I didn't sleep after she woke up screaming.
I sat on the edge of the bed long after she drifted back into an uneasy, shallow rest, watching the rise and fall of her chest like it was the only thing tethering me to the present.
Every time her breath caught, my body tensed, ready for another nightmare to drag her back into the dark.
She murmured once in her sleep.
Not words.
Just a sound.
It nearly broke me.
I'd heard it before.
Years ago.
The first time I saw her.
If only I hadn't been so smal so useless maybe she wouldn't have gone through everything she did.
That was the truth I never said out loud.
After that night, I spent years tracking leads. Chasing names. Following shadows that never quite solidified into something I could grab. Always too late. Always one step behind.
But the beginning... the beginning was quieter.
It was already getting late when I heard it.
"Is anyone here?"
The sound carried thin and scared through the trees. I froze, rifle half-raised, heart thudding. Dad was somewhere nearby we'd been hunting but no one else ever came this far out.
I should've turned back.
Instead, I followed the voice.
I found her crouched near a fallen log, shoulders shaking, face buried in her hands. She was smaller than me. Younger. Crying like she was trying not to make too much noise.
"Hey," I said softly. "Are you okay?"
She lifted her head slowly. Her eyes were red, cheeks swollen from crying. She looked at me like a cornered animal ready to bolt if I moved wrong.
"W–who are you?" she asked.
"My name's Cyrus," I said. "What's yours?"
She hesitated.
"Sienna Hart."
I smiled at her. She didn't smile back.
She told me her parents had brought her hunting. That she'd wandered off. That she didn't know where they were anymore.
Three years old.
Three.
We waited. For hours.
No one came.
The woods grew darker, colder. Too quiet.
I knew my dad would be looking for me but I couldn't leave her. And I couldn't take her with me, not without knowing where her parents were.
By the time I accepted they weren't coming, it was too late to move safely.
There was a small cottage nearby something I'd seen earlier. Old, but standing. I brought her there and wrapped her in a blanket that smelled like dust and cold wood.
"Are Mommy and Daddy not coming to find us?" she asked.
I didn't have an answer.
"They will," I told her.
It was the first lie I ever told her.
I stayed awake all night, sitting on the floor beside the couch where she slept curled in on herself, thumb pressed to her mouth, breathing uneven like she expected to be shaken awake at any second.
I didn't know it then, but that was the night everything changed.
Not because I saved her.
Because I didn't.
Behind me now, she shifted in her sleep.
I turned back to the present, crossing the room quietly. She was tangled in the sheets, brow furrowed, lashes wet. Even resting, she looked like she was bracing for impact.
I sat beside her again.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, so softly I wasn't sure the room even heard me. "I should've told you. I should've trusted you with the truth."
Her hand moved fingers brushing mine in her sleep.
I froze.
Then she tightened her grip.
Even unconscious, she reached for something solid.
For me.
My chest ached with something dangerously close to hope.
I didn't deserve it.
But I wasn't going to let it go.
Not now. Not ever.
When she woke up again really woke up I'd be there. I'd answer every question. I'd take every accusation. I'd carry whatever weight she handed me without complaint.
Because I'd already failed her once.
And I would burn before I did it again.
I stayed until the sun crept higher, until the city fully woke, until her breathing evened out and the nightmares loosened their grip.
Only then did I allow myself to close my eyes.
Just for a moment.
Just long enough to remember the promise I'd made to a shaking little girl in the woods
You're not alone anymore.
This time, I meant it.