangerously calm now. “And had the remains be fed to the dogs.”

They hesitated, glancing at each other. You could see the way their eyes flickered, like they were torn between their orders and the realization that you meant what you said. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the taller of the two guards stepped forward.

“Fine,” he hissed, the words practically escaping his lips against his will. “But if this gets out of hand, it’s on you.”

You didn’t care. You were past caring about the consequences.

They led you down the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing ominously as you moved deeper into the compound. You could feel it, the sickening feeling of being trapped, and for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt a spark of clarity. This was your chance to stop him, to put a stop to whatever Caleb was planning.

The guards led you into the central area of the base, a sterile, almost mechanical hall, and you could see the tension in their faces as they approached the place where their colonel was. In the shadows of a hangar they thought no one would check, Caleb stood with his pistol raised, and the muzzle? It was pointed directly at Claire’s quivering skull.

She was on her knees, sobbing, shaking, the usual scorn from her lips long gone. “Colonel, I never meant it, please—I didn’t mean it! I won’t be n-near her ever again!”

“Do I shoot you in the mouth instead?” For Caleb, it wasn’t a question. It was mockery wrapped in death, even though his face remained cold and terrifyingly composed. “You certainly had a lot to say before. But has anyone ever told you that I’d kill every single soul that dared insult my woman?”

Even though Claire had never treated you with decency, never once acknowledged you as anything but filth—the issue wasn’t about defending her. It was about stopping Caleb before he added another life to his ledger. Not for you. Not because of you. You’d already seen too much blood spilled in your name.

You couldn’t bear to be the reason again.

And you were tired of bleeding for a man who only knew how to destroy.

So you ran. You ignored the pain screaming through your body, ignored the way your knees buckled with every step. You ran until you were standing between his gun and its target. “Caleb.” Your voice cracked. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flicked to you, and for the first time in weeks, he looked startled. “Why are you here? Go back to your room,” he ordered, sternly. “I don’t want you interfering with this.”

“No more killing!” you shouted, your voice louder than you thought you still possessed. “Not for me. Not because of me!”

“I’m doing this for you,” he said flatly. As if it were a universal truth. As if murder could be dressed up as love. “These people will never respect you, not until I give them all a lesson.”

You laughed. Respect? How ironic of him to say.

But you weren’t listening anymore. You were done with being his puppet. You were done with the pain, the manipulation, and the suffocating control he had over everything in your life. “I don’t want your protection. I don’t want anything from you anymore!” you spat. “I’m done chasing your love. I’m disgusted with you and things you’ve done! They’re not love, Caleb. Do us all a favor and go to hell!”

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, he faltered. He stood in the crossroads of his own making: one path paved in control and power, and the other, threatened by the woman who once shivered under his icy stare.

And to everyone’s surprise, he lowered the gun.

Just as you asked.

Everyone knew and could feel that the war was winding down. Slowly, like an old machine losing steam. Gunfire no longer echoed through the mountains. Missives came in with fewer red marks. Still and all, the air around Caleb remained tense, as if he was standing at the eye of a storm.

You hadn’t seen much of him in recent weeks. At least, not as much as he let you. He came and went in silence, never bothering you or speaking to you since the day you asked him to go to hell. But the good outcome from that last interaction led to no more outbursts in the days that followed, no heated arguments. Just long hours spent in the shadows of the base, pouring over confidential papers, taking hushed calls with unnamed officials, signing things he didn’t let you see.

What you didn’t know was that he had spent the last few weeks building you a way out.

An escape plan masked as a gift: forged new identity papers with your maiden name, a secluded property far from the wreckage of war, monthly financial deposits that would keep you fed for decades, and official documents that ensured no one, not even the government, could drag you back into this life.

He was sealing off every door behind you. Quietly, meticulously.

And you? You were doing your best to pretend you still belonged to the world of the living.

You volunteered at the children’s infirmary more often. Spent time folding clean sheets and organizing medicine cabinets just to feel useful. You didn’t talk much. You weren’t trying to heal—you were just trying not to rot.

That night, you were in your shared quarters, folding the same shirt three times over just to get the sleeves right, when the door creaked open. You didn’t bother turning around. Caleb had been in and out, never staying long. Most days he’d never even greet you. Some days, he would come home and take a shower, slipping into his side of the bed without a word, his back turned to you as he tried to get a wink of sleep. There wasn’t even any eye contact to be shared.

But this time was different.

Although he still didn’t say anything. He walked in, closed the door behind him with a soft click, let you feel his presence before you saw him. He was closing the distance, sure. But what surprised you was how he wrapped his arms around you from behind. Tightly. With his face buried in your shoulder. You froze at first as his embrace was firm, almost desperate. One hand gripped your waist, the other pressed flat against your stomach like he was anchoring himself. His breath was warm against your neck, but his voice never came.

“Let me go,” you murmured, not moving.

“Just five minutes,” he whispered at last. “Just… stay still. That’s all I ask.”

You did. Your fingers uncurled from the fabric in your hand, and for once, you let your body rest against his without resistance, while he held you like a man trying to memorize the shape of something he could never return to. Time stretched between you like a slow heartbeat. An extremely, dangerously slow heartbeat.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t let go entirely. He just placed a kiss on your cheek. No explanation. No apology.

“I’ll make it right, Y/N,” he simply said, holding your face with a gentle hand and running his thumb across your cheek. His stare was earnest as he looked into your eyes. “I’ll make sure you never have to think of me again.”

And just as quietly as he came, he turned and left the room. You knew something in your chest tightened, the way it does when you sense someone saying goodbye without actually saying the words. But you didn’t run after him. You stood there for a long time after the door closed… wondering what, exactly, he was leaving behind. And what you were about to lose.

Caleb had always preferred solitude during these moments before a mission—just him, the whirr of his jet’s engines, and the distant thrum of his thoughts. And tonight, a rare calm and quiet night, was exactly what he wanted. The sky was unusually clear for wartime. There were no anti-air guns firing in the distance, no buzz of enemy drones, just the cold serenity of the atmosphere wrapping around him, welcoming him.

He sat in the cockpit, surrounded by the soft blue glow of the control panel. His gloved fingers adjusted the dials with precision, movements rehearsed a thousand times over. Everything was ready. Everything had been planned.

And yet, his thoughts couldn’t stay present. They drifted, inevitably, to you. You had been on his mind constantly, every minute of every day. The hatred in your eyes when you told him to go to hell, when you told him you wanted him dead. He couldn’t blame you. After all, he had stolen your peace, your happiness, and maybe even your will to live.

The comms in his ear cut him from his trance. “Specter-01, this is base command,” came a low voice. “Caleb, what’s your heading? You’re a few degrees off course.”

He tapped a switch, cleared his throat. “Still en route. Just adjusting for wind drift.”

There was a pause before the voice returned—Gideon. One of the few people Caleb could stand to have at his side. Loyal to a fault. And too sharp for his own good. “Don’t bullshit me, Colonel. You’re not following protocol.” There was tension in his voice now, the kind that could only come from fear. “This isn’t like you.”

Caleb exhaled slowly, the breath fogging inside his helmet. “I’m fine, Gideon,” he replied, voice calm, almost detached. “Just needed some air. That’s all.”

“But you're flying into a dead zone. No support, no backup, no exit route. If something goes wrong—”

“I know,” he cut in softly.

Another long silence stretched between them.

“...Don’t do this.”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the radar, the blinking dots, the calculated trajectory. Everything had been mapped out—every lie, every angle, every detail to make it look accidental. So that no one would question. So that no one would stop you from moving on.

“Take care of ‘em, Gideon,” he said at last, and his voice made it clear—this wasn’t just a briefing anymore. “Take care of the team. And… her. Make sure she gets what I left behind. All of it.”

“Caleb—” Gideon’s voice was sharper this time. “Caleb, don’t do this. You pull that throttle one more degree and you’re not coming back. You hear me?”

Caleb didn’t respond immediately.

He stared ahead, the horizon fading into black. Then he glanced down at the radar, his destination marked in red, blinking faintly like a dying heartbeat. His fingers danced across the console with quiet certainty. There was no trembling now. Only resolve.

He flicked the comms one last time, the channel still open to Gideon.

“This is Colonel Caleb Xia,” he began, voice steady, almost ceremonial. “Serial Number X-02. Former DAA Fighter Pilot. 5th Skyborne Division. Head of Tactical Recon. Shadow Commander of the Ninth Flight. Loyal son of the war.”

While Gideon was holding his breath on the other line, Caleb exhaled on his.

“Signing off.”

“Wait—Caleb, don’t you fucking dare—!”

Then he switched the comms off.

Silence flooded the cockpit again, but it was a cruel relief. The kind that felt like surrender. He gripped the joystick and pushed the throttle forward, feeling the jet surge under his hands. The roar of the engines was deafening now. He wasn’t afraid. In fact, the familiar vibrations of the jet beneath him felt oddly soothing. The plane climbed higher, slicing through clouds like paper. The city below looked small now, insignificant—like all the things he used to care about. A dot among dots. A place where people still hoped, still dreamed.

And you were somewhere down there. Breathing. Alive.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could picture your face one last time. As if he could imprint it onto whatever eternity waited for him. Then, his fingers hovered over the control panel, the slightest tremor in them now. He entered the override, veered sharply, and… the jet dipped lower.

There would be no mayday. No beacon.

Just one last act of penance.

With a faint smile—equal parts grief and relief—Caleb let go.

1 MONTH AFTER

The somber grey clouds had a mission today. Not stormy, not weeping—just still. And heavy.

Unlike the usual stark white uniform you donned as a war nurse, you stood in an all-black attire before a modest grave now, staring at the name etched into the headstone that was so clean it could’ve been carved yesterday.

(MC) Xia

Beloved Wife. Devoted Friend. A Soul That Endured the War.

A month had passed since the ceasefire, since the war gasped its last violent breath, since the tower’s red lights blinked for the last time. They no longer raised the war ensign, and instead, replaced it with a regular flag. It was a month full of hope, of joy, of good news. A month of normalcy. Of peace.

It had also been a month since Caleb’s jet spiraled off the radar, only to never land again.

You were in his quarters when the news arrived—delivered not with ceremony, but in a voice worn thin by grief. It was his closest friend Gideon who told you, his eyes bloodshot and hollow, aged more by sorrow than war. Caleb’s jet had gone down, he said. It was too late to save him. His jet turned into a comet over the mountains, and that was the last anyone saw of him. They told you the wreckage was scattered beyond recognition. That there were no remains to bury. No bones to hold the ceremony over, not even fragments for a grave. Only soot, swallowed by wind, vanishing like vapor.

At first, there was no reaction. Just silence. An unbearable stillness. You stood motionless, eyes dazed, like everything was just a part of a cruel dream. Isn’t this what I wanted? you asked yourself, again and again, trying to summon a feeling—relief, peace, something. But nothing came. Not even the tears.

Instead, your legs gave out. You collapsed to the floor with trembling hands and an aching heart, but remained dry-eyed for most of it. Grief had not yet found its shape. It simply throbbed inside your chest, like something inside you shattered so loud you thought the world could hear it.

Moving on didn’t come easily, either. A month may have passed, but it wasn’t enough. It was too soon, too early to even expect yourself to be fine again. And how could you begin to accept death, when it had left no trace behind?

So, you came here instead. To her grave. To return him to her.

Caleb’s first love. His wife. The woman who haunted the corners of his mind like a fading photograph and whose memory bled into everything you had shared with him. This was the only place that felt honest. The only place where both your griefs could sit side by side without judgement.

The wind danced with the soft rustling of leaves as you stood still beneath the shadow of a tree, the kind that had lived through more seasons than any of the soldiers buried here ever would. The grave in front of you was well-cared for, and the flowers beside it were fresh—carefully arranged lilies and white chrysanthemums, the ones Caleb always said reminded him of peace. Maybe he brought them. Surely, he did. Your hand rested gently on the headstone, fingers tracing the grooves of her name as if they were familiar and sacred.

“Please take care of him.” You spoke softly, too softly as if she was one with the wind. “I’m sure he’s with you now. That’s where he always belonged.” Glancing down, you blinked past the sting behind your eyes. “I used to wonder why he never looked at me the same. Why he always held me like I was glass but never gold. But I understand now. You were his home. And when you died, he lost the only map he ever followed.”

A small, bitter smile flickered across your lips.

“He loved you. So fiercely. So painfully.” A pause, only for you to swallow the weakness forcing its way up your throat. “If only you had survived the war… he wouldn’t have turned into what he became. I was just the aftermath. I was the damage. But still, I hope you can forgive him. And I hope you can forgive me, too.”

As you took a deep, cathartic exhale, footsteps broke the silence behind you.

“Still raining,” said Dr. Zayne, holding the umbrella over your head. You let the drizzle kiss your cheeks like tears from the sky. “She was our childhood,” he added quietly. “Mine and Caleb’s.”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t on good terms with him,” he admitted. “I loved her, too. But I set it aside because I wanted to be happy for them.”

You finally looked up at him. His expression was solemn as he reached into his coat.

“Before he left… he asked me to give you this.”

A letter. Plain. Folded like an airplane. Your name written in his unmistakable, sharp script. You took it with trembling hands.

Zayne didn’t say more. He simply nodded at the grave, and then at you. “We should go. The roads are closing soon.”

You nodded, lips parting but no words falling. The letter simply grew heavier in your hands, and your fingers itched to open them. You knew this wasn’t closure exactly.

But it was something close enough to carry forward.

To my sweetest girl, If you’re reading this, I probably don’t exist anymore. I don’t know what state you’ll be in when this reaches your hands—if you’ll cry, if you’ll laugh, or if you’ll crumple this letter and curse my name like I deserve. I don’t expect forgiveness. I never did. But I need you to know what I’ve done. Not to earn your love, but to settle a debt that I created the moment I took your life and bent it into something unrecognizable. Inside the envelope I left with my friend, Zayne, you’ll find everything you need to start over. A full civilian identity under your maiden name—clean records, a background, even a fabricated work history. There’s a house registered to that name in a quiet part of the world where no one will know you, where the war won’t reach, and neither will I. I’ve transferred assets to accounts only accessible by you and under your new credentials. The funds should last you a lifetime, or maybe two. You’ll find documents for land ownership, health coverage, and immunity against any wartime tribunal trying to drag your name through the dirt. You won’t owe anyone anything. Not even me. It’s not enough. I know it’s not enough. There is no currency in the world that can pay back the things I did to you—directly or by consequence. But this… this is the only form of apology I know how to give. My death is not redemption. But I know it’s your freedom. You once told me you prayed for the war to end and for me to vanish with it. So here I am, granting your prayer. A little too late. A little too broken. But still yours, in whatever way this bitter world will allow. I don’t want you to mourn me. I just want you to live. Live like the girl who smiled before she met me. Live like the woman I watched patch bullet wounds and hold broken men together with shaking hands. And if you ever look up to the sky and wonder where I went, I hope the stars lie to you. I hope they tell you I made it somewhere better. That way, you won’t carry the burden of my passing. Only the start of your beginning. Don’t look back. Don’t come searching for ghosts. Just go. And never stop going. Yours in another life, Caleb

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x y/n #caleb xia #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou x you #caleb angst #caleb smut #caleb fanfic #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader

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dollgxtz · 19 days ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt. 21

Word Count: 23.5k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, forced pregnancy, unwanted pregnancy, manipulation, coercion, tw for rape, ptsd, panic attacks, caleb appears, nicknames like pipsqueak, kitten, sweetie, honey

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @eliasxchocolate @nozomiaj @yuuchanie @sylus-kitten @its-regretti @starkeysslvt @yarafic @prince-nikko @iluvmewwwww75 @someone-somewheres-stuff @zaynesjasmine1 @honnylemontea @altariasu @sorryimakira @pearlymel @emidpsandia @angel-jupiter @hwangintakswifey @webmvie @housesortinghat @shoruio @gojos1ut @solomonlover @mysssticc @elegantnightblaze @mavphorias @babylavendersblog @burntoutfrogacademic @sinstae @certainduckanchor @ladyackermanisdead @sh4nn @lilyadora @nyumin @kiwookse @anisha24-blog1 @weepingluminarytale @riamir @definitionistato @xxhayashixx @adraxsteia @hargun-s @cayraeley @palomanh @spaceace111 @euridan @malleus-draconias-rose @athoieee @shddyboo @lavcia

AN: Hi guys! I know its been a minute since such a scene has been included so just an extra warning that there is noncon in this chapter! Stay safe pls!! Also some of you had some questions about whether MC will fall for any other love interest that appears, so I just want to say Mc has no romantic or sexual feelings for Caleb, just as she had no romantic feelings for Zayne or Rafayel when they showed up. I just felt it made sense for him to have a significant part in the plot considering they grew up together. Any romantic feelings she has is solely focused on Xavier and Sylus in this story! Just wanted to clear that up in case anyone got confused! Ty :3

“It’s her father, isn’t it?” You said nothing, but your shoulders stiffened, and that was enough. “Screw him,” Caleb continued, his tone sharper now. “Seriously. Whatever happened, he's clearly abandoned you. Left you to figure it out on your own. You don’t have to keep searching or struggling. You both can have a home here.” He leaned forward slightly, sincerity ringing through every word. “With me.” He meant it. You could see it—no bravado, no games. Just the raw earnestness of someone who wanted to do the right thing for someone they still cared about. And maybe that’s what made it worse. Your hands started to sweat, palms clammy as anxiety crept up your spine like a slow, cold hand. You curled your fingers inward, trying not to shake. He didn’t know.

Check my masterlist for the other parts!

You felt like nothing was real.

One moment, you had been on the verge of tears, your voice cracking in the vitals records office beneath the clinical fluorescence of the overhead lights, desperately trying to piece together a life where you and Sylvia could both be free. The clerk had looked at you with sympathy, yes—but it was the kind of sympathy reserved for people drowning in their own chaos. You had no address. No papers. No destination. You had been scrambling just to make it from one hour to the next.

And now?

Now, you were in a car.

A warm car. Heated seats humming softly beneath you. The windows rolled down just enough to let in a gentle breath of winter air. The hum of tires against pavement a strange, calming rhythm under your feet. It smelled faintly of leather, cologne, and something that reminded you of pine. And in the back seat, tucked safely into the car seat, was Sylvia. Her tiny form rose and fell gently with sleep, bundled in the soft blanket.

And at the wheel—

Caleb.

A man who, by every rule of logic, every memory of fire and destruction and goodbye, should not have been breathing.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every few seconds your eyes would dart to the rearview mirror, or the curve of his profile as he turned the wheel, or the shape of his hands gripping the leather. You kept waiting for him to disappear, for the car to dissolve into smoke, for the world to tilt and drop you back onto the sidewalk outside the records office, heartbroken and sobbing.

But he didn’t vanish.

He was right there.

"How many times are you gonna pinch yourself?" Caleb laughed, tossing a glance at you in the mirror, his voice light, almost teasing.

You blinked down at your arm, realizing with a start that your fingers were still gripping your sleeve, caught in the act of pinching. You let go like it burned and turned to look out the window instead, cheeks flushed with heat. You hadn’t even realized you were doing it.

It was easier to stay quiet. To lose yourself in the motion of the road, the blur of buildings and trees and traffic signs. To pretend, even just for a second, that the world was okay. That this was normal. That your life hadn’t imploded and left you breathless in its wake. The low hum of the engine soothed something deep inside you. Sylvia’s soft breathing anchored you. But none of it made sense.

“I just…” you murmured, voice raw, catching in your throat. “You’re supposed to be dead. I must be dreaming.”

“You could say I was,” Caleb said, his voice casual, but his eyes flicked toward you with something softer, heavier. “Didn’t take, I guess.”

You shook your head slowly, biting your lip. The joke wasn’t funny. Not to you. Not when you’d spent endless nights grieving him. Not when you’d whispered his name into pillows soaked with tears, praying that he hadn’t suffered. Praying that wherever he was, he wasn’t in pain.

The silence stretched.

You looked back at Sylvia, heart clenching as you watched her squirm lightly in her sleep. Even with Caleb in the front seat and a moment of calm settling around you, the questions clawed their way back into your mind.

How was he alive?

Where had he been?

Why now?

Why did it feel like, even in this surreal moment, everything was about to fall apart again?

Nothing was fine.

But for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, a thin thread of safety wound its way around your ribs. It wasn’t security, not really. But it was something. A promise. A fragile sense that maybe—just maybe—you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

Something almost felt safe.

And that was terrifying in its own right.

You had a million questions crowding your mind, each one elbowing the other for space, but none of them could find their way to your mouth. They piled up like traffic behind your teeth, heavy and stalled by disbelief. So instead, you sat in silence—shell-shocked, emotionally paralyzed, your hands cold in your lap despite the warmth of the car. Your eyes flicked between the dashboard and the man in the driver’s seat, who should have been dust and ash. Your breath felt caught somewhere in your throat, stuck between a scream and a sob.

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy to see him. No, that wasn’t it. Deep down, a part of you ached with relief. The sight of him—the curve of his jaw, the cadence of his laugh, the way his hands still gripped the wheel like he was built for steadiness—it was like coming home. But the rest of you—the louder part—was afraid. Terrified, even. That this was some kind of cruel joke. That maybe you’d finally cracked and this was all in your head. The idea that Caleb was actually here, alive and real, seemed too fragile to hold. Like one wrong word might break the spell and leave you in pieces again.

You were balancing on the edge of hope and horror, and neither felt stable. Better to just go with the flow for now before unraveling any mysteries.

Caleb, ever observant, seemed to pick up on your inner storm. His voice broke through the silence like sunlight through storm clouds. "Did you see that woman’s face when you said `You’re alive?' he laughed, the sound warm and familiar in a way that made your eyes sting.

You looked up at him, the corners of your mouth twitching into a weak, uncertain smile. “Yeah,” you said softly, voice still frayed from earlier. “It was a good thing I came up with that lie about you being in the attack with me…”

He snorted, nodding in approval. “Smooth save. Pretty sure her brain short-circuited.”

You gave a soft huff of air that was almost a laugh, but the tension didn’t lift. Your eyes fell to your hands again. There were so many things you wanted to say. To ask. Where had he been? Why fake his death. What had he gone through? Why hadn’t he found you sooner?

But still none of it came out.

Your throat locked tight, as if the questions themselves were too dangerous. Too sacred. And if you asked them now—if he answered—you weren’t sure your heart could take it.

"Ehh..."

Sylvia’s soft, restless whine from the car seat behind you was the first sound to cut through the haze that had settled in your chest. You turned instinctively, your hand already moving, gently stroking her soft hair to soothe her. She blinked slowly, her tiny lashes fluttering as her eyes opened halfway, still glazed with sleep. Her fussing faded under your touch, and her lips twitched into something almost like contentment. That small reaction—so pure, so undeserved—tugged at something deep and fragile inside you.

Your fingers lingered in her hair a little longer, like you were trying to memorize the feel of her, brand it into your memory before the world shifted again.

You turned back to the front, eyes drifting once more to Caleb. As if your brain had finally caught up to the moment, a fresh rush of disbelief surged through you. Caleb. Alive. Driving. Not a hallucination. And you were here, somehow, in a world that still had him in it.

He hadn't asked any questions yet. But you knew he had them. God, he must’ve had dozens.

After all, you had a baby in tow. You weren’t in Linkon. You weren’t on any assignment. You were living out of a beat-up car, with dark circles under your eyes, trauma stitched into every movement, your clothes wrinkled and worn from weeks of running. You were the definition of a red flag right now.

And still, he hadn’t said anything about it.

It wasn’t like him not to pry. Not to crack a joke or dig with teasing persistence. That silence said more than words ever could—maybe he was giving you space? Letting you collect yourself. Letting you choose when and if you were ready to speak.

The thought made your chest tighten with gratitude.

But still, your gaze flicked to the rearview mirror. You couldn’t help it. The car. The one you’d left behind in that parking lot. Caleb had promised it would be handled, that one of his guys would tow it to a secure location until you were ready to deal with it again.

But the thought nagged at you.

That car had been your shelter. Your shield. Your cocoon when the world outside was too hostile to face. You’d driven it through storms, slept in its back seat when Sylvia wouldn’t stop crying, spilled breastmilk on its floor mats. It smelled like desperation and stale snacks and newborn sweat. It was disgusting and broken and home.

And now it was gone.

Or at least, not with you.

The back of your throat tightened. You told yourself it was stupid to get emotional over a piece of metal and upholstery, but that car had meant survival. And you’d lost so many things already—you couldn’t lose that too.

Your fingers curled slightly in your lap. You didn’t say anything, not yet. You just sat there, letting the weight of everything hover in the stillness between you and Caleb, trying to ground yourself in the fact that—for now—you were safe. Right?

“We’ll have to take my jet the rest of the way. Hope you got over your fear of heights!” Caleb said, casting a glance in your direction with that same crooked smirk he used to wear when you were kids—only now, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You blinked at him, the words barely registering at first. Jet? Your brows lifted before you could catch the reaction, and your head turned slowly, like your brain was trying to catch up with your body. He owned a jet now?

Jet—as in private aircraft? Caleb?

Your Caleb?

The same Caleb who used to beg Grandma to drive you both to school because his bike had a flat tire again, and once duct-taped the soles of his shoes back on because he used his savings from dogwalking to buy you the new pairs of shoes you were wanting. You stared at him, trying to align that boy—the one who used to eat cereal straight from the box on the kitchen floor at 2 a.m.—with the man sitting in front of you now, dressed very nicely, driving like someone who had nothing in the world to run from.

How many versions of Caleb were there now? And how many had you missed?

You didn’t say anything at first. You couldn’t. Your brain was still doing somersaults, flipping back and forth between the past and this unfamiliar present. So you did what you always did when the feelings were too big to name—you rolled your eyes. Not with irritation, but with the kind of self-protective sarcasm that had once made you both laugh under the blankets after Grandma had gone to bed.

“I’m more worried about her,” you muttered, your voice quieter, more grounded as you reached back automatically to check on Sylvia. Your fingers slid beneath the edge of the blanket and gently adjusted it over her chest, tucking her in a little tighter. She didn’t stir, her breaths slow and even, but still your heart twisted. The idea of her ears popping mid-flight, of her tiny face scrunching up in pain with no way to understand what was happening—it gutted you.

“She’s never been on a plane before.”

“Don’t worry, Pipsqueak,” Caleb said, waving one hand like he was swatting away a fly. “The cabin’s pressure-stabilized. She won’t feel a thing, I promise.”

You nodded slowly, but didn’t quite relax. Not because you didn’t want to trust him—but because trust didn’t come easy anymore. Not after everything. Not with Sylvia in the picture. There was too much at stake now. You weren’t just responsible for yourself anymore.

And then the name hit you.

Pipsqueak.

God. That name. It hadn’t been spoken in years.

It rolled off his tongue so casually, like no time had passed. Like he could just reach through the space between now and back then and pluck that version of you back into existence.

But it didn’t feel casual to you. It felt like a gut punch wrapped in nostalgia.

Because Pipsqueak didn’t belong to the person you were now. It belonged to a girl who had climbed trees barefoot, who had raced him down the hallway to call shotgun, who snuck junk food into the house because Grandma said sugar stunted growth. Belonged to the girl who sat beside Caleb on the roof when neither of you could sleep, pointing out constellations with chipped fingernails and whispered dreams. That version of you had been young and fierce and full of fire, long before trauma and survival had hollowed her out and filled her with something colder.

You weren’t her anymore.

You hadn’t been her since the first time you ran. Since you started sleeping in shifts and counting canned food like currency. Since the first time Sylvia screamed and you didn’t have a clue what to do and thought you might throw up from the sheer weight of it all.

But it was clear Caleb wasn't the same little boy either.

You looked over at him, more carefully this time.

Caleb was clean-cut now. Sharp jaw, newer clothes, posture like someone who’d spent a lot of time trying to stand taller than his past. But there were tells—little ones. The faint crease in his brow. The way his fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel when he thought you weren’t watching. That edge behind his jokes. The ghosts still lingered.

Neither of you had made it out whole.

You looked away before the memories swallowed you whole, your hand drifting down to Sylvia’s tiny cheek. Her warmth anchored you. Her soft breaths pulled you back into the present.

For now, she was safe. For now, you were in a car with someone who had once been your entire world, who still knew your middle name and your worst habit and probably remembered the way you liked your toast. For now, you could pretend this was normal.

For now, you could pretend this new version of Caleb—with his jet and secrets and unreadable eyes—was still the same boy who used to sneak you extra pancakes and call you Pipsqueak like it meant something sacred.

Neither of you said much else. The silence hung in the space between you like thick fog—unspoken words pressing at your lips, but none of them quite right, none of them quite safe. The weight of everything that hadn't been said settled heavily in the air, dense and unmoving. What was there to say? Too much, and all of it too tangled to unravel right now. Every sentence you might’ve spoken felt too fragile, too prone to crumbling under its own emotional weight. Silence, uncomfortable as it was, felt safer. Cleaner. A truce carved out of restraint.

In a strange way, you were grateful for the jet. Not for the speed or the luxury of it, but for the sheer, unapologetic distance it offered from Sylus. Even if it was temporary, even if he’d still live in your head rent-free for a while longer, there was something deeply comforting about physically putting space between yourself and everything you couldn’t yet face. A few hours of altitude between you and the weight of everything that had happened. You didn’t have to look back. Not yet. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A buffer. A breath.

The drone of the engine had settled into a low, steady rhythm—soothing in its own way. You watched clouds slide past the window for a while, your thoughts drifting in and out of coherence, like pieces of a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto. Eventually, without meaning to, you slipped beneath the surface of sleep. Your head tilted, your eyes closed, and the world faded away.

You didn’t even realize you’d dozed off until you felt a light tap on your knee, delicate but insistent enough to pull you out of the haze.

"Hey," Caleb’s voice stirred you gently back to consciousness. It was soft but grounded, laced with that practical warmth he always carried. He was half-turned from the front seat, one hand still out from tapping you, the other braced casually on the seat back. "We're here. Just grab the baby—I’ve got your stuff."

You blinked, bleary-eyed, and sat up straighter, trying to orient yourself. The car had stopped. The window beside you now showed a blur of unfamiliar buildings and muted light filtering through an overcast sky. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hand, your muscles still heavy with sleep.

"Oh! Thank you…" you murmured, your voice still touched by that soft post-nap haze. It came out quieter than intended, wrapped in surprise and a thread of embarrassment. You turned your attention to Sylvia, who was still snoozing in her car seat, her tiny hands curled into fists.

You unbuckled her with care, every movement measured and quiet, not wanting to jostle her awake.

Caleb had already moved toward the trunk. True to form. Just like you remembered. There was something reassuring about the way he moved—efficient, no-nonsense, always one step ahead when it came to practical things. He slung the bags over his shoulder like it was nothing, sparing you the trouble without needing to be asked. He hadn’t changed in that way. Still Caleb. Still quietly, stubbornly helpful.

You stood there for a moment, watching him work, Sylvia curled against you, and felt a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe. Or just the strange comfort of familiarity in a world that didn’t feel like yours anymore.

The process of getting on Caleb’s jet was shockingly smooth—almost unreal in how effortless it all felt. Then again, it was his jet. His rules. There was no need to wrestle your way through crowded terminals or suffer the usual travel-day gauntlet of TSA screenings and endless lines. No security conveyor belts demanding you strip down your dignity piece by piece. No plastic trays, no pat-downs. Just a private hangar, a silent set of staff moving like clockwork around you, and the unspoken understanding that everything had already been taken care of. Caleb simply offered a few clipped words to the crew and a nod, like royalty checking into his estate.

You followed him as he led the way down a private runway, the rhythmic crunch of your shoes against the pavement echoing under the vast sky. The heat from the tarmac shimmered in soft waves around your feet, making the air feel thinner, dreamlike. And then, as you rounded a corner and the jet came into full view, you slowed your pace, your breath catching in your throat.

It looked like something out of a high-end magazine spread or an action movie—sleek and purposeful, its metallic silver body gleaming like liquid light under the filtered afternoon sun. A single stripe of midnight-blue curved down its side in a minimalist arc, subtle and elegant. Its windows were tinted so dark they looked like polished onyx, and the stairway was already lowered as if the jet had been expecting you personally.

You couldn’t help but let out a low breath, your eyes wide. "This is yours? Like...actually yours?"

Caleb gave you a side glance, his mouth tugging into a familiar half-smirk. "You sound surprised."

"I am," you said, not taking your eyes off the jet. "The last time I saw you, you were driving that beat-up car that only started if you begged it and hit the dashboard twice."

The last time you saw him was in a burst of flames.

"Hey," he said with mock offense, raising a brow. "That car had character."

"It had a death wish," you shot back, your voice full of disbelief. "Pretty sure it stalled just from looking at a hill."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well. Turns out the car was just shy. Needed a little love."

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the laugh bubbling up. "Right. Shy."

"Exactly," Caleb said smoothly, already climbing the stairway like he belonged in that world. He paused a few steps up and looked back down at you, one hand braced on the railing. "You coming, or are you going to stand there and fall in love with the plane?"

You gave the jet one last sweeping glance—the polished curve of its nose, the pristine angles of its wings, the seamless shine that made it look more like art than aircraft. You adjusted Sylvia carefully in your arms; she stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

With a soft exhale, you nodded and followed Caleb up the steps.

The interior met every expectation and then some—cream-colored leather seats, warm wood paneling, soft lighting that made everything glow like golden hour. It smelled faintly of something clean and expensive, like fresh linen and vanilla.

You weren’t sure what was waiting at the other end of this flight—what conversations, what challenges, what healing or hurt—but for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sliver of relief. Of air. Of something untangled.

The inside of the jet was just as luxurious as the outside—maybe even more so. You stepped into the cabin and immediately felt like you’d crossed an invisible threshold into another world, one far removed from the chaos, noise, and exhaustion you’d been living in lately. It was quiet in the kind of way that made your ears ring a little, like luxury had its own gravity.

The lighting was soft and golden, like perpetual sunset casting a warm glow over everything it touched. Wide cream-colored leather seats were arranged in a staggered formation, each one more like an armchair from a high-end hotel than anything you’d ever seen on a commercial flight. Every seat had its own console and polished wood side table with built-in touchscreen panels, chrome fixtures, and tiny storage drawers.

The carpet underfoot was a plush gray so thick your footsteps made no sound. Subtle overhead lights twinkled like stars, embedded into the cream ceiling panels, while small windows filtered in natural light through polarized glass. Even the air smelled expensive—crisp, with a hint of something floral and fresh, like linen mist. Built-in compartments disappeared seamlessly into the cabin walls, leaving everything tidy and curated to perfection. There wasn’t a single scuff mark or fingerprint in sight.

You paused at the top of the steps and just… stared, wide-eyed. "Wow," you breathed out, barely above a whisper. "This is insane."

Caleb turned around with that familiar crooked smirk of his. "Better than coach, huh?"

You snorted, your lips twitching despite the awe. "You think? This looks like something a billionaire would use to run away from their problems in style."

"What do you think I’m doing?" he teased.

The space was mostly empty apart from the seats, a few sleek tables, and a refreshment bar tucked at the rear, stocked with bottles and glassware that caught the light just right. Everything had that untouched, carefully maintained look—like the jet wasn’t just a mode of transportation, but a symbol.

It had been a long time since you’d flown anywhere. Long enough that your body reacted before your brain could catch up. The buzzing in your limbs wasn’t just nerves—it was the tightball of anticipation, a kind of vulnerability stirred by the idea of flying again. You took a deep breath and looked down at Sylvia, still cradled against you. She was awake now, her big eyes blinking slowly, peacefully.

You followed Caleb down the narrow aisle as he gestured toward one of the larger seats. He placed a hand lightly against the backrest, as if offering it like a proper host.

"Here," he said gently, helping you ease into the plush leather. He didn’t say much else, but he didn’t need to. His presence was steady, calm. He made sure the seat reclined without sticking, adjusted your footrest, and moved Sylvia’s baby bag into an overhead compartment without being asked. Small things, but they steadied you more than you expected.

You sat back and tried to breathe normally. The hum of the engines was so faint you almost forgot they were running. The quiet was comforting at first, but as the minutes stretched, your mind began to wander. You glanced down at Sylvia. She was quiet now but would need to be changed and fed soon. You swallowed hard, the idea of handling that in front of Caleb making you shift uncomfortably in your seat. It wasn’t just the act itself—it was the intimacy of it, the vulnerability, the reminders of how much things had changed.

Just as your thoughts began to spiral, Caleb stood up and made his way to the front of the cabin, past the bulkhead and toward the cockpit.

"Gonna talk to the pilot?" you called after him, blinking as you tried to make sense of what he was doing.

He paused in the doorway, looked over his shoulder with a glint in his eye—and then pulled something out of his jacket.

A pilot’s cap.

He slipped it onto his head with a theatrical little tilt. "I haven’t talked to myself since I was a kid, Pips," he said with a wink. "Don’t be silly."

You just stared. Your mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. "Wait...you’re flying this thing?"

Caleb gave a soft chuckle and disappeared into the cockpit like it was no big deal, like you hadn’t just found out that your ride through the clouds was being personally flown by someone you once saw get stuck trying to parallel park at sixteen.

You sat in stunned silence, clutching Sylvia closer. She looked up at you with that calm, curious expression babies had when they sensed something strange was happening. You weren’t sure whether to be impressed, horrified, or both.

Probably both.

Sylvia began to fuss right before the plane started to move, her soft whines piercing the serene quiet of the cabin. You felt her small body shift against you, tiny fingers clenching and unclenching as her restlessness grew. With a quiet murmur of reassurance, you shifted in your seat, gently picking her up by the armpits and adjusting her in your lap so she was sitting in a new position, facing outward to take in the soft, ambient glow of the jet’s lighting.

Her little legs kicked against your thighs, and you could feel the tension in her body—restless and searching for comfort. You bounced your knees lightly, hoping the motion might soothe her, but her unease lingered.

You glanced around the cabin, your awe at the luxury around you temporarily eclipsed by the more immediate reality of having a fussy infant in your arms. The pristine elegance—the rich leather seats, the gleaming wood accents, the hushed air of wealth—suddenly felt a little less impressive. You dug through the diaper bag for a fresh diaper and a soft blanket, your hands moving quickly but carefully.

Balancing Sylvia in your lap, you began to change her diaper as discreetly as you could. The wide seat helped, its buttery-soft cushions giving you just enough space to manage the awkward angle. It wasn’t the most dignified moment, but you’d gotten used to that by now. Motherhood didn’t wait for convenience. You kept one eye on the cabin door that led to the cockpit and the other on Sylvia’s wriggling feet.

Once she was clean and dry, you gathered her back into your arms, wrapping the blanket loosely around her and beginning to feed her. Her fussing eased into quiet suckling, the tension in her body gradually fading. You rocked her slightly, syncing the motion with the subtle vibrations of the jet’s engine beneath your seat.

Even as your hands stayed busy, your mind wandered—inevitably—to Caleb. You pictured him seated in the cockpit, hands steady on the controls, posture confident, eyes scanning gauges and readouts with the same sharp focus you remembered from years ago. Maybe he was humming softly to himself, something rhythmic, a habit he'd had when he was deep in concentration. You wanted to see it. You wanted to witness him in that moment—so completely in control, so competent—but you told yourself not to interrupt. He was flying a jet, after all. Best not to distract the pilot.

You still couldn't quite believe this all. The cracks were starting to form in your mind. Yeah, it was easy to just go along with this. Pretend you didn't have a million questions but you felt like you were about to sob any second from it all.

The jet began to taxi, the movement smooth and steady, but as it picked up speed for takeoff, a sudden jolt of turbulence bounced through the cabin. You gasped quietly, instinctively wrapping your arms tighter around Sylvia. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t cry—just made a small uncertain noise and tucked her head into your chest. The turbulence only lasted a few moments, the bumpiness quickly smoothing into a steady, level glide as the jet ascended into the sky.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your muscles slowly unclenching.

Sylvia finished the milk with a few soft gulps, her lashes beginning to flutter as sleep started to tug at her once more. You wiped her chin with a small cloth, adjusting the blanket around her once more, tucking her close into the crook of your arm.

"There we go," you whispered, brushing your fingers gently along her forehead. "See? Nothing to be scared of. Just a little rumble. Your first flight. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Ah..."

She blinked slowly, her gaze unfocused, mouth slightly parted. Her hand wiggled near your collarbone, searching for something familiar to hold onto.

"I mean, not that you’ll remember this," you added with a soft laugh. "But still. Big day for you. A jet, even. Not bad for someone who’s barely mastered neck control. You’ve got some high standards to live up to."

She made a soft grunting sound, somewhere between interest and complaint.

"Yeah, I know," you said with a sigh. "You didn’t ask for all this. It’s just happening around you. Same, kid. Same."

Her hand curled lightly against your chest, warm and impossibly small.

"Bet you didn’t know your mom used to be scared of flying," you said, lowering your voice even more. "Still kind of am, to be honest. But I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got someone to protect. You do it anyway. Even when it feels like too much. You just…keep going. I feel like I'm on autopilot. Nothing surprises me anymore. Hell, I still feel uneasy about being your mom. "

Sylvia shifted, her breathing deepening, her body relaxing completely against yours. You leaned back in your seat, the plush cushion cradling your spine, and rested your head against the window.

She wasn’t at the stage yet where she reacted to much. No words, no laughs, no mimicked sounds. It made talking to her feel strange sometimes, like tossing words into a void and hoping they landed somewhere meaningful. You felt the awkwardness creep in occasionally—was this silly? Did it matter?

But you kept talking. Because she was listening, even if she couldn’t show it yet. She could feel your tone, your breath, the warmth in your voice. And maybe, someday, she’d remember it not as words, but as comfort. As presence.

Or maybe you just needed to say the words out loud. Up until this point she had been your only company. And its not like you could suddenly vent all this to Caleb. You had to remind yourself that you were still here, still trying. That the fear didn’t win. That something inside you was still strong enough to carry both of you forward.

So you whispered to her until she slept, your words quiet but steady, carried softly through the cabin like a lullaby meant for both of you.

The rest of the flight went smoothly, the cabin wrapped in a quiet stillness that made it feel like time had slowed down. After Sylvia finally fell asleep, the gentle hum of the engines faded into a soft, constant murmur—almost like a lullaby in the background. You felt yourself melt into the comfort of the wide leather seat, the plush cushions cradling your tired frame. The golden cabin lights had dimmed just enough to cast everything in a warm, dreamy haze, and with Sylvia breathing softly against your chest, it didn’t take long for your own eyelids to grow heavy.

Your fingers idly traced the edge of her baby blanket as you reclined the seat a little farther, nestling into it as far as you could without disturbing her. It was the first moment in days—maybe weeks—where you felt remotely at peace. Somewhere between consciousness and sleep, you drifted, your mind floating untethered. Thoughts of the past, of Sylus, of Caleb at the controls drifted in and out like soft ripples.

You didn’t mean to fall asleep. But exhaustion won.

The jolt that woke you was sudden, sharp—a thump and a rumble beneath your feet as the jet's wheels kissed the tarmac. Your body reacted instantly. You lurched forward, nearly smacking your forehead against the cold window beside you. Heart racing, you blinked rapidly, trying to remember where you were.

"Ugh," you groaned under your breath, reaching up to rub your eyes with one hand while steadying Sylvia with the other. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, her small fists twitching beneath the blanket. You yawned, jaw cracking with the force of it, and sat back, momentarily dazed.

It hadn’t been a long flight—at least, not in actual time. But in your body, it felt like you’d slept through a pocket of stillness carved out just for you. You still felt tired, foggy around the edges, like you’d only just dipped beneath the surface of real rest and been yanked back too soon.

You stared ahead, letting your senses catch up. The soft overhead lighting, the elegant silence of the cabin, the gentle rocking motion as the plane slowed—everything felt strangely familiar now. Like this place, this jet, had become its own little cocoon. You weren’t sure what to do next. There was no flight attendant giving instructions, no passengers rustling around you, no urgency.

So you just pressed the button on your seat, listening to the quiet mechanical hum as it slowly unreclined to its upright position. You adjusted Sylvia gently, making sure she was still snug and warm, her little head nestled just beneath your chin.

And then, you waited.

It didn’t take long. Footsteps padded softly over the carpeted aisle, and soon Caleb appeared from the cockpit, still wearing that damn pilot’s cap. He looked annoyingly well-rested, a slight sheen of effort on his skin, but not a hair out of place. The cap was tilted back in his hand, and his expression had that smug glow that told you he was absolutely waiting for your reaction.

"So," he said with an easy grin, leaning casually against the armrest of the seat in front of you, "how’d I do? Would you say...five stars? Maybe even a glowing review? 'Pilot was easy on the eyes, kept turbulence light, snacks were mid-tier, but landing was theatrical—10/10 would fly again'?"

You snorted, half amused and half groggy, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I don’t know. I might have to knock off a star for that landing. I nearly got catapulted into the overhead bin."

Caleb let out a laugh, pretending to clutch his heart. "Harsh. That was a textbook landing. You just sleep like a corpse."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you muttered, shifting in your seat and stretching your back. You felt the familiar pinch of stiffness from sleeping in a less-than-ideal position, but compared to what it could’ve been, it wasn’t bad.

He stepped closer, peeking down at Sylvia with a softened gaze. "She sleep the whole time?"

"Eventually," you said. "She wasn’t thrilled at first. Had to do the whole routine—changing, feeding, coaxing. But she passed out somewhere over the clouds."

He nodded, then smiled. "Classic baby stuff. She’ll be a pro in no time."

"I’ll be lucky if I survive her becoming a pro."

Caleb chuckled and straightened up, then extended a hand to you, the same hand that had flown you across the sky just moments ago. "Come on, co-pilot. Let’s get you two off this bird before you give me a one-star review."

You took his hand, rising slowly from the seat with Sylvia still tucked securely in your arms. Her head lolled against your shoulder, warm and drowsy. You glanced once more around the cabin—this strange little haven in the sky—and felt something catch in your throat.

You didn’t know what came next. The world outside was waiting, probably still complicated and messy and too big. But for now, you’d landed.

You and Caleb exchanged casual conversation as he led you away from the sleek, humming jet. The tarmac stretched wide under a cloudless sky, and just ahead, a striking structure captured your attention—a gleaming building of sharp angles and flawless design. Its mirrored glass façade caught the sun like a blade, sending dazzling flares across the pavement, forcing you to shield your eyes as you approached. The air was crisp with altitude, clean and cool, wrapping around you like a fresh breath after confinement. A breeze tugged gently at your clothes and hair, as if the city itself was reaching out to greet you.

Caleb moved with an easy confidence, his posture relaxed but purposeful. You noticed the way others looked at him—not just with familiarity, but respect. Deference. One of his men, dressed in understated tactical black, stood beside a vehicle so polished it looked poured from obsidian. The car was sleek and understatedly powerful, exuding a quiet luxury that didn’t beg for attention—it commanded it. In the backseat, Sylvia’s car seat had already been installed, precisely and securely, its presence an unspoken reassurance that Caleb had thought ahead. You hadn’t even needed to ask.

You eased Sylvia into place, adjusting her carefully before sliding into the seat beside her. The soft click of your buckle was oddly grounding. Caleb glanced at you through the rearview mirror, offering a quick but sincere smile. “Your things will be delivered shortly,” he said. “They’re being handled.” His voice was calm, confident, and somehow grounding amidst the surreal shift in scenery.

He started the engine with a quiet purr, and the vehicle glided forward with barely a whisper of resistance. The road climbed steadily, winding upward into the heart of the city.

Your heart thudded with nervous anticipation, each breath tight with emotion. It wasn’t fear—at least not exactly—but the overwhelming sense that your world was about to change, and drastically. Caleb began pointing out familiar features of the landscape: landmarks, districts, old stories you faintly remembered from conversations long ago. You listened, nodding, but your attention was drawn outward—your eyes devouring the city with silent awe.

Skyhaven was a marvel of impossible engineering and artistic grace. The entire city floated, cradled high above the world, perched like a crown among the clouds. Towering structures spiraled upward with organic elegance, crafted from strange, shimmering alloys and ultra-clear glass. The sunlight painted everything in surreal gradients—blush pink, molten gold, soft lavender—while the skyline shifted with every curve in the road.

The architecture wasn’t just advanced. It was alive with intention. Roads weren’t merely functional—they danced in graceful curves, linking neighborhoods like silver threads through a tapestry. Suspended bridges arced through open air, connecting terraces filled with life: vines spilling over stone, flowers blooming in impossible colors, trees with leaves that shimmered faintly with bioluminescence.

People moved with purpose but no urgency. On translucent skywalks and in open plazas, they sipped from ceramic cups, browsed open-air markets, laughed beneath the gentle spray of fountains that spilled like liquid crystal. Hovercrafts glided soundlessly between levels, their soft lights blinking in harmony, maintaining rhythm in the city’s slow, serene pulse.

It was beautiful in a way that unsettled you—too perfect, too distant from the world you knew. Skyhaven felt like a dream captured in glass and gold, like a city lifted from the pages of a story and somehow made real. And now, it was yours to enter.

A city above the world. Alive, luminous, and waiting.

Caleb gestured casually out the window as the sleek vehicle moved smoothly along the suspended roads of Skyhaven. His voice was easy, relaxed even, as if nothing unusual had happened earlier.

“Over there’s the Grand Spire,” Caleb pointed, nodding at a towering structure with spiraling glass panels glinting softly in the afternoon sun. “They’ve got the best view of the whole city from that observation deck. Maybe we’ll go sometime?”

“Maybe,” you said softly, barely registering what he was actually pointing out. Your thoughts were elsewhere entirely, spinning in tight, anxious circles. The image of Caleb standing at the vital records office wouldn’t leave your mind. What had he really been doing there? He was that voice you had heard right? Had he truly stumbled upon you by pure coincidence—or had he been deliberately watching you? Could he be trusted?

“And down there,” he continued with enthusiasm, seemingly oblivious to your distant responses, “is Skyhaven’s central plaza. Great place for concerts and festivals. Pretty sure you'd like the food stalls—they have amazing pastries.”

You forced yourself to nod, but your throat felt tight, the words sticking painfully as you murmured another half-hearted reply, “Yeah, sounds nice.”

Every innocent glance, every friendly gesture he made suddenly felt suspicious. Your heart raced with unease, your pulse hammering in your ears. Was your anxiety purely trauma-driven paranoia? Were you being irrational, or were your instincts finally alerting you to something real—something dangerous?

“Ah, over there is the Archive,” Caleb said, his tone slightly softer, almost reverent as he gestured toward an imposing building with tall, arched windows. “You can find practically anything there—records, old manuscripts. Vital documents,” he added, his voice briefly catching your attention.

Your gaze shot sharply to him at the mention of records, breath hitching painfully in your chest. Was that deliberate? Was he testing your reaction?

You quickly dropped your eyes, fingers tightening around the edge of your seat, forcing a neutral voice. “Interesting,” you muttered flatly.

Caleb gave you a brief sideways glance, brows knitted faintly in confusion, but he let it pass without comment, turning his focus back to driving as you struggled internally. The paranoia, the unanswered questions—they gnawed at your mind relentlessly, turning every small kindness he showed you into another reason to doubt his true intentions.

“We'll be at the house shortly,” Caleb finally said, his voice slicing gently through the thick fog of silence that had settled uncomfortably between you. He tried to smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards softly, but it never quite reached his eyes. Instead, his gaze remained troubled, distant, as though he were carefully treading the line between reassurance and apology. He felt the tension just as acutely as you did—how could he not? The space between you both was filled with a storm of unspoken words, confusion, mistrust, and unanswered questions, all ready to burst at the slightest provocation.

You gave him a weak nod, eyes briefly meeting his before swiftly turning away, afraid your swirling suspicion and anxiety might spill over, betraying how utterly confused and terrified you felt inside. Your hands gripped the edge of your seat, knuckles pale from the pressure, as you forced your attention to Sylvia, who was thankfully still blissfully unaware, sleeping soundly as if nothing had happened.

When Caleb had first appeared at the vital records office, swooping in at the exact moment you'd desperately needed someone—anyone—to help you, he'd felt like a miracle. At that moment, you’d clung to him without hesitation, driven by the urgent need to escape immediate danger. Caleb, the boy who’d shielded you countless times, who’d once sworn he would always protect you. His familiar presence had been the lifeline you'd instinctively grabbed onto.

But now, after hours spent sitting beside him, listening to his easy yet careful conversation, your mind had begun to unravel, spinning with nagging doubts and relentless paranoia. Had you been too desperate, too reckless? Had you blindly placed your trust in someone who'd been a stranger for years now, just because he'd once been apart of your childhood?

Your stomach churned painfully at the possibility that you'd made a mistake, that you'd been careless in trusting so easily again. But it didn’t make sense—this was Caleb, the very same Caleb you'd grown up alongside, the one who'd protected you from bullies, who'd walked you home when the nights got too dark. The Caleb you’d known had always been safe.

Yet that only complicated things further.

If Caleb was truly safe, then why had he disappeared? Why had he faked his death, vanishing completely from your life, leaving behind nothing but grief and unanswered questions? What had he been doing at the vital records office, at precisely the moment you'd found yourself there? Could it really have been mere chance, a cosmic twist of fate, or had he been deliberately watching, waiting for the perfect moment to approach you?

Your thoughts circled chaotically, a vicious, exhausting loop. Your fingers trembled slightly as you stared at the city passing outside, the gleaming structures and lush terraces of Skyhaven suddenly blurring into meaningless smears of color. Each heartbeat grew more rapid, each breath more labored, as anxiety twisted sharply in your chest.

Why hadn’t he sought you out sooner? If Caleb had truly cared, if he truly was safe, then why had he let you struggle alone for so long, enduring pain and isolation without a single word or sign that he was alive and well? It didn't make sense.

You stole another careful glance at him, studying the relaxed yet cautious way he navigated the hovering vehicle. Caleb seemed calm, unaffected even, while you sat beside him in quiet turmoil, battling questions that felt impossible to ask aloud. Your confusion was tinged with guilt—how dare you doubt him?—but the fear felt justified, too deeply rooted to ignore.

As the vehicle wound along the graceful, elevated roads, drifting gently toward Caleb’s home, your thoughts twisted further inward, forming knots too tight to unravel alone. Trusting him had felt easy at first, natural even. Now it felt dangerous, like blindly stepping toward the edge of a precipice, unsure if the next step would hold firm or crumble beneath your feet.

Your heart sank at the realization that you knew nothing anymore. Caleb might have saved you, but he had also left you drowning in uncertainty. The once comforting silence now felt suffocating, filled to the brim with secrets and unspoken truths.

The remainder of the drive stretched out before you like an endless road, wrapped thickly in an uncomfortable, heavy silence that neither you nor Caleb dared break. Instead, the quiet was only gently interrupted by Sylvia's soft, innocent murmurs and coos from the backseat, filling the oppressive atmosphere with moments of lighthearted innocence.

“Mmnh… gah,” she cooed sleepily, small fingers flexing and unflexing in mild restlessness. She drew in a breath, sighing sweetly as if having a conversation entirely with herself. “Blegh…mmm,” Sylvia continued, her soft, whimsical voice drifting up through the tension in the air like bubbles rising to the surface of still water.

You glanced over your shoulder, offering a tender smile at her small form, relieved by the familiar comfort her presence provided. Sylvia was blissfully unaware of the tension crackling between the two adults in the car, entirely consumed by her innocent musings.

“Ah-gooo…eh…eh,” she chirped, an impatience beginning to edge into her tiny voice as her small hands reached upward, grasping at nothing in particular.

You couldn't help the small smile that tugged at your lips despite the churning anxiety deep in your stomach. You leaned back slightly, gently soothing, “Almost there, sweetheart,” your voice little more than a whisper. You hoped the softness of your words concealed the tremors caused by the uncertainty clenching your throat.

At your quiet reassurance, Caleb briefly turned his head, eyes darting sideways to catch a fleeting glimpse of your face. His gaze lingered only for a second, long enough for you to notice the hesitation etched into his expression, before he returned his attention to the road, jaw tight, eyes fixed firmly ahead. Neither of you ventured a word. Instead, the silence grew again, heavier now, broken only by the hum of tires on smooth pavement and Sylvia’s occasional sighs and murmurs.

Finally, after what felt like hours rather than minutes, Caleb eased the sleek car from the wide main road, guiding it effortlessly onto a private driveway that uncurled gracefully through an impeccably maintained landscape, drawing you closer toward your destination. You straightened slightly in your seat, your heartbeat quickening in anxious anticipation.

As Caleb slowed the vehicle, your breath caught sharply in your throat. Your eyes widened as the impressive mansion emerged fully into view. It loomed majestically ahead, sprawling outward like a fortress born from elegance itself, cloaked in deep, cool shades of grey stone and accentuated subtly by delicate veins of white marble. The sun traced golden paths across the building’s façade, making the polished surfaces gleam softly, shifting fluidly from silver to pearl as the daylight played against it.

The mansion’s tall windows, trimmed neatly with darkened frames, rose grandly upward, glistening and reflecting the drifting clouds overhead, creating a surreal impression that the estate itself hovered effortlessly among the skies. Ornate moldings framed every arch and window, meticulously carved patterns intertwining like the vines that cascaded down from elevated terraces. Each doorway stood imposingly tall and arched, their dark, polished wood surfaces inlaid with intricate brass details, beautiful yet strangely intimidating in their grandeur.

Surrounding the estate were expansive gardens so perfect they seemed more like paintings than living spaces. Symmetrical hedges were impeccably sculpted into precise geometric shapes, lined along polished stone pathways that wove through lush flower beds overflowing with blooms of every color imaginable. The air seemed fragrant with hints of lavender, roses, and something delicate and sweet you couldn’t quite name. At the center of the circular driveway sat a magnificent fountain carved from marble, water sparkling brilliantly as it cascaded gracefully from the outstretched hands of an elegant sculpture, catching the sunlight and scattering tiny rainbows across the manicured grass.

Caleb slowly brought the car to a halt directly before the mansion’s grand entrance. He killed the engine with a swift, practiced motion, plunging you both once more into the silence. This quiet felt different now—charged with a blend of awe, anticipation, and a nagging anxiety you couldn't shake.

You stared at the estate, eyes unblinking, mouth slightly parted in disbelief at the sheer opulence. Caleb’s home was more than just impressive—it was intimidating, beautiful yet distant, seemingly reflective of the man himself. A stranger to you now, in many ways. Even the familiar boy you’d once trusted implicitly seemed impossibly far away, replaced by a man who surrounded himself with wealth, secrecy, and uncertainty.

You gripped the edge of your seat once more, heart pounding unsteadily against your ribs. A thousand questions raced through your mind as you gazed upon the mansion. It was both a sanctuary and a fortress, welcoming but secretive. And for the first time since you'd stepped into Caleb’s world again, you wondered genuinely whether you truly belonged here—or if you'd just stepped into something you weren’t at all prepared for.

"Home sweet home! Come on!" Caleb said, his voice suddenly infused with forced cheerfulness, starkly contrasting the tension that had suffocated the car moments earlier. His attempt at enthusiasm seemed strangely jarring, like sunlight breaking abruptly through storm clouds.

You hesitated for a brief moment before slowly getting out of the car, your legs unsteady beneath you. Carefully, you leaned into the backseat and unbuckled Sylvia from her car seat, gently lifting her against your chest, and reaching in once more for the diaper bag slung haphazardly beside you. The cool evening breeze brushed lightly across your skin, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as you straightened and took in the sight of the sprawling mansion once more. Such overwhelming luxury—so much excess—made your heart pound with nervousness, unease settling deeply within your bones.

Living with Sylus had left deep scars, a lasting fear of houses overly grand or imposing. The echoes of your past lingered, whispering anxieties that tightened your chest and quickened your breath. You closed your eyes for a moment, willing the fear away, taking several careful, slow breaths to steady yourself.

“Hey, you good?” Caleb asked gently, noticing your hesitation. His voice was softer now, tinged with quiet concern.

“Yeah...yeah, I’m okay,” you lied softly, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you forced a reassuring smile. You shifted Sylvia carefully in your arms, pressing her gently against your shoulder as you approached the elegant porch alongside Caleb, who watched you closely, saying nothing else for now.

He pressed his finger into the biometric lock beside the doors. The heavy doors opened with a hushed, almost reverent sigh, welcoming you into the expansive interior of his home. Immediately, you found yourself surrounded by opulence—marble floors gleamed softly beneath a chandelier dripping with tiny crystal teardrops, walls painted in delicate shades of dove grey, accented tastefully by touches of silver and ebony. Everything looked perfectly placed, yet oddly cold.

"This is nice..." you murmured in awe, stepping slowly across the polished floor. You meant it, yet couldn’t help but feel something unsettling about the stark emptiness. The vast interior was beautiful, undeniably luxurious, but utterly devoid of warmth. A chill hovered over the space, shadows stretching quietly in corners untouched by the pale glow of the lamps.

Caleb flicked on another set of lights, illuminating a wide staircase curving gracefully upward to the second floor. He offered a small, awkward smile, shrugging slightly as if embarrassed by your reaction.

"Thanks, pips," he said gently, rubbing the back of his neck. "Though, honestly, I’m not here a whole lot usually. Guess it does seem kinda…empty.”

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond, and began wandering further inside, your footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor. Caleb followed closely behind, his presence both comforting and strangely unsettling, a shadow you couldn't quite shake. Sylvia stirred gently in your arms, and you adjusted your hold instinctively, kissing the crown of her tiny head.

Caleb cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the uneasy quiet as you moved toward the main hall.

"There’s six bedrooms upstairs. You’re welcome to choose any of them for you and, er—" Caleb paused abruptly, suddenly realizing he hadn't yet learned your baby’s name. His face flushed slightly with embarrassment, eyes flicking quickly away and then back again, hesitant.

"Oh, her name is Sylvia," you said quietly, your voice warm and affectionate, a soft smile curving your lips as you gazed lovingly down at your daughter. The moment felt oddly grounding in the midst of all the uncertainty, the simple act of naming her filling you with comfort.

"Sylvia," Caleb repeated softly, testing the name thoughtfully, offering a small, genuine smile. "That’s beautiful. It suits her."

For just a fleeting instant, the guarded edge in his eyes softened, revealing a glimpse of warmth that felt painfully familiar—like a ghost of the Caleb you had once known.

Yet even as your heart tugged gently at that familiarity, the questions remained unanswered, the tension still lingering in every careful step, every uncertain glance. The mansion around you seemed to swallow your voices, absorbing the warmth of the moment into its vast, elegant emptiness.

"Caleb…I..." you began softly, your voice cracking painfully as the words died in your throat. The sudden wave of emotion caught you off-guard, a rising tide of grief, anxiety, and overwhelming relief swelling within your chest. You didn’t even realize tears had begun falling until you felt their warmth trickling slowly down your cheek and onto your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt.

Caleb’s awkward expression quickly melted into genuine concern, his brows knitting tightly as he stepped closer. He reached out instinctively, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you softly toward the massive couch in the spacious living room. You allowed yourself to be led, clutching Sylvia protectively to your chest as your body shook uncontrollably, each breath growing heavier, more painful.

The moment your knees touched the plush cushions, your strength unraveled entirely. A sob ripped itself free from deep inside you, the sound raw and desperate as you finally let the barriers you'd carefully constructed crumble away. Caleb didn't hesitate—he sat immediately beside you, his arms wrapping gently but firmly around you and Sylvia, pulling you both safely into the shelter of his embrace.

You sobbed openly, unashamedly, into his shoulder, the flood of emotions overwhelming you completely. The relief of finally seeing him again, the unbearable paranoia, the uncertainty—it was all too much, every tangled thread of emotion finally breaking free in a torrent of tears.

Sylvia, thankfully oblivious, nestled quietly against your chest, making tiny comforting noises as if sensing your distress.

"You were dead," you choked out through your tears, your voice muffled against Caleb’s shirt, the fabric becoming damp from your tears. "I saw the smoke and the flames…I can't pretend anymore. I can't—"

Your voice broke again, lost in another harsh sob. The memories were vivid, sharp, and painful, burning images you'd buried deeply, suddenly surging violently to the surface.

Caleb sighed deeply, the heaviness in his chest clear as he held you tightly, gently rubbing your back with one steady hand, murmuring quiet, soothing sounds. His other hand softly cradled your head, his fingertips gently threading through your hair as though desperately trying to ease your pain.

After a long, heavy moment, he gently tilted your face upwards, looking down at you with sorrowful eyes. With the sleeve of his shirt, Caleb carefully wiped away your tears, his thumb grazing your cheek tenderly.

"Look," he whispered, his voice quiet and strained with emotion, "we shouldn't talk about that right now. You're barely holding it together as it is."

Your breath hitched slightly, an edge of frustration flickering sharply in your chest. He had deflected your plea for answers, sidestepping the issue with practiced ease. You wanted to push, to demand clarity and truth, but exhaustion tugged heavily at your limbs, dulling your resolve. The energy to fight had temporarily drained away in the wave of tears.

Caleb gently cupped your cheek, catching your gaze, concern clear in his eyes as he continued quietly, "Your stuff is here. Do you want to unpack? And…well, I ordered more stuff for you and Sylvia, too."

You blinked slowly, still foggy from the emotional upheaval but sharply aware of the careful way he'd shifted the subject. You wanted answers more than anything, but right now, you lacked the strength to press further. The grief, frustration, and vulnerability had drained your fight, leaving you feeling hollow, fragile.

With a soft, resigned sigh, you relented, shoulders slumping slightly in quiet acceptance. "Sure," you whispered hoarsely, nodding tiredly.

Caleb offered a gentle, sympathetic smile, clearly relieved that you'd accepted his temporary peace offering. Slowly, he stood, helping you gently to your feet while you still clutched Sylvia protectively, your heart aching fiercely within your chest.

Yet, even as you moved toward unpacking, doubt lingered stubbornly in the back of your mind. Caleb had rescued you, welcomed you into his home with warmth and care, yet beneath his comforting presence remained a veil of secrecy and unanswered questions—ones you knew would inevitably surface again.

As promised, Caleb let you freely choose the rooms for yourself and Sylvia. The mansion had felt overwhelmingly large at first, the endless hallways and cavernous spaces almost swallowing you whole. But after exploring briefly, you settled on two adjoining bedrooms near the end of a softly lit corridor, each room elegantly decorated yet still warm enough to ease some of your anxieties.

Despite the comfort of having Sylvia close by, the thought of her sleeping alone, even just one wall away, still sent anxious chills down your spine. Your stomach twisted nervously as you gently laid her down in the bed located in the smaller room beside yours. You took a step back, pressing a hand to your chest as if trying to physically steady your fluttering heartbeat. Maybe this separation would actually be good for you—giving you some mental and emotional breathing room after months of constant closeness and vigilant care. Still, it felt terrifyingly new, like taking an uncertain step into dark water without knowing how deep it might go.

You took another calming breath, quietly murmuring reassurance to yourself, What’s the worst that could happen? She's safe. You glanced back at Sylvia, watching her small chest rise and fall rhythmically in peaceful sleep, and slowly your pulse began to calm.

Just as your tension began to ease, Caleb’s voice broke through the quiet from behind you, casual and slightly sheepish, carrying a note of uncertainty you hadn’t heard from him before.

"So…I'll admit," he began, stepping carefully into the room carrying several large cardboard boxes stacked precariously in his arms, obscuring his face. "I don't exactly know a whole lot about babies." He paused awkwardly, setting the boxes down carefully near the doorway and giving you a hesitant, almost apologetic smile. "But while we were on the plane, I went ahead and ordered some things that seemed like they might be useful."

You stared at him for a moment, eyes widening in shock and disbelief—not only at the sheer volume of items now crowding the doorway, but also at the lightning-fast speed with which they'd arrived. The boxes seemed to multiply endlessly as Caleb brought in more from the hallway, stacking them methodically. You tried to mask your surprise, though it must have shown clearly on your face.

Caleb noticed your stunned expression and shrugged, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. "Express shipping," he offered by way of explanation, chuckling softly as if embarrassed by his own extravagance. "It seemed like a good idea at the time. Thought maybe it’d make things a little easier for you."

A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest, gratitude mixing strangely with lingering suspicion and unease. The overwhelming generosity Caleb displayed was unfamiliar territory—so different from the strained conditions you'd grown accustomed to under Sylus's oppressive control. Sylus had generous yes, but only to the extent of what he wanted you to have. Or wear. Or eat.

It had only been when you got pregnant that he had started offering you more choices. Seeing Caleb so freely provide felt almost unreal. It reminded you again how dramatically your circumstances had changed in just a few short hours, and how little you actually knew about Caleb’s new life. Clearly, wealth was not a concern for him, yet it was still startling to witness firsthand.

Stepping forward hesitantly, you reached for one of the boxes, gently running your fingers along its cardboard edge, curiosity briefly overpowering your lingering anxiety.

"Thank you, Caleb," you said softly, your voice sincere but quiet, feeling simultaneously grateful and overwhelmed by his generosity. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

Caleb gave you a careful look, his expression gentle yet thoughtful. "It's no trouble, really," he assured you softly. "If it makes things even a tiny bit easier for you both, then it's worth it."

The kindness behind his words warmed you, despite the lingering uncertainty, and for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to believe things might be okay again—at least for tonight.

You stood quietly by the doorway, holding your breath as Caleb began carefully unpacking the boxes he'd brought in, his movements methodical yet oddly gentle as he worked. His attention settled first on the largest box of the bunch, and he knelt beside it, sliding out the contents carefully. A crib, you realized immediately, feeling a swell of emotion that tightened your throat and quickened your heartbeat. Something about seeing Caleb so earnest and focused on setting up something for Sylvia stirred both gratitude and a touch of sadness deep within your chest. It felt surreal, almost impossible after everything you'd been through, that someone would be this genuinely thoughtful and concerned—especially someone you'd believed lost for so long.

Caleb paused briefly, glancing up at you from his position on the floor, holding up the large flat piece of the crib's base. A flicker of uncertainty passed through his eyes as he gestured toward the parts laid neatly beside him. "This crib is okay, right?" he asked softly, his voice carefully gentle, as if worried about upsetting you. "It meets all the safety standards. But if you had something specific in mind for her, it's no problem at all—I can easily get something different."

You swallowed softly, shaking your head slightly and smiling, though you feared the smile might waver under the weight of your complicated feelings. The very thought that someone might question if something was good enough for Sylvia struck you deeply—especially after weeks of paranoia, trying to conserve most of your money for a new future, having to question everything.

"No, Caleb, this is perfect," you said softly, your voice nearly breaking with honesty. You cleared your throat and pushed on, your tone lighter but tinged with lingering sadness. "She's slept in her car seat…on my chest…in cribs far older than this one. I'm sure she'll be fine with just about anything at this point."

You tried your best to smile, to reassure him—and yourself—that things were okay now, or at least they would be. Still, your words hung between you both heavily, a quiet acknowledgment of the difficult road you'd traveled to get here. Caleb seemed to pick up on the depth behind your statement, the small flicker of pain passing briefly through his eyes before he quickly masked it again with an easy grin.

"Great!" he replied, his voice lighter now, attempting to lift the mood gently. He began unpacking screws and tools, spreading them out carefully around him. "I'll get started putting it together right now. It shouldn't take me too long. I promise I'm not as terrible at this kind of stuff as I probably seem."

His playful humility made you smile genuinely this time, a small bubble of warmth rising in your chest. It felt strangely comforting to see Caleb fussing quietly, carefully organizing small wooden panels and hardware with meticulous precision. For a moment, things felt almost normal, almost safe.

You glanced toward Sylvia again, noting how peacefully she lay nestled against the soft blankets you'd tucked her into. Her tiny body had already settled into a deep, undisturbed sleep, her small chest rising and falling in a gentle, rhythmic pattern. Caleb followed your gaze, his own expression softening instantly as he watched her quietly from his place on the floor.

"Looks like she’s already passed out," Caleb whispered gently, a small, tender chuckle escaping his lips. He shook his head slightly, amused yet undeniably touched by the sight of Sylvia's innocent slumber. "Guess all this moving around and new environments wore her out."

You nodded slowly, breathing deeply to steady yourself. Your heart swelled with affection and gratitude—though the lingering shadows of worry and uncertainty remained ever-present, quietly waiting in the background. Still, at this moment, with Sylvia peacefully asleep and Caleb diligently working to create a comfortable space for your daughter, you allowed yourself to lean cautiously into a fragile sense of safety and hope.

Caleb glanced back up, catching your thoughtful gaze, his own expression shifting subtly into something more earnest and serious. He seemed about to speak, perhaps to finally address the many unspoken things lingering between you—but instead, he simply smiled softly again, returning quietly to assembling the crib. It felt intentional, this careful avoidance of deeper truths.

You lowered yourself onto the edge of the bed, quietly watching him work, each soft metallic click and gentle shifting of wood a comforting, grounding rhythm. Caleb seemed determined to help you find stability here, and even though unanswered questions still tugged at the edges of your mind, tonight at least, you felt a fleeting sense of peace.

You gently touched the side of your daughters face. She stirred only slightly, letting out a soft little sigh, her fists curling up beside her face. You lingered for a second, brushing your fingers along her fine hair, then turned your attention to the boxes Caleb had left stacked neatly beside the bed.

One by one, you opened them, and with each ripped seam and folded flap, your astonishment grew. It was more than just thoughtful—it was excessive in a way that almost made your throat tighten.

Baby monitors—two of them, one basic and one smart with a camera feed. Neatly folded bundles of brand-new baby clothes in soft, breathable cottons and gentle pastels. Clothes, soaps and other necessities for you. Diapers in what had to be every available size. Wipes, ointments, thermometers, baby-safe soaps and lotions, a full infant first-aid kit complete with a tiny nasal aspirator. There were multiple packs of onesies, tiny socks still clipped together in matching pairs, and even a baby blanket. He’d thought of everything, even things you wouldn’t have thought to ask for.

You sat on your heels, staring at the small mountain of care items around you, overwhelmed. Gratitude rose up in your chest, tangled with guilt and confusion. Caleb, who hadn't known Sylvia existed until hours ago, had done more in a single day than most people in your life had in months. You hadn't felt this cared for since you let Clara.

And yet…

You glanced over at him as he knelt beside the half-built crib, screwdriver in hand, brows drawn in concentration. Something about his profile in the warm bedroom light made you ache. You swallowed and stood slowly, dusting off your hands.

"Truly," you began quietly, approaching him, "you didn't have to buy all of this, Caleb." You hesitated, voice dipping a little. "I'm only here till I get the documents sorted. I feel like I owe you now."

Your words seemed to freeze the room.

Caleb’s hands stopped mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering just above a screw. It was only for a second—barely even noticeable—but you saw it. Felt it. The hesitation. He didn’t look at you. Didn't say anything at first. You almost opened your mouth to apologize, worried you'd said something wrong, but before you could, he spoke again. His voice was light—too light.

"Don’t be silly,” he said with a small chuckle, resuming work as if nothing had happened. “It’s always better to overprepare than underprepare. Besides…” He glanced at you with a playful smirk, the edge of his mouth tugging up. “If you end up liking it here with me sooo much and decide to stay, I’ve gotta be ready, right?”

His tone was teasing, like he was trying to make it a joke—but the weight behind the words wasn’t lost on you.

Now it was your turn to fall silent.

You looked at him closely, watching the way he focused again on the crib, how he purposefully avoided meeting your gaze. You wanted to smile, to laugh it off with him, to let the moment pass. But you couldn’t. He didn’t get it. How could he? He hadn’t asked. Not once. Not what you’d been through. Not what you were running from. He hadn’t even seemed curious.

“Caleb,” you said, your voice low and steady now. “I really can’t stay here forever.”

The words sat between you like a dropped stone in water, rippling outward.

He didn’t stop working this time, but his movements slowed, and the smile he’d worn just moments before faded completely. You didn’t want to hurt him—but pretending like things could go back to the way they were, like you could just slot yourself into this picture-perfect mansion and start over without reckoning with the weight of what you’d lived through—that wasn’t fair to either of you.

“I’m sorry,” you added quietly, meaning it.

And maybe, for the first time since you arrived, a little bit of truth settled into the room.

He sighed, long and quiet, and placed the screwdriver down with care, the soft clink of metal on wood sounding far louder in the stillness of the room. Then he looked at you—not with his usual guarded calm or teasing grin, but with something raw and open, like he’d finally peeled back a layer of whatever mask he’d been wearing since the moment you reunited.

"Look," he began, his voice low, careful. "I was going to wait to ask until you were settled, but..." He paused, searching your face as though hoping to read your answer before you even gave it. “It’s her father, isn’t it?”

You said nothing, but your shoulders stiffened, and that was enough.

“Screw him,” Caleb continued, his tone sharper now. “Seriously. Whatever happened, he's clearly abandoned you. Left you to figure it out on your own. You don’t have to keep searching or struggling. You both can have a home here.” He leaned forward slightly, sincerity ringing through every word. “With me.”

He meant it. You could see it—no bravado, no games. Just the raw earnestness of someone who wanted to do the right thing for someone they still cared about. And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Your hands started to sweat, palms clammy as anxiety crept up your spine like a slow, cold hand. You curled your fingers inward, trying not to shake.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t understand that you hadn’t been abandoned—you’d escaped. That you hadn’t been left behind—you’d run, because staying would’ve meant losing yourself entirely. And you hadn’t come here hoping to start a new life—you’d come here because there were no options left. You were hiding. From Sylus. From the people he had watching. From the life that had nearly eaten you whole.

You weren’t staying because you didn’t want to get anyone else tangled in that web—not even Caleb. Especially not Caleb.

Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to tell him the truth. You really did. But how do you explain that kind of fear? That kind of damage? That your every decision these days was shaped by survival, not comfort or hope?

You swallowed hard, your voice shaky as you tried to begin. “Caleb, I…” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “It’s not that simple.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing slightly, concern bleeding into his expression. You could see the questions rising again behind his eyes, all the things he hadn’t asked yet.

You looked down at Sylvia, still sleeping peacefully on the bed, her tiny body curled like a comma. How could you protect her and still be honest? Could you really have both?

“I’m grateful. Truly. But this—this is just temporary. It has to be.” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You just need to understand…this isn’t forever.” You paused again, feeling the pressure build in your chest. “I’m afraid I’ll drag you into something you can’t get out of.”

Caleb’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, listening.

You took a breath and looked at him, eyes stinging. “I wish I could say more. I just can't get anyone else wrapped in my mess."

The room fell silent again, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Caleb didn’t move right away. But something in his face shifted—his expression no longer just concerned, but as if he was quietly pondering something.

"Alright, alright. You don’t have to tell me," Caleb said, his voice light but laced with something quieter beneath it—something that still lingered in the space between you. He reached over and gave your hair a quick, familiar ruffle, his touch gentle, though you stiffened slightly from the unexpected contact.

He didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t let on.

"I’m almost done with the crib," he continued, shifting back into motion, picking up the screwdriver again. “Why don’t you start putting her clothes in the dresser over there? I’ll throw away the tags. you take off.”

You blinked, almost baffled by how quickly he let the conversation drop. One second you’d been teetering on the edge of something sharp, something fragile—and the next, he’d pivoted so casually it left you blinking in place. The tension hadn’t fully left the room—it hung there, thin and ghostlike—but his sudden shift in tone was, admittedly, a relief.

You nodded quietly and moved toward the dresser, opening its smooth, polished drawers and beginning to place the neatly folded baby clothes inside. The scent of clean fabric and new cotton wafted up, oddly soothing. Caleb gathered up packaging and tags without another word, moving around the room like he was trying to keep the air light.

And then, almost as if to test the waters, he spoke again.

“Remember when gran finally upgraded your bed, but couldn’t put it together? She said her arthritis was too bad and had me do it.”

You glanced over your shoulder, lips tugging upward instinctively. “God, yes.”

“I swear I was on my hands and knees all night trying to figure that mess out,” he said, grinning now as he worked. “You passed out on the couch before I was even halfway done. And you were so damn excited when I woke you up in the morning.”

You laughed softly, the sound genuine despite everything. “Yeah, because I thought I was finally gonna sleep like royalty.”

Caleb smirked. “You did, technically. Even if the headboard was backwards.”

That made you snort. “Yeah, don’t think I forgot about that.”

He chuckled, clearly pleased to have pulled you into the memory, even for a moment. “I was so proud of myself until you pointed that out.”

You shook your head, smiling as you tucked a pair of soft lavender onesies into the drawer. “You were lucky I didn’t tell Grandma. She barely noticed.”

“I should’ve gotten a medal for effort,” he shot back, tossing a wad of packaging into the trash. “Or at least some orange juice.”

The two of you settled into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation meandering through old, safer memories like a trail of breadcrumbs leading you both back to something you used to be. It didn’t erase the tension or the questions still looming in the back of your mind—but for now, it gave you room to breathe.

By the time the two of you finished setting up half the nursery—taking frequent breaks to feed Sylvia, change her, and calm her when she grew fussy—the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the mansion in soft shadows and warm amber light. The sleek overheads in the hallways flickered on automatically as evening fell, illuminating your quiet journey through the house with a gentle, muted glow.

Sylvia had her dinner first, followed by a quick bath in the basin Caleb had set up in your adjoining bathroom. She splashed a little, as she always did, sleepy but content, her soft coos bouncing off the tiled walls. You were especially relieved to finally have new clothes for her—ones that fit. She’d grown faster than you expected, outgrowing onesies before you even realized they were tight. Now, wrapped in a fresh sleeper printed with tiny pink stars, she looked peaceful, clean, and safe.

Getting her to sleep was another matter entirely.

You spent nearly an hour pacing slowly around the nursery, rocking her against your shoulder, her body warm and squirmy as she fought off sleep with the stubborn will of a baby who just didn’t want to miss anything. You whispered lullabies, patted her back gently, made long slow circles by the crib, and shushed her over and over. At long last, her little limbs relaxed, her head slumped against you, and her breathing evened out. You eased her into the crib like she was made of glass, holding your breath the whole time, then carefully adjusted the baby monitor beside her and turned on the white noise machine with a low, oceanic whoosh.

“Finally…” you whispered, tiptoeing out of the room like a thief, cringing at every floorboard creak until the nursery door clicked quietly shut behind you.

Your body ached with exhaustion. You hadn't even gotten the chance to change out of your day clothes, much less take a shower or rest. Still, your stomach growled in protest, and the overwhelming scent of something savory hit you like a wave as you padded barefoot down the stairs.

“Caleb,” you called out, your voice low but hopeful. “I wanted to ask if there was anything to ea—oh!”

You froze in place as you rounded the corner into the kitchen.

The kitchen itself was a masterpiece—gleaming marble counters, glass-fronted cabinets lit from within, and a double oven you were fairly certain could roast a whole deer. But that wasn’t what stopped you. It was the spread on the island counter.

A full meal had been laid out, warm and waiting like something from a dream. A perfectly roasted herb-crusted chicken sat in the center, skin crisp and golden, steaming gently in the soft kitchen light. Surrounding it were elegant side dishes in gleaming ceramic bowls: creamy garlic mashed potatoes swirled with butter and chives; roasted carrots and parsnips glazed with honey and a hint of thyme; a vibrant salad made with mixed greens, pomegranate seeds, candied walnuts, and crumbles of goat cheese; a cast-iron skillet filled with buttery cornbread; and a pot on the stove simmering with what smelled like a rich, savory gravy.

You stared at it, slack-jawed, completely thrown off by the sheer care and coordination that had gone into making it. Your body, starved and tired, nearly buckled at the thought of eating something warm, fresh, and lovingly prepared.

Caleb turned from the sink, drying his hands with a dish towel, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “I wasn’t sure what you were in the mood for,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just cooked a small feast. “So I went with a bit of everything.”

You blinked at him, still trying to find words. “Did you…make all of this?”

He shrugged, looking far too casual. “Of course. Do you doubt my skills?”

You shook your head slowly, your voice soft with disbelief. “Caleb… this is…”

He gave you a tired but proud smile. “You’ve got to keep your milk supply up right? Least I could do was make sure you didn’t go to bed hungry.”

And just like that, the knot in your chest loosened, if only a little.

You smiled reflexively, grateful beyond words for the food—but just as you reached for a plate, Caleb stepped in, his fingers curling gently around your wrist.

“Let me do it,” he said warmly. “Just tell me what you want, pips.”

There was that nickname again. His voice was soft, familiar. His eyes full of fondness. Anyone would have found it sweet. Caring, even.

You mirrored his smile, polite and composed, but deep inside something cold began to ripple beneath your skin. You didn’t pull away immediately.

“Caleb, it’s fine,” you said, keeping your voice light as you gently tried to free your hand. “I can get my own plate. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

You shook him off with a small flick of your wrist, subtle but clear. He let go without resistance, still smiling like he hadn’t felt the shift in your tone, or worse—like he had, and was ignoring it.

You reached again, your hand brushing the edge of the porcelain plate—only to find that it wouldn’t move. It stuck to the counter, as if bolted in place.

Your brow furrowed. “What the…”

Then you saw them—faint, silvery arcs in the air, like rippling strands of light bending in patterns only you and a few others in the world would recognize. The gravity pull streaks, barely visible, humming quietly around the plate’s edges.

Of course.

You turned your head slowly to look at him. And there he was, leaning casually against the counter, a knowing grin tugging at one corner of his mouth.

“Ha ha, Caleb,” you said flatly. “Very funny. But I am really hungry.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Then just let me do it, silly” he replied, still smiling like this was nothing, like it was a sweet callback and not something vaguely suffocating. “I always made your plate when we were kids, remember?”

You inhaled slowly. Sharp. Controlled. But your chest tightened anyway.

There it was.

The tilt. The subtle shift in the room. That invisible thread pulling tighter around your ribs. You knew this feeling. You knew it too well. The warm voice. The gentle insistence. The way someone could steal pieces of your autonomy while smiling the whole time.

It wasn’t fair—Caleb wasn’t Sylus. You were sure his intentions weren't cruel, but they were familiar. And right now, that was enough to send you spiraling,

You saw Sylus’s face flash in your mind—eyes full of patience, arms always a little too helpful, hands always exactly where you didn’t want them.

You clenched your fist under the counter. Your nails dug into your palm. It was just a plate. It wasn’t about the plate. You reminded yourself of that.

“Now,” Caleb said brightly, picking up a serving fork, oblivious—or pretending to be—to the quiet storm flickering across your face. “What do you want first?”

You smiled. Or at least, you pulled your lips into something that looked like one. A practiced mask.

“Potatoes,” you said, voice breezy, almost chipper. “Please.”

He beamed. You watched him turn back to the food, humming softly as he scooped generous portions onto the plate, the streaks of gravity dissipating as he lifted it.

And all the while, you stood there, smiling through the tightness in your chest, wondering how long it would take before the quiet, polite mask you were wearing began to crack.

Caleb plated the food exactly the way you’d asked—carefully, almost dutifully—passing it to you with brisk precision. The dish was still steaming, buttery potatoes curling around the edges of the roast chicken, the aroma rich and savory. To anyone else, it would’ve been a small, comforting gesture. Maybe even sweet.

You forced a smile, grateful but reeling, your fingers tightening around the plate as if it might anchor you. The panic hadn't crested completely yet, but it was rising steadily beneath your skin. Your chest was too tight. Your thoughts too loud. Each breath felt like you were dragging air through a narrow straw.

You kept your face neutral. Calm. Just tired, you told yourself. Just overwhelmed from the day.

You hoped he didn’t notice.

“Hey, so,” Caleb began, drying his hands with a towel, his voice light, hopeful, trying to bridge the distance between you. “I was wondering if you wanted to play a game, maybe watch something while we eat, or—”

“Actually,” you cut in, softer than you meant to, trying not to sound as sharp as you felt. “I’d like to eat in my room.”

He paused. His face changed—his smile faltered for a second, not quite falling away, just…hesitating.

“I still have a lot to unpack,” you continued quickly, eyes dropping to the food in your hands so you didn’t have to look at him. “And I…I need time to decompress from today. A lot happened.”

You sucked in a slow breath through your nose and held it, trying to steady your pulse, trying to ignore the shaking in your chest. It wasn’t the food. It wasn’t Caleb. Not really. It was the moment. The forceful kindness. The gravity trick. The easy way he had kept control of the plate—like it was a harmless gesture, a callback to your childhood, and not a tiny theft of choice. You knew he probably didn’t mean it that way, but that didn’t matter to your body. Your body didn’t care what he meant.

What your body remembered was Sylus. The way he’d do everything for you, smiling the whole time. The way he’d keep you from lifting a finger, unable to do much without his permission or watchful eyes.

You couldn't live like that again.

And now—here, with Caleb—your brain knew this wasn’t the same. Caleb wasn’t Sylus. Caleb didn’t tower over you. Caleb was just trying to be nice. But the feeling was the same. The dissonance made it worse.

Still, you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t find the words. The thought of trying to explain that such a small thing—a plate—had triggered a trauma response made your stomach twist with shame. You didn’t want to see confusion on his face. Or pity. Or worse: defensiveness.

You didn’t have the heart to tell him. He’d done all of this—fed you, welcomed you, bought things for you and Sylvia—not because he wanted to harm you, but because he cared. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. That it didn’t unravel something inside you.

“I just need a little time,” you added quietly, as if that might soften the sudden distance.

Caleb took a half step toward you, concern flickering in his eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, I can—”

You lifted your hand automatically, not sharply, but with finality. A gentle wall.

“It’s fine,” you said again, a little firmer now. “I’m just tired.”

He stopped. You saw the way his shoulders deflated just slightly, how his mouth pressed into a flat line. It wasn’t anger—just disappointment. Not at you, maybe, but at the invisible wall you’d just built between you.

There was a beat of silence, and then you offered a quick, practiced smile.

“Thank you for dinner,” you said, already turning away. “Goodnight.”

Your feet moved quickly, almost too quickly. Not quite running, but more than walking. You clutched the plate to your chest, fingers curling into its edges so tightly it hurt. Each step felt like your body was trying to outrun your own spiraling thoughts. You just needed to be away from him. From the kitchen. From the memory that had pressed itself into your ribs like a bruise.

As you reached the stairs, just before the sound of your footsteps overtook everything else, you heard his voice behind you—quiet, unsure.

“…Goodnight then.”

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. You didn’t trust yourself to.

You made it to your room, locked the door gently behind you, and leaned against it, finally letting your head fall back with a long, trembling breath. The food still steamed in your hands. But now it felt heavier than ever.

You barely made it through the door before the plate in your hands nearly slipped.

The room blurred—walls bending slightly around the corners of your vision, your breath coming in jagged bursts. You set the plate down on the nearest surface with a trembling hand and stumbled toward the bed, your legs no longer sure they could carry you upright. The moment your knees hit the mattress, everything cracked open. You buried your face into the blanket and cried—ugly, gasping sobs that shook your entire body.

You didn’t mean to cry. You didn’t want to. You’d promised yourself you’d hold it together until you were alone. But even alone, you weren’t safe from the memories clawing their way to the surface.

You pressed your fists into your eyes, willing it all to stop, but the tears kept coming. It was like your body had been holding onto them all day, just waiting for a door to close. And now they spilled out in waves. The sheets grew damp beneath your cheek. Your breath came in shuddering hitches.

Eventually—when the sharpest edge of it dulled just enough—you reached for the plate, telling yourself to do something normal. Eat. Focus. Keep moving.

You forced yourself upright, still trembling, and began to eat. Shaky hands, uneven bites. The food was probably delicious—Caleb had gone out of his way to make it, after all—but your taste buds were drowning under salt. Not seasoning. Tears. They fell steadily, silently, splashing onto the mashed potatoes, streaking down your cheeks and over your lips.

You chewed through it like your life depended on it.

It felt grotesque—this mixture of comfort and collapse. But you didn’t stop. Maybe if you kept chewing, kept swallowing, you’d crowd out the voice in your head. The one that was whispering he’s still here. The one that remembered the exact way Sylus used to gently take things from your hands, the way he’d feed you when you were too anxious to eat, saying things like “Let me take care of it, honey. You don’t need to think.”

And it had felt good, hadn’t it? Safe, even.

You hated that part the most. Not the fear. Not the damage. But the fact that some part of you missed it. Missed him. Missed the stability he created by stealing every ounce of control from you. Every time you cracked, every time you stumbled under the weight of your new reality, Sylus had been there to smooth the surface. To hush the panic. To reset you.

It was like being held underwater by someone whispering lullabies into your ear. Who brings you up for air, only to drown you once more. They keep doing it enough that you start to be thankful for the moments that they bring you back up.

And now? Now you were free. He wasn't here to fix it, to soothe the shakes or force calm back into your bloodstream—and your body hated it. Your chest screamed for it. The part of you he rewired to crave his hands.

You hated it. But missed it all at the same time.

Even here, miles away. Even in another man’s house. Even with someone familiar.

Yeah you were beyond fucked up.

You shoveled the last forkful into your mouth like it might hold the unraveling back for one more second, chewed furiously, swallowed hard. It wasn’t enough. It didn’t help. You dropped the plate unceremoniously to the floor and curled in on yourself again, the bed pressing up against your shins as you folded, folded, folded.

You collapsed forward in a pile of gasps and tears, clutching your chest as if that could stop the way it hurt—tight, clenching, seizing. You grabbed the pillow and shoved it over your head to muffle the sound, to make the room feel smaller, darker, safer.

“He’s not here,” you whispered against the fabric, voice breaking. “He can’t come here. He can’t. He won’t.”

But your body didn’t believe you. Your lungs kept misfiring. Your brain kept showing you his face, like a film on repeat. Smiling. Calm. Soft.

“Stop it,” you whispered. “Stop…”

You squeezed your eyes shut, curling tighter under the pillow, your breath coming in desperate little gulps.

You’ll never see him again, you told yourself, over and over. You’ll never see him again.

But a part of you didn’t believe that either.

The tension, the tears, the panic—your system couldn’t hold it anymore. You cried until your whole frame shook, until your limbs felt numb and heavy, until your throat burned and your eyes swelled. It didn’t even feel like crying anymore—it was like bleeding from the inside out.

You barely registered when you lost consciousness. There was no drifting off, no calm descent. One second, you were shivering in a spiral of exhaustion and grief, the next your mind had flickered off like a dying lightbulb.

What followed wasn’t rest. It was murk. A thick, dreamless space you floated through, weightless and untethered. There were impressions—heat on your back, the murmur of distant voices, the phantom pressure of a hand brushing your hair—but none of it made sense. It all bled together into a muddled blur of memory and sensation.

Then your body began to stir.

You woke slowly, groggy and disoriented, your head heavy and your lashes sticky with dried tears. You rubbed at your sore eyes, swallowing against a dry, aching throat. For a moment, your brain struggled to catch up. You weren’t sure where you were—or when. Everything was a soft haze.

Then the confusion cleared just enough to make out the shape of the room.

Your stomach dropped.

The blanket beneath your hand wasn’t the one from Caleb’s mansion. It was smoother. Denser. Familiar in a way that made your skin crawl. You blinked more rapidly, taking in the sharp lines of the furniture, the dark design, the scent of sterilized air laced with a faint trace of cologne you hadn’t smelled in what felt like forever.

No.

The walls were the color of wet stone. The floor was polished to a mirror shine. The fireplace. The tall bed with its sleek black headboard, the high mirror across from it, the sharp gleam of chrome on the drawer handles—it was all exactly as you remembered.

Sylus’s room.

You sat up fast, panic swelling before you could suppress it. Your breath caught painfully in your throat, and your body turned cold despite the warmth of the bedding.

"Please...not again,” you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible in the dense quiet.

Your eyes locked on the door across the room—the only exit.

You stared at it, heart hammering.

A shared dream again, maybe? That wasn’t new. You’d experienced it before, been pulled into his space even while asleep. If the emotional bond ran deep enough—if the door was still cracked open—he could reach in. Even from miles away. Even if you were trying not to think about him.

You tried to steady your breathing, tried to tell yourself it wasn’t real.

Then the doorknob shifted.

Your breath hitched hard. You felt the cold stab of adrenaline, not in your chest, but lower—in your gut. That primal sense of run, even though you had nowhere to run to.

The knob turned slowly, deliberately, like whoever was on the other side knew exactly what they were doing. Knew you were watching.

You didn’t think. Your body acted on instinct—an old, well-worn one. You dropped back into the bed, rolled toward the far side, and pulled the blanket up to your shoulders. You shut your eyes tight, forcing your body into stillness. The only thought that came to you was desperate and absurd: Maybe if he thinks I’m asleep, he’ll think this is his dream. Maybe he’ll leave me alone.

It made no logical sense, but it was all you had. Sylus had made it clear he knew when you weren't really sleeping.

Your breaths came slow, shallow, measured. Your heart pounded so loudly it made your ears ring, and you wondered if he could hear it too. You focused on stillness. On silence. You tried to make your body limp, heavy, at ease. You were a girl asleep. That’s all.

You heard the door creak open.

The sound was quiet, but in this silence, it sliced through you.

The footsteps that followed were soft, precise. Barefoot. Unhurried. You could picture them without opening your eyes—those long, calm strides. Always calm. Always in control. That alone terrified you.

He approached the bed. Closer. Closer still.

Then he stopped.

No greeting. No command. No pet name laced with ownership. No cryptic remark or smug sigh. Nothing.

Just silence.

You felt him standing there, his presence thick in the air, oppressive and electric all at once. You wanted to flinch. You wanted to scream. But instead, you stayed still, trying to convince even yourself that you were asleep. That this was all just a dream. That any second now you’d wake up in Caleb’s mansion, and Sylvia would still be safe, and your chest wouldn’t feel like it was being squeezed from the inside out.

But he was there.

Watching.

You tried to keep your breathing steady—slow, even, shallow enough to sell the lie. Every muscle in your body fought against the instinct to bolt, to brace, to scream. You could feel the tension in your limbs, the static buzzing just beneath your skin. You told yourself again and again: Don’t react. Don’t give him anything.

But then you felt it.

A shift in the air. A weight leaning over you. The soft press of fingers against your shoulder, just enough to rock you gently.

“Good morning, kitten,” he murmured, voice low and syrupy smooth. That same damn tone—warmth poured over steel. “You know what time it is.”

You opened one eye slowly, cautiously, as if you were peeling it back into a nightmare. You stared up at him, disoriented at first, the sight of his face so familiar that it made your stomach churn. His expression was calm. Too calm. His eyes held a patient glint, as though you were a child sleeping in too late and not someone who’d fled him like he was a fire.

What the hell did he mean, you know what time it is?

Still half-curled on your side, you slowly rolled onto your back, your spine tense, your hands clutching the blanket without realizing it. The panic you’d kept at bay started to return in sharp waves as you met his gaze—steady, unreadable, unforgivable.

“Don’t fucking touch me, bastard” you hissed, the words slicing out of you before you could think to soften them. You jerked your arm away from where his hand had rested on your shoulder, flinching like he’d burned you.

His smile didn’t falter. Not even a flicker. That same calm, maddening curve of his lips, as if everything you did was expected, forgivable, even charming in its defiance.

That only made your skin crawl more.

He straightened up slightly, clasping his hands together in front of him, the picture of composure. “I know these past few days have been hard,” he said, his voice still maddeningly soft, like this was a conversation you’d had a hundred times before. “But I won’t tolerate any fighting today.”

You blinked, your face twisting in disbelief. You stared at him as if he’d just grown a second head.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you snapped, sitting up now despite the alarm pounding in your chest. "I haven't seen you in forever!"

Your eyes scanned the room again, half-expecting it to morph around you. Your brain raced to make sense of it. Was he trying to gaslight you again? Was this a loop? A game?

He didn’t answer. Not right away. He just stood there, watching you like someone observing a particularly stubborn animal—tenderness in his expression, but with an undercurrent of warning. Of control. That same suffocating sweetness you remembered all too well.

He let out a sigh, then got onto the bed and started unbuckling his belt. Your eyes widened, and your heart raced as you instinctively began to struggle. "No! What the actual hell, Sylus, stop!" you yelled. "Don't use this as an opportunity to rape me again you sick fuck!!"

Your resistance halted when he quickly seized both of your wrists and leaned in closer. You were frozen with fear. "I'm trying to be gentle today, so please stop," he said, sounding more exasperated than angry.

Gentle today? What? Did that mean...your mouth opens in realization. This isn't a shared dream. It was a memory. In your early days of captivity with Sylus. When he was very insistent on "breeding" you daily, several times a day. He often used force, but this particular morning he had been very gentle.

This was your own mind. A memory you had tried so desperately to rid yourself of, had come crawling to the forefront. You begin to sob. You were having a nightmare. Relieving one of your worst moments.

Which meant there was no escaping. This would play out as it always had. Sylus seemed satisfied with your sudden lapse in movement, as he began to pepper small kisses across your neck.

"Sweetie, don't cry. It won't hurt as bad this time I promise" Sylus coos gently, before slipping a finger into the hem of your underwear. You were frozen as he pulled them past your butt, and eventually discarded them on the floor. You hadn't even realized you weren't wearing pants.

"D-don't please..."

Sylus gently shushed you, and you tensed as you felt a warm finger begin circling your clit. The intense waves of pleasure you felt were electrifying and you again began to struggle again.

"I'm not doing this! Let go of me!" you yelled, using your free hand to push against his face. He sighed again as a red mist wrapped around your wrists, pulling your arms over your head. The grip was tight and warm, almost painfully so. You cried out, fresh tears streaming down your face again. Despite your protests, his fingers continued to work on your sensitive spot, and he started to slip a finger inside your now wet folds. You groaned as waves of pleasure surged through your body once more.

“Does that hurt?” Sylus asked, his voice low and steady, laced with that same gentleness he always wore when he was doing something cruel.

His hand cupped your chin—not harshly, but firmly, guiding your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. The touch was deceptively tender, but the power behind it was undeniable. It made your skin crawl, made your breath come out in tight, uneven sobs.

Your hands—still suspended above your head with that sickly red mist, wrists straining under invisible pressure—throbbed with pain. Your fingers had gone numb. You whimpered, trembling from the hot ache and the rising terror in your chest.

“Y-yes,” you choked out, your voice wet and broken. “Please… let my hands go.”

He tilted his head slightly, like he was pondering his next move. His expression remained calm, measured. Too calm. That was what made it worse—the lack of rage, the way he treated your pain like a conversation.

“Then,” he murmured, stroking his thumb once along your cheek, “are you going to behave?”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat, chest heaving. The words caught somewhere between your ribs and your pride, but the pain was too much. The helplessness. The fear.

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes full of tears. “I’ll behave.”

He stared at you for a long moment, as if searching for even the smallest flicker of defiance in your eyes. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him. The pressure around your wrists loosened instantly, and the mist evaporated like smoke, vanishing without a trace.

Your arms dropped to your chest, limp and heavy, and you gasped in relief. The freedom stung as the blood rushed back into your fingers, but the ache was nothing compared to the weight that had been lifted. Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as you cradled your arms close to your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

Sylus’s fingers, warm and deliberate, curled around yours, interlacing with a slow, practiced ease. His other hand remained steady pushing another finger in and out of you, a gentle pressure that belied the tension crackling beneath the surface. You tensed immediately, your breath catching in your throat, your whole body going rigid as you instinctively tried to pull away—but he didn’t stop.

Your whimper escaped before you could silence it, soft and instinctual, like a warning to yourself. But there was no escape. It felt good. Even for just reliving a memory it felt exactly the same. Shame crept up and you felt your face getting warm.

He leaned in, and his voice came low—measured, sweet in tone but wrong in every possible way. “You make it very hard to be gentle, kitten,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across your lips before you could flinch away. It was soft, deceptively so, a contrast to the raw ache in your hands and the weight in your chest. His smile hovered just after, patient and expectant. “Tell you what…no more fighting me,” he said gently, “and this will be the only time this happens today. Okay?”

You already knew how this went.

The script never really changed—just the tone, the setting, the subtle reshuffling of his words. But the bones of it, the bargain, were always the same. He offered control dressed as kindness. Compliance cloaked in calm. And you—drained, desperate—were expected to accept it.

You had learned not to hesitate.

So you didn’t.

Your head bobbed quickly, instinct overriding reason, and your throat tightened around the sob clawing its way up. “Yes,” you whispered first, the word catching. You swallowed hard, forcing down the fear, the shame, the heat burning behind your eyes. “Yes,” you repeated, louder this time—pleading, broken, automatic. "Please just be gentle.”

You hated how you sounded. Had you sounded this desperate when this actually happened? You weren't sure.

Tears slipped more freely now, tracing hot lines down your cheeks as your voice cracked into silence. Your whole body trembled—not from pain this time, not exactly—but from the surrender. From the ritual of it. The exhausting necessity of giving in. The part of you that still wanted to believe the more obedient you were, the faster it would be over.

He nodded, stopping his movements and removing his fingers from inside you. You watched in shock as he licked the remnants of your essence from his fingers, then began undoing his belt again. You were wet enough now.

"Good girl. Lay still and this will be over before you know it".

You lay there frozen as he lifts your dress to expose your breasts. It wasn't long before you felt the burning ache of his cock spearing itself into your folds, stretching to accommodate his size. It still hurt, you weren't sure if it was ever not going to, but your slickness did help quite a bit. He groans in pleasure as he pushes himself into your body, slightly pulling back and then pushing in again.

"Shit..."

It happens the same way. The ache gives way to pleasure, your squeezing his hand as if your life depends on it and your moaning with him. Your body betrays you. Your mind betrays you. Mind numbing pleasure sears itself into your core. He pumps his cock into you faster, and you feel your brain begin to melt as he hits that spongey part within your body. Your breasts squeeze together as he holds you closer. You both become one.

"It hurts..."

You hate it. Your body loves it. You climax. You sob. He rubs your tears from your face with his thumb.

"Shh, its okay. You're doing so good, honey. I'm close, I promise."

It ends with hot, creamy liquid burying itself within your womb, and sweet sick promises of a new life being whispered in your ear.

"You'll see very soon just how happy you can be".

No...no!

You frantically thrash beneath the covers, breath coming in sharp gasps, heart racing like a jackhammer in your chest. When you finally manage to pry your eyes open, you're back—Caleb's spare room. You shiver violently, sweat cooling on your skin. Nightmare again. Another one. Even here, even in the safest place you could possibly be in, they follow you.

You sit up slowly, arms wrapped tightly around your torso as if to hold yourself together. For a moment, you just breathe. Tears are already sliding down your cheeks, warm and quiet. You wipe at them with the back of your hand and swing your legs over the edge of the bed, pressing your feet to the carpet. It's soft, grounding, but the tremble in your limbs refuses to fade.

You stand and shuffle toward the bathroom, eyes blurry with sleep and emotion. The tiled floor sends a chill up your legs, but you welcome it. Something real. Something solid. You sit down on the toilet, the cold seat a small shock to your senses. Everything is slow and disconnected—muscle memory pulling you through motions your mind hasn’t caught up to.

Then, you glance down.

A giant, darkened spot blooms in the middle of your underwear, unmistakably damp.

You freeze.

Your first thought is confusion. A small jolt of panic hits your stomach. Did you pee yourself? It wouldn’t be the first time—not lately, your body was still recovering from giving birth. But no. You hadn't woken in a soaked bed. The sheets were dry. Your thighs weren’t sticky, the fabric not clinging with that awful familiar weight. It’s localized. Contained. Different.

And that's when your breath catches.

Your mind scrambles, fumbling through memories of the dream. The edges blur, slippery as oil. There had been fear—yes, fear. You’d been powerless again, frozen while Sylus hovered over you, ripping away your autonomy once more. Claiming your body as his. That same choking dread had sunk its claws into your spine. But then—something had shifted.

No. No, no, no. That couldn’t be right.

But the evidence is in front of you.

Your stomach turns violently, as if rejecting the realization before it can fully settle. You shake your head hard, almost like you could rattle the thought out, dislodge it before it roots.

Had you actually...enjoyed that? That grotesque, warped thing masquerading as a dream?

You can’t breathe. You suddenly feel like you’re floating outside of your own skin, like your body has betrayed you in the most obscene way possible. What kind of person—what kind of victim—reacts like that? Your heart pounds against your ribcage like it’s trying to escape. The shame is a physical thing now, thick and suffocating, like a weight pressing into your chest.

It wasn’t a nightmare. Or it was, but your body hadn’t understood that. It had responded.

A wet dream instead?

A sound escapes your throat, something between a sob and a gasp. You slap both hands over your mouth, but it’s too late. Tears blur your vision, your breath hitching in short, helpless gulps. You feel like you’re rotting from the inside out.

You’re disgusting. You’re wrong. You're broken.

How could your body react like that to him? After everything he’d done? After everything he’d taken?

You feel like you're going to throw up. The air feels thick. Too thick. Like trying to breathe through wet wool. You curl in on yourself without thinking, arms wrapped around your knees, head pressed to your thighs, like maybe you can collapse into a space small enough to disappear entirely.

Your thoughts won’t stop. What if it happens again? What if this means something worse? What if you’re not really a victim at all—what if you’re complicit in your own nightmares?

You shake harder. Tears pour freely now, soaking the collar of your shirt.

It wasn't supposed to feel good.

You know, on some level, that it isn’t your fault. That it’s probably just your body reacting instinctively to certain sensations—some automatic, unconscious response to sexual stimuli. That’s what bodies do, right? That has to be it. It has to be. Because the alternative is too frightening to face. But that rational voice inside you is barely a whisper, drowned beneath waves of confusion and self-loathing. You don’t recognize yourself anymore, and the weight of not understanding this new version of you—this stranger living in your skin—is becoming unbearable.

You hop in the shower quickly, as if trying to scrub all the horrible thoughts away. The water is hot—almost too hot—but you welcome the sting. You lather shampoo into your hair with too much force, digging your nails into your scalp like you can claw the memories loose. You scrub your arms, your legs, your chest, over and over until your skin is aching and raw. It’s not about getting clean. It’s about feeling something else. Anything else.

You don’t know how much time passes. Minutes? An hour? The bathroom fills with steam, thick and heavy, clinging to every surface. You clean and scrub until the exhaustion settles deep into your bones, until your thoughts finally grow dull and hazy around the edges. When you finally turn off the water, you’re lightheaded and weak, limbs trembling slightly beneath you.

Seems Caleb has a good water heater—you never ran out of hot water.

You grope around blindly for a towel, the fog blurring your vision as much as your tired eyes. Wrapping it around yourself, you step in front of the full-body mirror. The glass is fogged, but you wipe it down with your palm, revealing your reflection piece by piece.

Your body…it had changed.

You realize, with a strange jolt, that you haven’t really looked at yourself since giving birth. Not properly. Not like this. The last time you examined your reflection this closely, you were heavily pregnant, body swollen with life. Now, the bump is gone—mostly. Your belly has deflated, but there's still a soft protrusion that wasn't there before.

You’ve lost quite a bit of the baby weight. Stress, probably. Poor nutrition. Skipped meals. Your hips are still wider. Breasts firm with milk. Everything feels a little out of place—familiar and unfamiliar all at once.

It’s not terrible. You still look like you. Just…different.

You remember reading in one of the baby books that it can take up to a year for the body to return to "normal," whatever that means. You’re not sure if this new shape will ever feel like home again. or if it'll even stay. Maybe you would eventually return to "normal". As much as you could anyway.

You get dressed in a long, comfortable shirt and slip into a fresh pair of underwear. You were thankful you didn't seem to be bleeding much anymore. The fabric is soft against your skin, still warm from the dryer. You realize you hadn't brough the clothes Caleb bought you in here. There aren’t any clean pants nearby—just a couple of ones you’d already worn this week—and after a moment of frustrated searching through the small stack of folded laundry, you give up. No one else is around. You’ll be in the house, just for a bit. It’s fine. You tug the shirt down as far as it will go, more for comfort than modesty. Its almost to your knees. Should be fine until you can grab some pants in a bit.

You step toward the bathroom door, towel still draped over your shoulders, drying your damp hair with lazy, tired motions. The steam from the shower clings to your skin like a second layer. You twist the knob, still half in your head, and swing the door open.

Then freeze.

Caleb is sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched slightly forward, gently rocking Sylvia in his arms. Her face is scrunched, her mouth pulled into a frustrated whine. Her tiny fists punch the air, and her legs kick as if warding off an invisible foe. Caleb is murmuring something softly under his breath, his movements tentative and gentle, like he’s afraid of doing something wrong.

Your chest tightens. You could've sworn you had locked the door?

He looks up, and the moment he sees you, his entire face lights up. His worry melts into relief.

"Hey! Sorry to just walk in," he says, giving you an apologetic half-smile. "I heard her crying from the hallway and figured you were sleeping. I thought maybe I could soothe her, give you a little more time. She seemed hungry, though, so I came in here."

You feel a jolt of panic snap through you like a rubber band stretched too far. The breath leaves your lungs in a stuttering rush.

“No—Caleb, please put her down!”

Your voice comes out louder, harsher than you meant, and the room seems to go still. His smile falters, confused. You’re already moving before he can say another word. The towel slips from your shoulders and lands in a heap on the floor as you rush across the room, hands outstretched.

“Just give her to me!”

Your heart is pounding, a chaotic rhythm that drowns out rational thought. Visions flare up unbidden—images of things going wrong, of Sylvia slipping, of her getting hurt, of hands that aren't yours doing something wrong. But deeper than that is something even worse: the fear that Sylus will find out. That he’ll somehow know another man held her, touched her, cradled her so gently like he never would. And if he knows, he’ll be angry—not at you but at Caleb.

You don't even want to imagine the horrible things Sylus would do to him.

Caleb’s eyes go wide, and he lifts his hands in surrender as you reach him. He says nothing, just instinctively transfers the baby into your arms with slow, careful movements. Sylvia lets out a protesting little squawk as the transition jostles her.

“Okay, okay—it’s alright,” Caleb says quietly, his voice filled with concern. "She’s okay. I was just trying to help."

You clutch Sylvia to your chest, holding her as tightly as you dare. Her body fits against yours like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there. She lets out a soft sigh, her flailing limbs settling. The fussing tapers off to little hiccuping breaths, and soon she’s quiet again.

You press a trembling kiss to her forehead, eyes fluttering shut. You’re still shaking.

There’s a long pause.

Caleb is silent, his hands now folded awkwardly in his lap. He looks at you like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should. The tension in the room crackles softly, a quiet hum beneath the stillness.

“I didn’t mean to overstep,” he says finally, his voice cautious. “I just thought maybe I could help. You looked like you needed rest.”

"Y-you can't... if he finds out you even breathed the same air as her he'll—" Your voice falters, collapsing under the weight of what you almost said. The words die on your tongue, leaving a silence that's louder than anything else in the room. Your heart races, hammering against your ribs, and your fingers tighten protectively around Sylvia, who stirs softly against your chest. You hadn't meant to say that much—not even close.

Caleb’s eyes narrow slightly, but his voice remains low. "Who?" he asks, the question sharpened with suspicion. "He’ll do what? Her father?"

You don’t answer right away. Your eyes drop to the floor, to a speck of lint you suddenly find fascinating. Anything to avoid his gaze. The air between you thickens with tension.

"Just trust me, please," you whisper, almost pleading. "Leave me to her care, okay? It's for the best."

For a moment, you expect him to nod, to accept it like he did earlier. But this time is different. Something in him has shifted. Caleb doesn’t step back. He doesn’t drop it. Instead, he straightens up abruptly and takes two steps toward you, closing the distance.

"I just can't understand," he says, voice still calm but more insistent now, tinged with something rawer underneath. "You've never kept anything from me before. And now I find you stranded in the middle of nowhere, no ID, no records, no phone—not even a hospital bracelet. And you’re holding a baby that’s, what—a few weeks old? And you expect me to just pretend everything’s fine?"

The words hit you like a slap—not cruel, not intentionally—but real. Honest. Caleb’s always been the one person you could count on to be gentle. But he’s also always been the one who notices everything. He’s not stupid. And he’s not letting this go.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to look at him. Sylvia shifts slightly in your arms and lets out a soft sigh, a small reminder that she’s the center of your world now. The only thing that matters is protecting those you care about.

"She's seven weeks. I’m just protecting her and you" you say, your voice barely above a breath. "That’s all this is. That’s all I can do."

Caleb doesn’t move. He watches you carefully, waiting, like he knows there’s more. And there is. There’s so much more. But you can’t let it spill out. You can’t drag him into this mess. If Sylus ever found out—if he even sensed that another man had held his daughter—Caleb could get hurt. And you couldn’t live with that.

"You don’t understand what he’s capable of," you murmur, mostly to yourself. But it’s too late. Caleb hears it.

"Then help me understand," he replies. "Don’t shut me out. You think I wouldn’t want to protect her too? Or protect you?"

Your eyes sting. Your grip on Sylvia tightens, but she’s already asleep, little fist curled near her cheek. The words hover on your lips—I want to tell you. I wish I could. But you don’t say them.

"Just let me do this," you say finally. "Please. For now. That’s all I’m asking."

The silence stretches. Caleb’s face shifts slightly, from confusion to something softer, sadder. He sighs, but the hesitation is still there, written in the set of his jaw.

"You know I can't do that," Caleb says, clasping his hands together tightly. His voice is calm, but there’s something desperate underneath it, something raw and pleading. "If you'd just move in here with me permanently, that would solve all of this. He won't hurt you. He can't hurt you. You know I'd protect you. And her."

He looks down at Sylvia as he says it, his expression softening in a way that makes your chest ache. That softness—it's genuine. There's no doubt in your mind that he believes every word he’s saying. But belief isn't enough. Not when it comes to Sylus. Not when it comes to the kind of danger that lingers like a shadow behind every moment of peace.

You shake your head, jaw tightening until it aches. He doesn’t know. He can’t know. Not really. He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. He hasn't lived through it, hasn't felt the cold dread of waking up every morning not knowing what the day would look like. He doesn't know what Sylus is capable of when he's even slightly displeased. And if Caleb ever got in his way—if he even touched Sylvia again—

You force the thought away, swallowing hard.

"I already told you, I can't!" you snap, your voice sharp and unfiltered. The frustration explodes out of you like a dam finally giving way. "It would just cause more problems! I already lost you once, I can't go through that again!"

He takes a half-step back, startled, but doesn’t retreat fully. His eyes are still on you, searching, waiting for something he can grab onto. He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re not done. Not even close.

"Besides, you want to talk about my secrets? What about you, Caleb? Huh? Let’s talk about you!" Your voice rises with every syllable, fueled by confusion and betrayal. "I saw you explode. I saw you die, Caleb. I felt the ground shake. I watched it happen. And now you’re just... here? Alive? Like nothing ever happened?"

You take a breath that feels more like a gasp, chest heaving.

"You just conveniently show up in Windsor—of all places—alive and well? Sporting fancy jets and luxury mansions like some kind of billionaire guardian angel? What is this, huh? What am I supposed to believe? That you’re some kind of miracle? That you just happened to show up the second I needed someone the most?"

Your voice cracks again, anger giving way to something more fragile underneath—something scared and overwhelmed. The question you’ve been swallowing down for weeks finally pushes its way out.

"What about that, huh? Why don’t you answer my questions for once instead of dodging every single one of mine like I’m too fragile to know the truth?"

The room feels electric with tension, thick and heavy like the air before a thunderstorm. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, your arms tightening around Sylvia’s small body. She stirs slightly in your embrace, murmuring softly, her warmth the only anchor keeping you from spiraling entirely.

Caleb’s face shifts slowly, his mouth opening like he wants to speak—but he hesitates. Something flickers behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not anger. Something more complex. Like he’s weighing whether the truth is even his to tell.

The silence stretches between you, pulsing with all the things that remain unspoken.

You feel it again—that gnawing feeling that something isn’t right, that the Caleb in front of you is the man you knew, but also...not. You can’t put your finger on it, and maybe that’s what terrifies you most. You thought you could trust him. You want to. But how can you, when he’s hiding just as much as you are?

He says nothing at first. Just watches you, the tension stretching so thin between you it feels like the room might snap in half from the pressure. His expression is unreadable, carved from silence and restraint. Then, finally, he sighs. Long and quiet, like he's been holding his breath for hours.

"I guess we all have skeletons in our closet," he says.

You stare at him in disbelief, your lips parting in a breathless huff. That’s it? That’s his answer? That’s all he has to offer after everything you just spilled, after weeks of uncertainty and swallowing back every cry for help? Weeks of unraveling silently at the seams?

What kind of bullshit answer is that?

You feel it rising in your chest—the pressure, the heartbreak, the helplessness. It presses against your ribcage like something alive, like it wants out. Your throat tightens, and your hands start to tremble.

You can’t do this anymore. You can’t. The tension, the secrets, the lies—they’re suffocating. You’re trying to hold it together, trying to survive while keeping a tiny human safe and clinging to the edge of your sanity, and it feels like no one around you is willing to meet you halfway. It feels like no one sees how close you are to shattering.

You just want one person. One. Someone who will be honest. Someone who will stop pretending. Someone who will look at you and see the wreckage and still say, "You're safe. I'm here. I’m not lying to you."

Clara had been that person. Sweet, gentle Clara with soft hands and quiet reassurances. She had been your lifeline when everything else was chaos. But now? Now she was gone. God only knows what Sylus did to her. You wake up thinking about her sometimes, wondering if she’s alive, if she’s okay, or if she was just another casualty of being close to you. The guilt eats you alive.

Xavier, too. God—Xavier. Dragged into the hell of EVERS experiments, brutalized just for trying to help you escape. And what did he get in return? Pain. Silence. Disappearance. He thinks you lied to him. Everyone who tries to help you ends up broken.

You'll be damned in Caleb ends up that way too.

You press a hand to your face, swallowing down the sob trying to climb its way up.

"I’m done," you mutter, voice strained and trembling. You turn away from Caleb and move toward the bed, carefully laying Sylvia down on the softest part of the mattress. You adjust the blanket around her, brushing a fingertip over her tiny cheek. She stirs, sighs, but doesn’t cry. She blinks up at you, clearly too confused with all the commotion to be upset you weren't holding her anymore.

"I can’t stay here," you say, eyes locked on Sylvia’s peaceful face. "This is all eating me alive. I’m not healing—I’m unraveling. And staying here is just...making it worse. I need space. I need air. I need to feel like I’m free, not like I’m still in someone else's trap."

You cross the room, the weight in your limbs making each step feel heavier than the last. Your bag is still where you left it, slumped against the wall. You crouch down, unzip it, and dig around to try and find your envelope of cash.

"No," Caleb says.

You freeze.

The word hits the room like a dropped stone, quiet but heavy. Your spine stiffens. The air changes.

You slowly turn to look at him.

He’s standing taller now, shoulders squared, something simmering behind his eyes. It’s not fury. Not sadness. Not even desperation. It’s something steadier. A line drawn in the sand.

"No," he repeats, and his voice is steel. "You’re not leaving. Not like this."

You scoff. What the hell did he mean by no?

"You won't find that envelope either. It's somewhere safe," Caleb says calmly, like he's discussing the weather. Not an ounce of guilt, not a flicker of shame.

Panic spikes through your chest like a sudden jolt of electricity. Your breath catches, and you lunge for the bag again, and begin tearing through it with trembling hands. You flip it upside down, shake it violently, throw it to the floor. Then you're on your knees, digging—harder, faster. You check the side pocket where you always kept it. Nothing. You tear open the lining. You throw out every item of clothing. You unzip every hidden pouch, check every crease.

Still nothing.

The air seems to get thinner. Your heart slams against your ribcage.

"You asshole!" you scream, whirling on him with a voice so raw it scrapes your throat. Your chest heaves as the words tumble out. "I pawned my ring to get that money!

Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps. Your vision blurs at the edges. The room feels like it’s shrinking, the walls closing in, bending and tilting like the floor can’t quite decide which way is up.

You feel yourself spiraling—fast and hard. Everything inside you starts to slip. Your thoughts crash like waves in a storm, and you can’t catch a single one long enough to think.

"No, no, no," you whisper, stumbling back, your voice fraying like torn fabric. "You were supposed to be different. You were supposed to be safe."

Your voice rises, caught between anger and desperation.

"You’re acting just like him. Please—please, stop."

Tears spill freely now, thick and hot, tracking down your cheeks in heavy streams. You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, rocking slightly, like your own body is trying to shield your heart from cracking wide open.

Caleb steps toward you slowly, hands slightly raised, his movements calm and measured, like he’s trying not to startle a wounded animal. But you don’t feel soothed. You feel cornered.

"Calm down," he says, voice low and maddeningly composed. "I’ll return the money once your documents are here. You don’t need it right now anyway. I’ll provide everything you and Sylvia need."

He takes another step closer, closing the gap between you by just enough to send another pulse of fear through your gut.

"I’m not going to let you be reckless and endanger yourself or the baby. This is the safest place for your right now."

The words land with a cruel chill. Cold steel straight through the ribcage.

You stare at him, blinking, unable to form a coherent thought through the storm of betrayal and confusion ripping through you. Behind you, Sylvia stirs softly, as if sensing your distress. Her tiny body turns slightly under the blanket.

Your voice comes out hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You had no right to take anything of mine."

But Caleb doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t move. There’s something unsettling in the way he holds his ground—not like someone who’s trying to help, but someone who knows he’s already won this round.

And that terrifies you more than anything else.

You feel the sting of fresh tears, the kind born of helplessness, not rage. You want to scream, but your throat feels tight, your breath shallow. You sink slowly to your knees, still clutching the empty bag like it might miraculously return what’s been taken.

"You can't see it now because of whatever you're battling in your head, but I'm protecting you," Caleb says quietly, his voice low and steady. "If he's really as dangerous as you say, then you absolutely need to stay here. You're being very impulsive."

You flinch as he gently pulls you into an embrace. His arms are warm, steady, secure—too secure. A quiet cage dressed in tenderness. It doesn’t feel like safety. This doesn't feel like the boy you grew up with. It feels like a door quietly closing behind you.

You don’t reciprocate.

You just sit there, stiff in his arms, your face pressed against his shoulder, eyes wide and unfocused. The weight of your body is bone-deep exhaustion, but your muscles stay tense, locked tight like a coiled spring. Tears continue to fall, slow and silent now, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. He doesn’t flinch or move. Just holds you.

You want to scream. To shove him away. To run. To trust. To collapse into someone and finally let go. You want everything and nothing all at once.

And you hate—hate—that he might be right in some way.

Because the truth is, you are locked in a bitter, daily war with your own mind. Your PTSD isn’t just in your head—it’s in your chest, your spine, your skin. It lurks in your muscles, whispering that no one is safe. That no place is real. That even a moment of rest is a trap in disguise. It claws at your reality, distorting every sound, every touch, every kind word into something laced with threat. Every door closed feels like entrapment. Every gentle voice feels like manipulation.

Your trauma-bruised brain doesn’t know the difference between comfort and control anymore. Safety and suffocation have blurred at the edges. You want to believe Caleb. You want to trust him. But part of you is screaming that this is just another gilded cage.

You close your eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest. Just to quiet the noise. Maybe if you shut it all out, it’ll stop.

But your body doesn’t relax. It stays frozen in his hold. Your arms hang useless at your sides. Because no matter how softly he’s holding you, no matter how many promises spill from his lips, it still feels like a trap. Like one more person trying to decide what’s best for you without asking. Like one more decision made for you instead of with you.

You are so sick of people telling you what's best for you.

"Just until the documents get here...?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if speaking any louder might break the fragile truce settling over the room. You close your eyes, trying to block out the gnawing doubt that’s coiled itself deep in your gut, trying to make the words feel true even when everything inside you is screaming they aren’t.

"Yes," Caleb replies, his tone soft and steady, almost relieved, like you’ve just agreed to something simple. Like your surrender is peace, not quiet devastation. "It’s for the best."

You want—so badly—to believe him. To believe that he knows what’s right. That this is safety. That this is care, not control. That his arms around you are protection, not boundaries. That his words are a balm, not a leash tightening around your throat.

But he’s still a liar.

Still keeping things from you. Still offering only partial truths, carefully curated phrases, and gentle redirections when you ask too much. He’s danced around every answer with the grace of someone who’s done it before. He’s protecting you—yes. But is he protecting you from the world? Or from the truth?

Or from himself?

You remember the way he looked when you confronted him. Calm. Measured. Like he was already several steps ahead of you. Like he knew he’d find the right words to stop you from walking out that door. That scares you more than anything—how easy it was for him to pull you back in. How much you wanted to stay, even after everything.

You know better now. You’ve learned. Painfully, repeatedly.

So you nod. You breathe. You stay.

But you do not relax.

Your body remains tense even as you curl up with Sylvia that night. Your hand never leaves her. You listen for every creak in the house, every footstep, every shift of breath from the next room. Sleep only comes in fragments, and when it does, it’s light and uneasy.

You’ll sleep with one eye open. You’ll memorize the exits. You’ll keep a backup plan, even if it’s just in your head. You’ll stash essentials in places he doesn’t know about. You’ll practice smiling when he speaks. You’ll say thank you when he brings you things. You’ll pretend to trust him, because pretending is safer than provoking.

You’ll keep your daughter close and your thoughts closer.

You truly can't afford to freely trust anyone.

You’ll watch him. Study him. Learn his rhythms, his moods, the things that make him soften and the things that make him quiet. You’ll map him like a threat, even when he acts like a sanctuary.

Because you have no choice.

Because you refuse to be in someone else's trap.

402 notes · View notes

kissandtellus · 1 month ago

Text

Warning, Bite Risk: Ch. 2

ೃ⁀➷ Synopsis: MC finally brings Hybrid!Caleb to his new home, but she’s quick to realize his trauma isn’t just on the surface.

ೃ⁀➷ Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, abuse, fluffy chapter.

When they arrive at her apartment, Caleb pauses when he passes the threshold of the door. She looks back to him, brow furrowing. She isn’t sure what’s happening, until she notices how carefully he is stepping, like a dancer in a minefield. His muscles are tensed, and his entire body is stiff. “Caleb?” She asks quietly, “Is everything alright?” When she speaks, she notices that he winces. She frowns, unsure of why the house could be upsetting him so much.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Instead, he looks around the small house, taking in every detail. His face is still blank, but his eyes are darting from the table to the fridge, then the couch, the counters, even the floor. He seems a bit overwhelmed.

Then he looks to MC, and his gaze softens to something almost like embarrassment. His shoulders relax, and he murmurs quietly, “It reminds me...” he trails off, like he doesn’t want to finish that sentence.

“Of your Handlers place?” She finishes the sentence for him.

He looks almost surprised at how easily she can read him, and nods after a moment.” It is… similar to home.” His voice is low, and his voice is full of something almost like longing.

After a moment, he glances around the apartment. “It is… small.”

It’s clear he doesn’t want to make any criticism towards his new home, but it’s not hard to read disapproval from the comment.

MC gives a dry laugh. “Yeah. It is. You mister, costed me enough I’ll be living off of cup noodles for a while. But let’s get you in some new clothes yeah? You had an accident in the car.”

Caleb looks down at the clothes he’s wearing. He’s been wearing this same set of clothes every day since he’s been at the Shelter. His tail has been hidden in the back of his pants. He glances at MC, his expression guarded but curious.

”A… change of clothes?”

There is surprise in his voice, like he can’t believe she would be so thoughtful.

MC gives a soft smile. “You sort of…peed in fear from the car ride. Is there a reason you dislike cars so much?”

Caleb looks embarrassed, and his eyes lower, staring at the floor. He seems unwilling to meet her gaze. He’s tense, but he doesn’t speak.

After a moment, though, his shoulders relax slightly and he murmurs. “I dislike them because they… remind me of the last mission I went on. Of the explosion… and what came after.”

MC knows not to press him any more. “C’mon Buddy, let’s get you in the bath.”

He hesitates, but slowly follows her into the bathroom. He looks around, but his gaze quickly lands on the bathtub. He freezes. His eyes are wide, and he turns back to her with a wild expression.

“The bath?” His voice is higher than usual, and sounds almost panicked. “I-I can’t.”

She quickly realizes that it is the bath that he is afraid of.

MC gives a small frown and grabs a spare towel from the hanger. “I know it’s scary. But you sort of reek, we need to get you cleaned up. I can step outsi-“

Before she can react, he drops to the floor and presses himself into a ball in the corner. He is visibly shaking. His breathing is fast and raspy.

”No, no, no.” He mutters frantically. He wraps his now shaking arms around himself, looking small and broken. “Please… don’t make me.”

He looks up at her with eyes full of fear, and she sees something almost animalistic in his eyes.

He is a large, powerful hybrid. The fact that he is so terrified of something so small is almost a little startling to MC. She’s never seen a man so scared before. It’s clear that this is a trauma for him.

“Caleb… it’s alright. You’re allowed to say no.” Her voice is gentle, and she slowly moves towards him. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you?” She gently touches his shoulder, but as soon as her fingers make contact, she is shocked at how badly he flinches.

He flinches away, but doesn’t snap or bark at her like she’s expecting. That seems to snap him out of whatever dark memory he had been reliving.

He looks at her with wide eyes, and she sees his ears twitch. He swallows and she sees shame in his eyes. His voice is small and tight when he speaks.

“The… water… It makes me feel like… like I’m back *there*. In the facility after…” His voice cracks.

Before he continues though, he closes his mouth tightly, as if afraid he’s said too much. He turns his face away from her and shakes his head. His voice is a murmur when he speaks next.

”I’m sorry.”

His tail curls around him, as if he’s trying to make himself even smaller. He looks ashamed.

MC kneels down and tentatively reaches out to touch one of his ears. “Shh…it’s okay. You’re safe here…”

Caleb tenses when she touches his ear. This action isn’t met with an angry response though, just a soft yelp from Caleb.

He turns his head slightly, and she sees that his eyes are watering. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and thick with emotion. “You don’t know that. You should have kept your distance from me. Now… now you’re going to get hurt.” He turns away from her again, as if he can’t bear to look at her.

MC sits in the floor with him, bringing herself down to his level. “I’m very protective of my friends…and you are my friend now, Caleb. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

His eyes widen, and there is surprise on his face. He looks touched.

He looks away, and his ears twitch slightly. “You… really mean that?” He sounds hopeful, even a little excited.

He looks back at her, and she can finally see just how much he wants to be cared about. His eyes are wide and hopeful, and his tail twitches. His voice is soft and hopeful when she speaks again.

”My… friend?”

He is a big, powerful hybrid, and yet he acts so much like a puppy right now that she can’t help but smile.

She moves closer to him, and is rewarded with a gentle nudge of his head against her shoulder. He gives a soft whine, and his tail twitches nervously. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter.

”Really? You… care about me?”

“Of course,” she gives a small, closed eyed smile that makes Caleb’s heart skip in a weird way. “Now, I know the bath is scary. But do you think we can wipe you down for now? You can do it yourself if you want. We just need to get you cleaned up…” she whispers, careful not to startle him any further from his progress.

He hesitates, but finally nods. “I… can try.”

He looks down at his hands, which are still shaking a little.

He swallows, and his eyes meet hers. “I’m… sorry you have to see me like this. I’m supposed to be stronger.”

“I’m not supposed to be…” He trails off, unable to finish the sentence. He looks genuinely sorry, and ashamed.

“Not supposed to be what?” She asks gently, helping him remove the tank top and soiled pants and underwear.

Caleb hesitates again, then quietly murmurs, “Weak.”

He looks ashamed when he says it. His ears flatten against his head, and he looks at her with a look of shame in his eyes.

He doesn’t protest when she pulls off his old, dirty clothes. The only thing he wears is a small pair of shorts, along with the dog tags.

He looks away when she starts to run the bath, and his breathing starts to quicken again.

He looks almost petrified. He seems unable to speak, and his chest is heaving with his quick breaths.

She starts to speak but he cuts her off, speaking in a voice that is barely audible. “I-I can’t. I… can’t be alone in this.” He whispers, shaking his head slightly. “I-I don’t… please… help me.”

MC hushes him and dips a rag into the water. “Hey no, you don’t have to get in, I’m just using it for the water. C’mere…”

Caleb moves forward cautiously, eyes still darting around the room. He seems incredibly nervous, like he is expecting something bad to happen.

When she starts to run the warm water on his shoulders, he flinches slightly, but slowly relaxes under the touch, and leans into her with a soft whimper.

He looks down at the cloth on his arms, but after a moment his gaze goes to Odette's face. His eyes are full of gratitude.

"Thank you." He whispers softly.

After the quick wash down and some clean clothes that are a bit too small on his massive frame, it’s dinner time. MC sighs as she scrolls through her phone, looking up the best food for Malinois hybrids like Caleb.

While the woman is distracted on her phone, Caleb explores his new home . He goes into every room, looking for weapons, hidden secrets, and escape routes. The house is small and cozy, though slightly messy. There are stacks of books everywhere, and most of the furniture looks old.

When he finds his way to the kitchen, he pauses.

Eventually, though, he speaks timidly, his voice uncertain. "Is it mealtime? Should I... should I be getting my food bowl?"

MC looks up from her phone, surprised and a bit embarrassed. She laughs nervously, scratching the back of her head, and shaking her head at his question.

"It's not... not quite like that. I’m not going to make you eat out of a dog bowl.”

She starts to prepare dinner, and Caleb watches quietly. He's never known a handler to work in the kitchen before.

This new environment, new friend and her unusual behavior, are a bit overwhelming to the Hybrid.

He keeps his mouth shut, though. He *can't* mess this up.

While MC makes dinner, Caleb helps her in every way he can. He follows her, not even a step behind her, and brings her any item she asks for.

He is clearly trying his best to prove himself to her, and does so without even being asked. His every movement conveys how desperate he is to make a good impression on her.

MC can't help but note that his enthusiasm is very puppy-like, and that it almost suits him. She finds it... endearing.

She looks at Caleb with a cocked eyebrow. “I can tell you were in the military. You are so…obedient. Willing to please.”

Caleb seems just the tiniest bit embarrassed, and he looks away as he murmurs, "I was designed to follow orders, not ask questions.

He falls a step behind her, and his head dips. There is an almost sad look in his eyes. The fact that he is only good at being obedient has always made him feel inferior to normal men.

He has always wanted to be good enough - strong enough - to be considered human.

“Well since you are in my house, under my rules. You are DESIGNED to sit down and relax. Okay?” She reaches out as she reads through the ingredients on her phone, and scratches between his cropped ears.

Caleb flinches slightly, but then leans into the touch. He seems unsure of what to make of this. He looks surprised, as if he expected for her to be... harsher, maybe.

He slowly drops to the floor, and looks between her and the kitchen table. After a moment, he says quietly, "We don't... We don't eat with our Handlers usually. That... isn't allowed." A look of hesitance fills his features, like he is debating if he should continue.

MC blinks down at the absolutely massive Hybrid plopped down onto her kitchen floor, she blinks a couple of times before giving a soft laugh.

“No buddy, I meant the chair or even the couch. Make yourself at home.”

Caleb’s gaze darts to the couch, and a hint of something almost like fear enters his expression.

He hesitates, but his voice is low, and cautious. “Is... are you sure? I’m not supposed to sit on furniture, and...”

His voice trails off, and his eyes lower. His voice is soft and full of remorse.

“That's not a rule when you're in my house, Caleb," she says gently. She moves away slightly, to give him room to move, but makes sure to give him a reassuring smile when he glances at her.

He studies her for a moment, assessing the sincerity of her expression. He doesn't seem quite sure what to do, but his eyes flicker to the couch. His tail gives a slight wag.

He walks slowly towards the couch, eyes flicking to her every now and then. Finally, he takes a seat on the couch, his back straight and hands in his lap, as if he’s afraid that he could be punished for his actions.

He is tense, but doesn’t look entirely uncomfortable, just nervous.

“Like this?” He asks quietly, his eyes meeting hers. He looks hopeful, but still anxious, like he’s afraid she’ll be displeased by his action.

MC giggles behind her hand, pushing a piece of steak across the pan. “Good boy, Caleb. Food is almost done.”

He sits up straight, and his eyes widen at the praise. He looks surprised, and then pleased, and his mouth twitches slightly.

His tail continues to wag as he takes in the sight of the steaks. He has no idea what smells so delicious, but his stomach certainly seems to have some sort of idea.

"Steak?" He asks with a low voice, and his eyes narrow in excitement. "We're having steak?"

MC hums as she scoops out the steak out the plate. “Yeah, I read that your breed of Hybrid needs a lot of protein since you are so…active. What are you used to eating?” She asks it before she can stop herself.

He watches her with a guarded expression as she plates the food, and when she asks about his previous meals his expression goes blank, and his eyes lower. His shoulders tense, and there is clear discomfort in his expression. He glances away, and speaks quietly, "Kibble. Some chicken or fish, sometimes. Not very often. I..." He trails off, and his jaw tightens.

He looks up at her, his gaze guarded as if he's afraid she'll judge him for his diet.

MC clenches her jaw.

What sort of military with as much money as the Farspace Fleet had, serve their K-9 Hybrids Kibble?

She swallows her anger, trying not to let Caleb see. “Well, here at Casa de Caleb, you are only getting the finest meals.”

MC gives a small smile as she whistles a tune under her breath. Caleb’s ears perk up at the sound, his ears twitching. It sounds almost like a little squeak, like one of the dog toys.

He pauses, and looks at her curiously. His expression is soft, and almost hopeful. He seems to be waiting for her to continue.

When she doesn't make another sound, he leans forward, his eyes brightening when he asks, "What's that?" His voice is almost excited, like a puppy who has just been shown a new toy and wants to play.

MC smiles. “Whistling? Did none of the Handlers ever whistle as a command?”

Caleb blinks, looking at her strangely. “Command?” He seems surprised, and his brow furrows slightly. He looks as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and is a bit confused. It’s as if he’s never heard about this before.

“Handler’s whistle to get our attention sometimes,” He adds simply, though his voice sounds guarded. He seems a bit hesitant about talking about this subject. He seems almost embarrassed by the fact that he doesn’t know.

“I remember watching an old…training video. There were these types of bullets, they were pretty small. They made sort of a…whistling noise,” Caleb explained, tail thumping the couch. “A Pipsqueak.” He says shortly after.

“I like that word, Pipsqueak.” Caleb repeats, his eyes still glued to MC as she puts down the sides to the steaks.

MC smiles and pops a pea into her mouth. “It is cute. My….gran used to call me that.”

Caleb looks interested, his ears perking up. He asks curiously, "Your gran?" He looks thoughtful, like he's processing the fact that he didn't know much about her. He hasn't met many people who are as nice as MC, and he genuinely is curious about why.

"Why'd she call you that?" He asks curiously, as his tail wags slightly. His eyes are bright, and he looks incredibly eager to hear the answer.

Mc glances at him, smiling when she sees his tail wagging so much. She leans forward to place an extra big steak on his plate. “I was so small when I was born. They didn’t expect me to live and when I ended up growing into my teen years, just…stayed small. Like a…Pipsqueak compared to the other kids.”

Caleb cocks his head, ears pointed the opposite direction. “Pipsqueak.”

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

#lads #lads x reader #love and deepspace #lads smut #caleb lads #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x fem reader #caleb fluff #lads caleb #caleb pull #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #lads omegaverse #omegaverse #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lnds caleb

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zerocoded · 6 months ago

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summary: caleb wants to confess to you on his knees and a 70-year-old lady becomes your biggest nightmare.

authors note: pls take a look at the warnings for a safe reading ♡ y'all are freakier than me and I LOVE IT, so here is the continuation of this post i made, if you haven't read it, go and tell me what you think about! this thing was supposed to be 6k words max but i think i got a little too much into EVERYTHING so i'm sorry if this sucks. still, i wish you guys a nice reading!

warnings: MAJOR LORE GUESS, THIS IS MY THEORY OF HOW THINGS WILL PLAY OUT DON'T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY • gaslighting and manipulation • SLIGHT yandere!caleb • possessive!caleb • isolation but just a little • minor injury • psychological distress • themes of wars and weaponization • we talk a little about our trauma • ptsd symptoms • negative talks about ourselves (booh) • caleb custom makes an uniform specially for us • hints at psychological torture • once again, ANGST BABES because these two really like to bicker with each other • sfw content but HEAVILY SUGGESTIVE, just nothing graphic

word count: 11.6k (pls let's not talk about it)

series masterlist: the first time you see caleb after the incident┃ you're here┃you punch caleb in the face┃caleb teaches you his love language

skyhaven, powered by a protocore, stood as a beacon of innovation—a home to cutting-edge research centers and advanced tech organizations. when you were younger, the suspended island above linkon city had been a dream, a place of endless possibility and freedom. now, standing here, you couldn’t shake the irony: the very place you once longed to visit now felt like a gilded cage.

your journey here has unsettled you, planting a persistent seed of doubt. was this truly what you wanted? leaving behind the familiar comforts of your apartment to follow caleb to this towering, enigmatic place—was it the right choice? did that moment—the feeling of his lips on yours—truly change anything between you? did he think about it as often as you did?

the initial shock and disbelief of reuniting with caleb, after weeks spent mourning him, had begun to settle by your second night in skyhaven. the whirlwind of emotions that came with seeing him alive—relief, confusion, and a flicker of anger—faded into a dull hum as reality set in. as the day dragged on, with caleb strictly advising you not to leave his sleeping quarters’ floor, you found yourself with plenty of time to adjust to the strange circumstances you now found yourself in.

your first day here had passed quietly, an uneasy stillness settling over you. you hadn’t yet met any of caleb’s colleagues. the only glimpse you’d gotten of them was when you both arrived, their initial looks of curiosity quickly extinguished by caleb’s commanding presence. whatever questions they had, they didn’t dare voice them. his authority was absolute, and for now, it shielded you from the world beyond his floor—but it also left you feeling isolated, a stranger in this new environment.

the second day started and ended much like the first—confined to his bedchambers, with nothing but your thoughts and the ever-changing view from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows in his room. you spent hours there, caught in a trance as the sky shifted through an endless palette of colors, clouds forming and dissolving in shapes that seemed just as fleeting as your grip on this new reality.

caleb’s presence was everywhere and that made you a little dizzy. his scent lingered in the shirts he had lent you, in the bed sheets that cradled you at night, a warm mix of leather, musk, and something distinctly his own. his quarters, though rarely used given how much of his time was consumed by work, were unmistakably a reflection of him.

the room was awash in muted greys, from the smooth metallic walls to the minimalist furniture that prioritized function over form. cabinets lined one side, adorned with badges from past missions—quiet tokens of his history, his sacrifices, and his triumphs. their arrangement felt almost random, yet carried a subtle, unspoken order.

his bed, though crisply made, was an island of softness in the otherwise sharp-edged decor. a worn leather jacket hung by the door, its scuffed edges a contrast to the polished surface of his boots, lined perfectly beneath. on the desk in the corner, a stack of reports waited alongside a notebook with frayed edges, a relic of a more personal side of him he rarely let anyone see.

when reality came crashing down, you realized that you felt no different than when you were a little kid—admiring the boy of your dreams from a distance, your heart caught between hope and the quiet certainty that this dream was just that: a dream. the same ache lingered, a mixture of longing and doubt. you felt closer to that dream every time you caught caleb staring at you when he thought you were distracted.

speaking of ache, the injury you’d sustained a few days earlier during one of your missions was still fresh in your memory. the medic team at the farspace fleet had tended to it with precision, and that counted as the second time you’d interacted with anyone here. you hadn’t meant to let it slip during your journey that your ribs were swollen from an accident at work, but caleb had noticed—and he wasn’t about to let you brush it off.

when you tried to wave away his concerns, insisting you just needed rest, he didn’t take it lightly. his worry for you came out in an unusual way—firm, commanding, and impossible to ignore. he barked orders at the medic team with an authority that left no room for argument, his voice sharp and unwavering. watching him threaten them to ensure you received the best care, you couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t just acting as a colonel—he was someone who cared deeply for you.

as the clock marked the start of your third day as caleb’s reluctant guest, you rose from his bed, the routine as monotonous as the view outside. you slipped into fresh clothes—despite having no prospect of seeing anyone besides caleb—and began your habitual ritual of tidying up his space, a quiet attempt to pass the time and bring a sliver of normalcy to the strange circumstances.

you were certain the colonel wouldn’t mind if you spent the day lounging in his shirt—it wasn’t like he’d complain—but there was something about maintaining a semblance of decency that felt necessary. maybe it was your way of reminding yourself that you and caleb weren’t pre-teenagers cuddling in granny’s sofa like you used to anymore, now you were both adults.

caleb’s presence in the room was fleeting, almost ghostlike. you always fell asleep before he returned and woke to find the bed cold and empty, his absence a constant companion. and yet, in the stillness of the night, there were moments—fleeting, but undeniable—when you stirred just enough to feel him. his arm would circle your waist, his breath soft against your hair. it was never long enough to fully wake, but just enough to remind you that he was there, in his own quiet, guarded way.

and there it goes your attempt at decency once again.

you’d joked once about how he was keeping you hostage, trying to lighten the mood of your strange arrangement. caleb had smirked at your remark, that faint, knowing curve of his lips that you used to know what it meant but couldn’t pinpoint it anymore. “be patient”, he’d teased, throwing out that stupid nickname he’d decided to saddle you with since kids. then, with his usual abruptness, he’d turned to leave, disappearing for yet another task that demanded his attention.

you caught yourself daydreaming about kicking his ass more times than you wanted to admit, but refrained from it because of the little consideration you had for the man. caleb had always been more than a mere presence in your life. growing up, he had been both a confidant and the object of an innocent, unspoken infatuation.

back at school, you remembered the way your classmates would fawn over him after the whole chronorift thing happened, their voices tinged with admiration and awe. it had stirred a quiet possessiveness in you that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now—until two nights ago, when he brought you to the farspace fleet. the way the other daa soldiers regarded him, with a mixture of respect and fear, reminded you of those little girls in school, seeing him as someone out of reach.

the sound of your footsteps echoed faintly in the silence of caleb’s quarters as you paced, restless energy building with nowhere to go. the midday light filtering through the observation deck window cast long shadows, shifting subtly as the minutes dragged into hours. you’d spent the morning turning over every piece of information caleb had given you—trying to make sense of his cryptic remarks.

you had thought about confronting him more than once, but every time you pictured his sharp gaze and those carefully chosen, guarded responses, you stopped yourself. caleb didn’t share things easily like he used to, and if he was keeping you in the dark now, there had to be a reason. but patience had never been your strong suit, and the isolation of the past three days only made your doubts heavier, pressing against your thoughts like an unshakable weight.

as the door to his quarters hissed open, your heart jumped, the sound breaking the stillness like a gunshot. caleb stepped inside, his movements precise, his expression unreadable. his uniform was slightly rumpled, the dark fabric clinging to his frame, and a faint sheen of sweat on his brow suggested whatever task he’d been called to wasn’t as simple as he might claim.

“you’re still up here,” he observed, his tone neutral but his gaze flicking over you briefly before settling on the desk where he’d left a stack of reports.

“where else would i be?” you replied, trying to mask the tension in your voice. “you made it pretty clear this is my designated prison cell.”

his lips quirked into that familiar smirk. “if this is a prison, i’d say you’ve got the best cell in the fleet.”

you rolled your eyes at his response, folding your arms across your chest. “sure, best cell in the fleet,” you muttered, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “it’s not like i have much to compare it to.”

caleb chuckled softly, his smirk lingering as he moved toward the desk, casually thumbing through the stack of reports. “you’ve got a knack for making everything sound like an ordeal,” he said, glancing at your choice of clothes for the day—it wasn’t anything crazy, just some jeans and a black compression shirt. caleb didn’t gave you time to actually pack your stuff, of course. “but you’ll want to save your complaints for later. something tells me you’re about to get more to gripe about.”

before you could ask what he meant, the door hissed open again, and a small team of people entered, their arrival so abrupt it left you momentarily stunned. they carried garment bags and cases, moving efficiently under caleb’s orders. he turned to you, his expression unreadable but his tone calm and firm.

“go with them,” he said simply. “they’ll help you get ready.”

you stared at him, incredulous. “ready for what?”

“it’s time for you to get out of here,” he said, his tone firm yet measured. “you need to meet some people. there’s an interrogation set up, and they’re going to need answers—everything you know about onychinus, the aether core, and ever. try to dig up whatever you can remember about your time in the lab,” he added, his lips curving into a faint smile. “that should keep them satisfied, princess.”

your body tensed at the mention of onychinus. it was a name you didn’t expect to hear here, of all places, and the weight of it hit you like a blow to the chest. your gaze snapped to caleb, your mind already racing. how much did he know? how much had he told them?

“onychinus?” you repeated, your voice sharper than you intended. “how do they even know about that?”

did they know about sylus?

caleb’s expression remained unreadable, his amethystine eyes cool and steady, but there was a flicker of something he wasn’t saying. “this isn’t just about you anymore,” he replied simply. “they need answers. so do i.”

“and the lab?” you snapped, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “what the hell is that supposed to mean? i don’t know shit about that place, caleb. i already told you. it’s hard enough to believe i’m some kind of fucking experiment.”

he sighed heavily, the sound more resigned than exasperated. “we’ve talked about this,” he said, his voice steady but with a tinge of weariness, as if the conversation had played out in his head a hundred times already.

“no,” you shot back, stepping closer, your voice trembling with emotion. “you talked about this. you told me we’re human weapons, made to destroy each other. you told me about your time before the chronorift and granny josephine.” your voice faltered for a moment, your breath hitching. “and i told you, caleb, i don’t remember any procedures being done without my consent. even after the chronorift tragedy. you should stop fretting me about this.”

“you don’t remember,” he said quietly, his amethystine eyes holding yours with a steady intensity. “that’s fine. i didn’t either, at first.” he paused, the faintest flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he continued. “but i hope we can talk about this again later, when you finally do remember.”

his voice dropped lower. “trust me,” he said, the words heavy with meaning. “you’re going to want me by your side when that happens.”

you narrowed your eyes, your tone turning accusatory. “and what about you? are they interrogating you too, or is this just about me?”

he tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into that faint smirk that was equal parts infuriating and captivating. “i was the one who asked for your interrogation,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.

“what do you mean, you asked?” you demanded, stepping closer to him, your heart pounding in your chest. the sheer size of him, amplified by the sharp lines of his uniform, made him feel larger than life. the dark fabric clung to his frame, accentuating his out worldly height.

his perfume was also divine.

“i need to make sure you’re telling the truth,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. the words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in concern. his bionic arm rested at his side, the faint hum of its servos almost lost in the tension between you.

your breath hitched, a mix of anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. “you don’t trust me,” you said, your voice quieter now, though no less sharp. “after the stunt you pulled at granny’s house, i should be the one not to trust you”.

his gaze softened, just for a moment, but then his expression hardened again, the familiar steel returning to his eyes. “this isn’t about trust,” he said, his voice low and steady. “it’s about knowing what we’re up against. i can’t afford to take chances—not with you, not with anyone.”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your fists clenching at your sides. “you’re not the caleb i remember,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

his jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. the sharp lines of his uniform, the way his eyes seemed to pierce right through you—it was almost too much. “i’m not,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “that boy’s gone. at least the part of him that had to change so i could protect you right now. and if you can’t handle that—”

“don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking slightly. “just forget it.”

the tension between you crackled like static, the air too heavy to breathe. finally, he exhaled, the sound more controlled than the storm in his eyes. “after the interrogation,” he said, his tone softening just a fraction, “you’ll be free to move around skyhaven. no more confinement.”

you didn’t respond, your throat tight with words you couldn’t bring yourself to say. as if sensing the shift, caleb straightened, his imposing figure softening just slightly as he stepped closer. his expression shifted to something quieter, almost tender.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice dropping to that low, comforting tone he used when he wanted you to listen. his flesh hand gently cradled your cheek, the warmth of his touch grounding you, even as you stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. “you know you can trust me, right? pipsqueak?”

the nickname caught you off guard, tugging at something familiar, something from a time when things felt simpler. you blinked, unsure whether to be annoyed or comforted by the teasing lilt in his voice. “don’t call me that,” you muttered, though your heart wasn’t in it.

you blinked hard, feeling the sting of unshed tears threatening to spill over. your chest tightened as the emotions you’d been trying to bury the last two days clawed their way to the surface. his thumb brushed against your cheek, a quiet, unspoken reassurance.

“look at me,” he murmured, his voice so soft it was almost a plea. when you didn’t, he leaned in just enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.

the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. “stop acting like you don’t trust me,” he said, the teasing edge softening into something more serious. “i know this isn’t easy for you. hell, it’s not easy for me either. but i need you to believe me when i say i’m doing this for us—for you.”

“for me?” you repeated, your voice laced with annoyance as you crossed your arms. “you shouldn’t keep me in the dark like this, caleb. i don’t like it.”

his expression faltered for just a second, a flicker of guilt crossing his features before he straightened again, his bionic arm twitching faintly at his side. “it’s not that i don’t trust you,” he said, his voice firm but not harsh. “it’s that i need to protect you. and sometimes… that means making decisions you’re not going to like.”

you swallowed hard, his words settling heavily in your chest. he reached out then, his human hand brushing lightly against your arm, grounding you with a touch that was more deliberate than casual.

“you know me,” he whispered in your ear, leaning in slightly, his voice so quiet it was almost a secret. “you know i’d never let anything happen to you. you’re the only one i’ve ever been able to count on. don’t forget that, okay?”

after that, caleb took a step away from you, nodding to the team waiting by the door.

“get her ready,” he ordered, his voice carrying that same commanding edge that left no room for argument.

the team ushered you into a side room, where they worked quickly and efficiently to help you change. the uniform they presented was a masterpiece—sleek and custom-fitted, clearly designed to match the style of caleb’s but with details tailored to you. the base was a deep charcoal grey, nearly black, with white, red and gold piping along the seams and shoulders that shimmered faintly in the light. the high collar hugged your neck, its edges trimmed with subtle leather lines.

the fabric was sturdy yet flexible, designed for both movement and protection, while still accentuating your figure with precision. the insignia on the chest was a smaller, more refined version of the fleet’s emblem, embossed in gold. the sleeves bore intricate embroidery that hinted at your stats as a companion, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise utilitarian design. the boots were polished to perfection, completing the look with a sense of authority and efficiency.

the team handed you the final piece of the uniform—a sleek military-style hat reminiscent of a pilot’s, crafted with the same precision and detail as the rest of the attire. its charcoal-grey base was accented with a polished silver insignia of the fleet, the mark of the deepspace aviation administration that gleamed in the light.

the room buzzed with quiet efficiency as the staff worked around you, their movements quick but deliberate. the space itself was bright and sterile, with sleek metallic walls that reflected the soft hum of machinery. the air carried a faint smell of ozone and disinfectant, underscoring the precision of the environment. each member of the team seemed hyper-focused on their tasks—adjusting a seam here, brushing away an invisible speck of lint there—all while maintaining a level of deference that left you slightly uneasy.

their respect toward you wasn’t forced, but it felt oddly out of place, as if it was more a reflection of caleb’s authority than anything you’d earned. you caught snippets of murmured conversation between them, their glances respectful yet curious, as though they were trying to piece together who you were and why caleb had ordered such meticulous preparation for you.

when they finished, you stepped out into the hall where caleb was waiting. he stood with his back to you, his broad shoulders filling the space, his bionic arm resting at his side.

for a split second you imagined yourself kicking his ass once again and making him fall face first on the floor for the way he’d been avoiding you the last two days. but then you remembered where you were and what you were doing here.

you’re not lying when saying you had spent a few seconds just glancing at his back without his notice. the sharp lines of his uniform only emphasized the commanding presence he carried, making him look every bit the colonel he was. the moment he felt your presence, he turned, his amethyst eyes locking onto you.

for a moment, caleb didn’t say anything. his gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, taking in every detail of the uniform. his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something deeper—pride, maybe, or something more possessive.

“it fits,” he said finally, his voice low and steady,

“barely,” you replied, attempting to lighten the moment, though the intensity of his stare made your voice falter.

he stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. “no,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “it fits perfectly.”

his eyes swept over you again, lingering just a fraction too long to be casual. “actually,” he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “it does more than fit. you look…” he paused, tilting his head slightly as if searching for the right word, though the gleam in his eyes told you he already knew. “exceptional.”

you felt heat rise to your cheeks, his compliment catching you off guard. “exceptional?” you echoed, attempting to keep your voice steady, though it betrayed you with a slight waver. “didn’t think you were the type to throw around fancy words like that, colonel.”

his smirk deepened, the teasing edge in his gaze making your pulse quicken. “i don’t throw them around,” he said smoothly. “only when they’re deserved.”

the way he looked at you made your breath hitch, the weight of his presence making the space between you feel charged. “you didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you murmured, your fingers brushing over the insignia on your chest.

“i did,” he replied simply, his voice dropping even lower. “you’re with me now. they need to see that.” his gaze softened just enough to let a flicker of vulnerability show before it disappeared. “are you ready?”

no, i’m not, you wanted to say, but you doubted your insecurity would make a difference here. you were a hunter on a mission right now, and any false step could lead to your demise and caleb’s plan failing. you hoped he didn’t sense your nervousness, but something told you that you couldn’t hide anything from the man beside you. he always knew how to read you—this part of him resembled zayne a little, though you feared the comparison.

you walked side by side out of the sleeping quarters, your boots echoing softly against the polished floors. the corridor was a stark contrast to the warmth of caleb’s quarters—bright, sterile, and buzzing with activity. as soon as you stepped into view, every officer and soldier below caleb’s rank stopped their tasks, snapping to attention with a crisp salute. the air seemed to shift, charged with an unspoken reverence for the colonel.

the corridor led to an expansive atrium, its vaulted ceiling revealing the full grandeur of skyhaven. the deepspace aviation administration headquarters was a masterpiece of engineering, blending sleek modernity with a palpable sense of purpose. towering support structures arched gracefully overhead, made of an alloy that shimmered faintly under the artificial lighting. expansive observation windows lined the atrium walls, offering a breathtaking view of linkon city far below.

skyhaven itself was an artificial marvel, a massive floating island suspended by an intricate network of protocore technology and magnetic stabilizers. the island wasn’t just a hub for the military—it was a living ecosystem of cutting-edge science and aviation. beneath the steel and glass exterior, skyhaven buzzed with life, housing research centers, training facilities, and state-of-the-art hangars that extended far beyond the viewable limits.

as you glanced out one of the observation windows, a small sigh of relief escaped your lips. linkon city stretched far below, its familiar skyline bathed in the amber glow of the sun. despite everything—your doubts, your fears—there was something comforting about seeing the world from this vantage point. for a moment, you let yourself appreciate the surreal beauty of it, even as caleb’s brisk pace pulled you back into the present.

as you approached the center of the base, the architecture shifted subtly, becoming even more advanced. panels of polished black metal lined the walls, embedded with glowing data streams that flickered in shades of blue and green. interactive holographic displays projected tactical maps, fleet status reports, and complex equations, their light casting faint patterns across the gleaming floor.

caleb led you through a security checkpoint, where biometric scanners and advanced surveillance systems verified your presence. the guards at the station snapped to attention at his approach, their expressions taut with respect. beyond the checkpoint, the central operations hub opened up—a sprawling room filled with tiered workstations and holo-screens that hovered mid-air.

in the heart of the hub stood a group that was unmistakably different. clad in black tactical uniforms, their gear adorned with the subtle insignia of ever, this was the special force. they didn’t salute caleb as the others had; their deference was more subtle, marked by a slight inclination of their heads and a sharp, assessing glance in your direction.

you felt your blood boil as your gaze landed on the emblem stitched into their uniforms—the unmistakable insignia of ever. the sight of it twisted your stomach, bringing back every sleepless night, every unanswered question that had haunted you since josephine’s death. zayne’s reluctant handoff of those cryptic documents had started it all, but it was the whispers of ever that had lingered at the edges of your stay at the N109 zone and your time at the nest that really troubled you.

and now, here they were, not just a name on a paper or a faint memory on onychinus’ air, but living, breathing soldiers standing right in front of you. their presence was as real as the knot forming in your chest.

one of them stepped forward, a woman with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to miss nothing. her voice was calm but firm. “colonel,” she said, her gaze briefly flicking to you. “the team is ready for the briefing. we’ve set up in conference room XO2.”

your gaze darted to caleb, who was speaking with the woman at the forefront of ever’s team. his tone was steady, his expression calm, but to you, it was infuriatingly unreadable. how could he be so composed? how could he stand there, shoulder to shoulder with the people who might have made you both into weapons? your mind raced with fragments of memory and half-formed theories.

caleb’s words echoed in your mind: “we’re human weapons, made to destroy each other.” it was a concept you’d rejected at first, clinging to the idea that you were still whole, just a hunter with a weird heart. but the cracks had started to show. the unnatural resilience, the strange flashes of memory that felt both foreign and familiar, the way caleb’s presence had always felt like a tether. had josephine known? had she always known what you were? was that why she left you those documents, why she’d placed zayne in your path?

as you walked toward the mentioned room, the sound of your boots echoed faintly in the metallic corridor, mingling with the synchronized footsteps of the armed guards flanking you. their presence was suffocating, a living barricade of authority around you. their weapons were sleek and unrelenting.

the corridor opened up into a larger chamber, the entrance marked by a reinforced door flanked by additional guards. their posture was identical to the others, their faces emotionless masks as they stepped aside to let you pass. the door hissed open with a low, mechanical groan, revealing a room that was as starkly advanced as the rest of skyhaven.

as you waited for caleb to acknowledge you, suddenly all of the guards left, leaving only caleb, you and the lady in the room.

caleb gestured for you to take a seat, his voice low but firm. “sit,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, your gaze flicking to him before complying. the grey-haired woman took a seat across from you, her sharp eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

caleb remained standing, his hands resting on the back of the chair beside you. his presence was steady, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. he leaned down, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear.

"do as you’re told and don’t cause any trouble," he whispered, his voice low and edged with an authority that sent a shiver down your spine. "you won’t get hurt, then."

your body stiffened at his words, your fists curling slightly against the cool surface of the table. despite the sharpness in his tone, there was an undercurrent of something else—something almost protective.

the grey-haired woman—you still didn’t know her name—exchanged a few words with caleb and then rose from her seat completely ignoring you. her heels clicked against the floor as she strode toward the door, her sharp gaze lingering on you for a moment before she exited. you caught the faintest glint of approval in her eyes as she passed. the door hissed shut behind her, leaving you and caleb alone in the room… or so it seemed. you glanced to the side, catching sight of the conference window. she was still there, standing with her arms crossed, her sharp silhouette illuminated by the sterile glow of the room beyond. a microphone sat near her hand, her presence palpable even in her absence.

"if you’re understanding the situation, then let’s go ahead and have a nice chat, right, pipsqueak?” caleb said, straightening and placing his hands on the table. “there’s more than one pair of eyes observing you in this room and it will be over before you know it". if he was trying to console you, he was doing a terrible job.

the investigation started with stupid questions like what was your name, age and evol. questions about the chronorift catastrophe resurfaced and time dragged slow by the time caleb got to the more important questions. your patience were running thin, asking yourself why was the need of all this bullshit if they wouldn’t explain things to you at the end of the day.

caleb’s monotone tone annoyed you more than anything, but the eyes observing you in this room stopped you from starting a childish banter with the colonel. speaking of eyes, the grey-haired-scary woman kept hers on you the whole time. you could feel her obsession over this ever entity all the way from fucking linkon city. you hated it.

as time passed by, you started to grow restless when he got to ask the questions about granny. it was infuriating the way he was speaking like he wasn’t there the whole time—like he wasn’t the other child that josephine took under her wing.

your anger faltered when caleb reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of papers. the documents slid across the table with a deliberate motion, their edges crisp and yellowed with age. the faint scent of old paper mixed with the sterile tang of the room. “these,” he said, tapping the top of the stack with two fingers, “are her personnel files from ever.”

his words hit like a punch to the gut. for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’d just said. the room seemed to tilt, and you gripped the edge of the chair to steady yourself.

“what?”, your throat was hoarse from answering all of the stupid questions previously, leaving you with a sense of laziness.

“this is what we were capable of gathering from the ever base, turns out they didn’t questioned why we needed it at all”. his words hung in the air as if taunting you.

“what are you on about, caleb?” the words escaped your lips, hollow and trembling. the honorifics were gone now, discarded the second his eyes shifted toward the grey-haired woman observing from the other room.

“would you at least look at it first?”, his annoyed tone made your blood boil.

“not if you’re going to keep playing me, this is not funny.” even after you said that, his lips quirked into a milimetrical smirk.

“i’m not asking you to jump from the observation deck, pipsqueak, i’m asking you to read our granny’s documents”.

you wanted to laugh—this was absurd. it had to be.

“i don’t have a reason to lie to you, do i?” he replied, his voice maddeningly calm. that infuriating tone of his—it made you want to reach across the table and slap the smugness off his face. how dare he accuse the woman who had raised you, who had raised both of you, of being involved in something as insidious as this entity?

“shut up and stop running in circles!” you shoved the chair back as you stood, the legs screeching against the floor. you leaned forward, eyes locked on his with a fire that demanded answers. “is this a game to you? did i come all the way from linkon city for nothing? you said you would help me.”

“and i am helping you.” caleb’s reply was calm, as if he weren’t phased by your outburst. “this is the truth, princess.”

princess. there it was again—that nickname, so casual and so utterly out of place in a room filled with cold, calculated tension. did no one else find it strange that the colonel of the daa was speaking to you like this? a glance at the observation window confirmed that the grey-haired woman hadn’t moved an inch. her gaze remained fixed, expression unreadable.

what had caleb told her about you? about this? and why in god’s name had you agreed to any of it in the first place?

“Y/N.” his voice snapped through the air, sharp and commanding. he saw the way your legs shifted toward the door, the way your hands twitched with the urge to leave. before you could move, his hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist. the contact wasn’t rough, but the authority in his grip held you in place. his eyes met yours, and for a second, you froze under the weight of that gaze. it was as if the word “behave” was scrawled across his face, an order you couldn’t defy.

why did he need you to believe in things that felt so unexplainable? what was he trying so hard to convince you?

“she was recruited at thirty-one,” caleb continued, as if you weren’t about to leave this place for good instants ago. “straight out of her postdoctoral research in applied quantum mechanics and energy manipulation. she was already making waves in the scientific community, so ever snapped her up for their advanced energy division.”

“you don’t even know what you’re talking about”. you defended, freeing your hand from his grip and crossing your arms with anger.

“have you never asked yourself why granny didn’t move houses?”, his eyes were fixed on you, the moment charged with unexplained betrayal. still, he didn’t stop there. “she hated that neighborhood and always complained about the kids leaving trash on the sidewalks. still, she never moved. have you never thought about how she was always alone, didn’t had friends, no one visited? how she was able to afford your college? she never spoke about having children and her family never called.”

the rage that had fueled you moments ago was now dulled by confusion. the image of her—your grandmother, your rock—shifted in your mind, colliding with the version caleb was painting. a version you couldn’t reconcile with the woman who used to hum lullabies while baking or press a kiss to your forehead after long days.

but the conviction in caleb’s tone was undeniable, and the papers lying between you were a damning testament to something you weren’t ready to face.

hesitant, you reached for the documents, your fingers trembling. the top page bore a formal header: EVER CORPORATION - PERSONNEL DOSSIER: DR. JOSEPHINE. below it, a photograph of your grandmother stared back at you, her sharp features framed by neatly pinned hair and a lab coat adorned with various badges of rank.

you scanned the documents, words like chief research officer and project architect leaping out at you. “she was the head scientist?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

fucking hell. this was impossible.

“not just head scientist,” caleb said. “she was promoted to director of advanced energy systems by thirty-five. she oversaw the development of key protocore technologies before spearheading project aether. these reports,” he gestured to the papers, “detail her work in bioenergetics, quantum harmonics, and adaptive energy matrices. she didn’t just design the aether core—she built the framework that made it possible.”

he made a pause to glance at you. you felt his eyes on you, heavy with meaning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop reading the details in front of you. every line on the page chipped away at the foundation of what you thought you knew.

“i know this because we used to work together.” the words sliced through the sterile air, shattering the fragile barrier between your disbelief and the truth he was forcing on you. there it was again—an unexplainable revelation that felt shattering and wrong.

what was that again?

your hands froze, trembling slightly as the paper slipped from your grasp. your eyes lifted to meet his, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded into nothing. the hat was off his head now, his fluffy hair slightly mussed as if this moment required something more personal, more vulnerable. it didn’t match the clinical coldness of the room or the gaze of the grey-haired woman observing from the corner. it felt intimate, despite the invasive presence lurking just behind the glass.

“what is that supposed to mean?”, your heart was beating like crazy, you could feel the vibrations thrumming through your ears. “i don’t… i don’t believe you”.

“she recruited me to take care of you.” his voice was quieter now, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something raw in his expression. empathy, maybe. or guilt. it was enough to make him look away, his gaze dropping to the papers spread between you. “as an experiment.”

his words hung in the air like a loaded weapon. the tingling sensation that ran down your spine turned into a full-body shiver. your breath hitched, and tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. your throat tightened as the weight of what he was saying settled in, suffocating and relentless.

“impossible. granny wasn’t a woman on a mission, she was…”, you gulped, “she was intelligent and kind.”

the room spinned, your breath hitched. again, the situation was sadly laughable. were those times you dreamed about blood, about a life that didn’t seem to belong to you all real? were they fragments of your memory? weren’t they just coincidences?

gods, how were you so stupid? how did you never think about this?

“was all of this ever all along?” you muttered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. the room felt too small, the air too stifling. your hands clenched into fists at your sides, and for a fleeting moment, you wanted to punch something, anything. it felt childish, but the frustration boiling in your chest demanded release.

“why would she hide this?” your voice cracked as you spoke, trembling with the weight of everything you were trying to hold back. “why wouldn’t she tell me?”

you didn’t see a reason to keep this from you. from your life. would you even know about this if you never blindly agreed to show your face in the nest that day? how could something so enormous not make itself accidentally aware throughout one’s whole life?

and how could you be so stupidly blind? what were you, a child?

caleb’s gaze softened slightly. “because she knew what ever would do if they thought you were a threat at that time. she hid the truth to protect you, but in doing so, she left you vulnerable. and now, we’re all paying the price.”

“protecting me?” you echoed, your voice laced with disbelief. “how is lying to me, hiding everything, supposed to protect me? she left me completely blind!”

you were so angry. angry at yourself, angry at the woman who raised you, angry at caleb for not telling you, angry even at fucking zayne for handling you those documents from you. he probably also had secrets about your heart’s condition that he never talked about.

how could anyone possibly hide something like this from you? weren’t they your friends?

how did betrayal felt so bitter and deserving at the same time?

“you were a kid, Y/N,” caleb said, his voice calm but laced with an edge of frustration, as though he were trying to reason with a storm.

“so were you!” you snapped, the words sharp and cutting. the knot of anger and betrayal in your chest tightened, spreading like fire through your veins. “you never… did you never think about how i would feel? god, caleb.”

caleb leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers interlocking as he spoke. “she left you blind because she knew they were watching. she couldn’t risk them finding out how much she cared about you, how far she was willing to go to shield you. the second they saw you as a threat—or as leverage—everything she’d done would have been for nothing.”

his words settled over you like a heavy fog, dense and suffocating. you wanted to reject them, to push back against the idea that your grandmother—the woman who had been your everything—had willingly kept you in the dark about a past so entwined with danger.

“did she fucking planned her death as well? did she know about the explosion that day?”. you were practically raging now, venom laced with hurt spitting from your mouth as your body leaned over the table, trying to make caleb snap you back into reality. why was he telling you all of these nonsense?

“she asked me to end her the moment she posed a threat to you. she didn’t know about the explosion, i didn’t tell her.” his low tone showed a masked hurt that almost offended you.

oh, you were so pissed.

“so, what?” you said. “she let them turn me into this… thing? this experiment? and then she just… left?”

“she didn’t just leave. she stayed in their system as long as she could, long enough to set things in motion for you to have a chance of surviving. she made choices that no one should ever have to make, and she paid for them.” your eyes watered and your chest tightened.

“do i really have a chance?” you asked, your voice trembling as you pointed toward the grey-haired woman standing beyond the glass. “isn’t she from ever? what are you doing with these people, caleb? heavens, i can’t even understand you anymore.”

his face didn’t change immediately, but his shoulders seemed to tense, the weight of your words pressing down on him. when he spoke, his voice was low, steady. “josephine told me everything,” he began, his gaze dropping to the table for just a moment. “right after i turned old enough to understand what it all meant. she didn’t just tell me—she made me promise.”

“promise what?!” your voice cracked, and the anger that had been simmering inside you surged again, fueled by the sharp sting of treachery.

“to protect you,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, as though each one was a confession. “she used me, Y/N. she knew what was going to happen. she knew what they’d try to do to you, what they’d use you for. and she… she made me a part of her plan.”

“her plan?” you echoed, the bitterness in your voice cutting through the air. “what plan, caleb? because from where i’m standing, all i see is a mess she left for me to clean up.”

his jaw tightened, and he finally looked back at you, his amethyst eyes sharp but filled with something raw and unspoken. “it wasn’t just her plan. it became mine too. i let her use me, Y/N, because i thought—i hoped—it would mean you’d never have to deal with this. i thought i could handle it for both of us.”

“and what?” you snapped, leaning forward as your frustration boiled over. “you just decided for me? you and her both?”

“i didn’t decide for you,” he shot back, his voice rising for the first time, though his control quickly reined it in. “i decided to protect you. there’s a difference.”

“why would you do that?” you asked, your voice quieter now but no less cutting. “because it feels like all both of you did was trap me in this endless nightmare.”

caleb’s patience snapped. you saw the moment it happened—something dark flickered behind his eyes, replacing the calm exterior he’d been holding onto. without warning, he rose from his chair, the scrape of metal against the floor echoing through the room. before you could react, his hands slammed down on the table on either side of you, caging you in with his sheer presence.

he leaned over you, his frame engulfing yours entirely. his proximity forced you backward, the cool surface of the table pressing against your spine as you arched slightly to meet his gaze. the shift in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine—not fear, but something far more complicated. his presence was suffocating, his intensity overwhelming, and yet you couldn’t look away.

if anyone entered the room now, they wouldn’t even know you were there, hidden entirely behind his broad frame. he was close—too close—and every inch of him radiated authority and tension.

you still felt anger pulse inside you. even with his figure towering over you, you stared right back into his eyes, daring him to explain. but caleb wasn’t waiting for your permission to speak—his words spilled out, sharp and unrelenting, as though he’d been holding them in for far too long.

“you can scream all you want, princess,” he began, his voice dangerously low but cutting, “but i’m not letting you blame the woman who gave me the chance of loving you for something she regretted every day of her life until the day she died.” his eyes burned into yours, daring you to interrupt, but you stayed silent, your breath caught in your throat.

“she designed the aether core,” he continued, the words bitter, as if they left a bad taste in his mouth, “but she didn’t know it was going to be put in a fucking child. she told me that. she swore it to me.” his voice cracked slightly, a rare vulnerability slipping through before he pressed on.

“she would never partake in something so inhuman and cruel if she’d known about it,” he said, his tone hardening again. “when she realized what they were doing—what you were—she made a choice. she could’ve run and left us behind, but she didn’t do that.” his gaze softened for a brief moment before his jaw tightened. “she took us with her.”

his next words struck you like a blow. “ever knew the potential the aether core had. so they created an antidote. me.”

the silence that followed was deafening, his confession hanging heavy in the air between you. your heart raced, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not yet.

“before i even knew you, princess, our destinies were bound,” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “we were never meant to be anything else—two halves of a cruel design, bound together by ruthless people driven by intense power.”

he leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. “when she told me everything, when i finally understood, i made a choice. i sacrificed myself to continue the fucking experiments ever wanted me to participate, so no one else in this world would have the capacity to destroy you other than me.” he straightened, his tone heavy with finality. “only me.”

you heard your own hiccup as if it were from somene else.

"kirsten was her colleague," caleb said, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. "she also left the project behind when things got heated. since then, they’ve been trying to capture you. she was the one who handed me these documents." he gestured toward the stack of papers, his gaze flicking briefly to the woman observing you from beyond the glass. "grandma trusted her."

your surprise was impossible to hide. your eyes darted to the woman, her stoic presence now layered with a significance you hadn’t grasped until this moment.

"we both are trying to find a way to protect you," caleb continued, his tone firm. "and infiltrating ever is the first step to do that. we need to gather as much information we can and gain their trust so we can take them down and their fucking crazy plan of interstellar domination."

oh fuck, they wanted the aether core for that?

he leaned closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "do you understand it now, pipsqueak?" his voice softened at the nickname, but the weight of his words lingered, pressing into the space between you.

the room seemed to shrink as the truth settled over you like a heavy cloak, suffocating and cold. your chest tightened, and before you realized it, tears began streaming down your face, silent but relentless. you hadn’t even noticed them falling until caleb stepped closer, his expression softening in a way that made your heart ache even more.

his hands cupped your cheeks, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your skin as he tried to wipe the tears away.

“do you understand how i need you to live, princess?” caleb’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, tugging at strings in your heart you didn’t even realize were there. “i love you so much, you have no idea the limits i’d go to prove it to you.”

his words settled over you like a tempest, leaving you breathless and trembling. it wasn’t just what he said—it was the way he said it, every syllable laced with unrelenting devotion and a darkness that both frightened and comforted you. you felt so dangerously cherished, as though his love could burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe.

the worst part? you could say you felt the same.

his grip on your face tightened, not painfully but with a firm desperation, his calloused thumbs brushing away the lingering wetness on your cheeks. his eyes softened as they held yours, the fierceness in them giving way to something almost pleading.

“if you want me to beg, i’ll fucking beg you, princess. if you want me on my knees, i’ll do it. just stay here with me where i can see you.” he whispered, his voice barely audible but impossibly steady, his tone dropped so low it was almost a growl, the sound vibrating through the air and sinking deep into your chest. his jaw tightened, the sharp angles of his face accentuated by the tension coiling in his body.

why did his love felt so crushing?

his hands stayed on your face, grounding you, but his grip was firm, as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. his eyes, dark and stormy, searched yours, waiting for an answer you weren’t sure you could give.

“why are you doing this to me?” you finally whispered, your voice trembling under the weight of his confession. “why do you care so much?” the question felt sacred, as if it wasn’t meant to be spoken aloud, but you couldn’t keep it inside any longer.

his jaw tightened, his hands still cupping your face as his eyes locked onto yours. for a moment, he didn’t speak, as though the answer was too heavy, too raw to give voice to.

“did they hurt you, caleb?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “in those experiments?”

your clenched fists, tight with anger and frustration, slowly dissolved into something softer. the tension in your body ebbed away, leaving only the raw ache in your chest. before you could second-guess yourself, your hands moved on their own, rising to his face. your fingertips brushed against his jaw, tentative at first, before settling into a gentle caress.

“they can hurt me all they want,” caleb said, his voice low and raw, each word cutting through the air like a blade. “as long as they keep their distance from you, i’ll endure it. i’d end myself if it meant that you would never be hurt again.”

his gaze bore into yours, fierce and unrelenting, yet there was a softness in his eyes that made your chest ache. it wasn’t just desperation—it was devotion, the kind that threatened to drown you in its intensity.

“they can’t control my evol anymore, their plan of the antidote backfired” caleb said, his voice vulnerable as if only talking about that chamber already caused him agony. “that’s why they’re scared. the last neural control experiment—the zero gravity chamber was destroyed because the machines couldn’t handle it. they wanted to transform me into a robot, somehow my mind never cooperated”. his gaze averted to the emblem on your chest.

you swallowed hard, his words sinking into your brain like lead. “aren’t we a danger to each other, caleb?” you asked, your voice trembling, hiccups breaking through as tears streaked your face. you were scared. “am i capable of hurting you? do i… isn’t it dangerous if we stay together?”

he stared at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering and intense. “if there’s anyone in this world i’d let hurt me, it’s you, princess,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead as he did when you were both kids. and then his tone shifted into something darker, almost obsessive. “i don’t fucking care what you do to me, you can hurt me all you want if that makes you fucking happy. don’t you understand?”

“don’t say that…” you murmured, trying to avert your gaze, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and suffocation.

he smirked, a sharp, knowing curve of his lips as his thumb brushed another tear from your cheek. “i want to create a world where it’s just the two of us,” he said, his voice dropping to a low whisper that sent shivers racing down your spine.

his bionic hand gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, the unyielding strength of his hold making your breath hitch. he leaned in closer, so close his lips nearly brushed your ear. “just say the word, and i’ll do it,” he murmured, the heat of his breath against your skin sending your mind spinning. “i’ll end everything. you know that.”

“caleb…” you murmured, your palms pressing gently against his chest, trying to create even the smallest bit of distance between you. “i thought you had gone crazy.” your voice trembled as you looked up at him, the weight of his intensity still bearing down on you. “i’m sorry you had to endure that… because of me.” your breaths came quickly, your words tumbling out before you could stop them. “i… i still think you’re crazy, though.”

a flicker of amusement crossed his face, but you didn’t give him a chance to reply.

“but… what do we do now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your thoughts spinning wildly. “do they know you brought me here?”.

“all of the personnel outside is from ever, they think i’m convincing you to willingly participate in the project. make you turn into some kind of sacrifice for humanity. bullshit.” just saying it out loud seemed painful for him, and hearing it sounded even more crazy.

“they wanted to start everything straight away, test the energy of the aether core inside of you before we could even talk. i convinced them to let me handle you, that’s why i can’t let you leave skyhaven for now.” he sounded almost guilty when saying those words, waiting patiently for your reaction so he could be deemed innocent.

“so i am your hostage, basically?”, something akin to amusement surged in your face, dried tears staining your rosy cheeks.

“that depends if you are willing to cooperate, just say the word and i’ll fly us across west coast immediately.” his gaze made you feel the most heartbroken and cherished woman in the world. cruel. “i don’t plan to stay here forever”.

“what about kirst—” your words stopped abruptly as realization struck you like a lightning bolt. your eyes widened as your breath hitched in your throat. “oh my fucking god, caleb, kirsten!”

panic surged through you, and you shoved him back with far more force than you intended, as if he were suddenly contagious. your cheeks burned hot as your gaze darted toward the observation room. you could feel every beat of your heart hammering against your ribs.

from where you stood, the glass gave an impeccable view of everything that had transpired. your stomach churned as you imagined what she might have seen, what conclusions she might have drawn. but as your eyes landed on the empty chair, your confusion deepened. kirsten wasn’t there.

“where… where did she go?” you stammered, your embarrassment morphing into unease. “wasn’t she just—she was right there!” you pointed toward the glass, your voice climbing an octave.

“jesus, when did you become so strong, pipsqueak?” caleb muttered, his tone equal parts stunned and impressed as he steadied himself. the few inches you’d managed to push him away seemed to amuse him more than anything else, his eyes glinting with an undeniable sense of pride.

“caleb, kirsten!” you exclaimed, pointing toward the observation room with wide, exasperated eyes. “did she see us? oh my god, she might think i’m a whore!”

he raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “c’mon, pipsqueak, don’t push it,” he said, his voice calm and teasing as he stepped forward. “i bet she understands. we were made for each other, after all.” his tone turned deliberately corny, and you could feel your cheeks burning like they were on fire again.

“don’t say that!” you snapped, mortified, as he tried to close the gap you’d created between you. you quickly put a hand on his chest to stop him, your glare sharp. “don’t touch me, you perv!”

caleb smirked, his amusement only growing at your reaction. “are you seriously worried about an 70-year-old woman judging you right now?” he asked, his tone dripping with disbelief, “after the life or death situation we just discussed?”

“you can’t keep saying these things to a woman…” you muttered, your voice trailing off as you stubbornly ignored the look caleb was giving you. you kept the distance between you, maintaining the few inches of air.

“things? what things?” he teased, his tone light and playful, though his eyes held that familiar mischievous glint.

you groaned, feeling the heat creep back up your neck. “like… like you’re going to die for me! you asked for a custom-made uniform for me just like yours, do you know what this looks like for other people? and that thing you said about being on your knees? jesus…” you stammered, your words tangling over each other as your embarrassment grew. “you shouldn’t say those things in moments like this!”

caleb’s lips curved into a slow smirk, clearly enjoying how flustered you were. “i want them to look at you and remember who you’re with,” he murmured. “do you want me to prove it?”

your eyes widened in horror as you saw him begin to shift, his knees bending slightly as though he were actually going to kneel in front of you.

“oh my god, caleb. get up! my god!” you hissed, your hands flying out to stop him before he could make good on his teasing. your gaze darted toward the window and the door, nerves prickling at the thought of someone walking in and witnessing this absurd scene.

caleb, meanwhile, was practically doubled over in laughter, clearly finding your panic far too amusing. “i’ll keep that in mind,” he said between chuckles, his tone teasing as ever. “you don’t like things in public, princess. noted.”

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snapped, your voice climbing a few octaves in your exasperation. your hands flew up to cover your face, both to hide your flaming cheeks and to block out the infuriating sight of his grin. “oh my god…”

caleb’s laughter only grew louder at your reaction, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “relax, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice still laced with amusement. “i’m just saying I’ll keep it private next time.”

next time? sweet heavens.

you glared at him, your cheeks burning hotter than ever. “you still haven’t told me your plan, it’s time we get out of here, they will start getting suspicious,” you said, your voice firm despite the lingering embarrassment.

“oh, don’t worry, baby. they know they’re dead if they interrupt us”.

despite his infuriating smirks and relentless teasing, you couldn’t deny the way caleb’s presence steadied something deep within you—a part of yourself that had always felt untethered, incomplete. there was a gravity to him—oh the irony of it all—, an unshakable certainty in his actions, even when everything else around you felt like chaos. the pieces of your past, fragmented and jagged, were beginning to fall into place.

as you stared at his grin right now, you asked yourself if it would be the right time to confess your feelings for him since childhood. he knew you loved him, but you still wanted to say those three little words.

you hated how much you didn’t want to believe him, but there was no escaping the truth: caleb had always been there, weaving himself into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t fully understood until now.

“i trust you, caleb. with my life.”

the words felt heavier than you’d anticipated, and for a moment, the air between you shifted. you watched as his expression changed, his playful smirk fading into something more serious. his gaze locked onto yours, and you could see the way your confession hit him, sharp and profound, like it was a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands.

but how could you not? how could you not trust the man when just being near him brought a peace that felt almost childlike—a fleeting memory of safety you hadn’t realized you’d lost? when every sacrifice he made screamed of a love so consuming it defied logic, a love that compelled him to climb through military ranks with a single-minded determination, as if his very existence depended on it? he spent his days training, his nights planning, and his rare moments of respite killing parts of himself, carving away his own humanity, all to try and make you feel whole.

your life had been in his hands from the very beginning, cradled by the will of a man whose obsession burned brighter than any protocore, whose evol bent not to power but to the unrelenting need to love you.

caleb’s love was a force of nature, raw and unyielding, and even if it frightened you, even if it left you reeling, you couldn’t deny the truth of it: it was the only constant in a world that had always sought to tear you apart.

caleb’s love made you shiver. and for some reason, you didn’t mind that at the moment.

“me and kirsten already have a plan,” he said finally, his voice quieter but laced with determination, glancing at the watch displayed in the hologram behind you. “i’ll tell you everything when we’re completely alone. i promise.”

honestly? right now you just wanted to kiss the man in front of you stupid and spill all your love on him. the love you have felt since your first time playing kitty cards with him and kissing each other’s cheeks as kids.

but you were quickly reminded of where you were when you glanced at the door and stared at the daa emblem painted on it. you felt like a wreck of emotions.

the change in scenery left you gasping for air as caleb slowly guided you out of the conference room. the ever personnel not even blinking as you and the colonel passed through them.

your eyes darted around, searching for something familiar, something real to ground you amidst the mess of revelations swimming in your mind. part of you hoped to see kirsten, her sharp eyes and scary aura a strange kind of reassurance in the chaos. but when the grey-haired woman was nowhere to be seen, a small, unexpected wave of relief washed over you.

maybe it was better this way. maybe you weren’t ready to face her yet—not after everything caleb had told you, not when the weight of your own memories, or lack thereof, felt like an anchor dragging you down.

you stared at linkon city sprawling below skyhaven, the glittering lights painting an intricate mosaic against the inky darkness of dawn. from the observation decks you walked over, the city looked almost surreal, a world that felt both achingly familiar and impossibly distant. something tugged at your chest—a dull ache of nostalgia—at the thought of your childhood home hidden somewhere within those shimmering lights.

the tech center that skyhaven was, with its seamless blend of towering glass structures and advanced machinery humming quietly around you, filled you with a strange sense of innocence. as though everything you’d endured until this day could be set aside as a different life of yours.

wasn’t this exactly what the core inside of you was? so powerful it could transcend planets, weaving its influence across time and space—capable of creating not just miracles but catastrophes?

weren't you a walking human weapon? haven't you always been one?

your thoughts were interrupted by caleb gesturing toward his room, his tone calm as he said he’d finish up and spend the rest of the day with you. you barely registered the words, too lost in the whirlwind of your mind to notice how the two of you had already made your way back to his quarters.

just as he turned to leave, you reached out, grabbing his hand instinctively. the touch froze him in place, his eyes immediately locking onto yours in his chambers. you wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in your throat. would it sound strange to admit you didn’t want to be alone? to confess that you were scared?

caleb stepped closer, his presence grounding you like a warm tether against the cold, sterile hallway outside his room. “you’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice quiet, gentle. it wasn’t a question so much as an acknowledgment of the weight you carried. he grabbed your hand on his.

you nodded, your grip tightening slightly on his hand. “it’s just… too much,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “to think something so small—something inside me—has the power to destroy so much. reshape worlds. ruin lives. it fucking terrifies me, caleb.”

he didn’t answer right away, but his silence felt steady, unhurried. his thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand, a simple gesture, but one that somehow made it easier to breathe.

“listen to me,” he said, his voice low, steady. “you’re allowed to be scared. no one’s asking you to shoulder this alone. not me, not anyone.”

you nodded, your throat tight with emotion, as he squeezed your hand gently. “i’ll just go fix some things, and i’ll be right back, okay? i’m not leaving you alone anymore.”

his words struck something deep within you, a vulnerability you’d tried so hard to keep buried. you blinked rapidly, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill, wondering why you were so emotional today.

“promise me,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. was it selfish? probably. but at this point, you didn’t care. caleb cared about you—loved you, even—and you were done pretending you didn’t need him.

his lips curved into a soft smile, one that held more warmth than his usual teasing grins. he leaned in slightly, his gaze steady and full of affection. “i promise,” he said, the words carrying a weight that made your heart stutter.

you watched his back turn to you after he left another kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it lingering long after he stepped away.

maybe the betrayal would fade someday, its sharp edges dulled by time and the quiet moments like this that he gifted you. or maybe it wouldn’t. maybe the wound would remain, a reminder of everything he had done to you—and for you.

but even now, as you stood there watching him walk away, you couldn’t deny the part of yourself that clung to what he had done. the part of you that loved him for it, no matter how much you tried to resist.

after all, you were his since the beginning.

author's notes: tell me i didn't ruin this halfway bc that is what i felt when i was finishing it. next chapter they will be doing the woompakoompa so buckle up (i just hope it doesn't turn into a 20k words smut scene) lord help me. i'll cry if nobody comments below because my week's sanity was poured into this work. just kidding (i'm not), i love you freaky caleb girlies, see you next time, xo.

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