POV: Austin
I walked in through the front gates, shoes crunching against gravel, already loosening my tie.
Tough day. Thirty million dollars in offshore assets frozen. Two idiots in Tokyo tried to cross me. Lawyers on speed dial. Gun oil still on my hands from the last meeting.
But none of it mattered the second I stepped into the house.
It was quiet.
Not silent—not the empty kind. The lights were dimmed to soft amber. Something smelled like cake. I followed it through the hall, jacket tossed over my shoulder, and—
Stopped dead in the doorway.
There she was.
Ava.
Curled up on the kitchen floor, hair fanned out around her like spilled ink, breathing soft and slow against a folded apron someone had shoved under her head.
Riko sat beside her cross-legged, gently braiding Ava's long, night-dark hair, humming under her breath like a lullaby. Sato was across from them, sleeves rolled up, casually laying down playing cards with Imai and two other guards like this was a sleepover, not a fortified safehouse.
The fridge door was covered in post-its:
"You are loved."
"You are NOT too much."
"Sleep well, sunshine."
My jaw clenched.
Not with anger. With something heavier.
She looked so damn small.
I walked in, slow.
No one stood to salute me, not tonight. They just nodded, eyes soft. Even Sato, who never showed emotion, gave me that look — the one that meant she needed this.
I kneeled beside her. Tucked a stray strand behind her ear. She sighed, shifting closer in her sleep, one hand reaching instinctively for me.
Clutching my shirt.
"Dada," she mumbled, so quiet I almost missed it. "You came back."
God.
I exhaled and sat down right there on the floor, back against the fridge, letting her press into my side. I stroked her hair gently, fingers following the braid Riko had started.
She was safe.
She was loved.
And anyone — anyone — who tried to take that from her again wouldn't live to regret it.