The night was bitterly cold, darkness engulfing the abandoned factory, with only the lingering scent of blood in the air. Peter stepped over the lifeless bodies sprawled across the cold concrete floor—his mission was complete. Quick, clean, no traces left behind.

But just as he was about to leave, a faint sound broke through the silence.

A weak, muffled sob.

Peter froze, his sharp gaze sweeping toward the source of the sound. Behind a stack of rusted crates, a small figure curled up in the shadows—a little girl, barely three years old. Her clothes were tattered and filthy, her large, tear-filled eyes trembling as they met his.

A child… here?

Peter frowned. This was no place for a child. The men he had just taken down were far from decent—they trafficked drugs, weapons, and even human lives. It wasn’t hard to guess what would have happened to her if he hadn’t arrived in time.

But now what?

He had killed her captors, but that didn’t mean he was a hero. He wasn’t a savior.

Peter took a step forward.

He could walk away, leave her to her fate. This wasn’t his problem.

And yet, for some reason, he remained still, staring at the trembling child before him.

For the first time in a long while, he hesitated.