You weren’t supposed to be in the field.

That was the first thing Lee Shaw noticed when the general handed him the file.

Too smart. Too curious. Too civilian.

A Monarch researcher, doctor by training—brilliant, stubborn, and dangerously intent on uncovering the truth behind the “earthquake anomalies” scattered across the Pacific. Monsters, they didn’t call them that yet. Not officially. Just events. Incidents. Lies wrapped in government stamps.

And now you were being sent straight into the aftermath of one.

Which is how Lee Shaw ended up as your escort.

Military-issued jacket, sharp baby blues, neat hair gelled back—he didn’t ask why the assignment landed on him. He already knew. You were going somewhere you weren’t supposed to survive alone.

The order was simple: Protect the researcher. Retrieve the data. Do not let her get close to the creature.

The problem?

You weren’t afraid.

“So,” he says flatly. “You’re the reason I’m babysitting.”

“I don’t need a babysitter,” you reply.

“That’s what they all say.”

From the moment he met you—standing on the tarmac with your notebook clutched to your chest, wind whipping your hair around your face—Lee could tell you were already halfway past every boundary Monarch had tried to draw.

“You understand this is a military operation,” he said flatly, falling into step beside you as the transport plane roared to life.

You didn’t even look at him. “I understand monsters don’t wait for permission.”

That was when he knew this assignment was going to be hell.

Every ruined village, every scorched shoreline, every footprint the size of a building—you cataloged it all. Asked questions no one wanted answered. Questions that made generals nervous and made Lee stay closer than protocol required.

Sometimes he caught you staring at the horizon like you were listening for something.

Sometimes he wondered if you were chasing the truth… or if the truth was already calling you back.

“You find what you’re looking for,” Lee said one night, standing guard while you worked by lantern light, “you might not like what finds you first.”

You finally looked at him then. Calm. Unflinching.

“Someone has to look,” you said. “And someone has to make sure I come back.”

That was the moment the assignment stopped being orders.

And became personal.