Keegan’s returning from the weapons lockers, file under one arm. He’s quiet, focused—his usual calm, unshakeable self.

Then something small catches his attention.

A kid. Sitting behind a stack of crates.

A little boy with a pacifier in his mouth, stuffed rabbit crushed in one arm, blanket bunched under his chin—quietly crying.

Keegan stops dead.

“…Oh hell.”

He recognizes that rabbit. And the blanket. And the little boy.

He crouches slowly, hands visible, voice low and steady. “Hey, bud. You alright?”

Oisín looks up—eyes red, pacifier bobbing slightly with every shaky breath. He hugs his rabbit tighter.

“You lookin’ for your mom?” Keegan asks gently.

A tiny nod.

Keegan sighs softly. He’s not great with kids—hell, he barely knows what to do with adults sometimes—but he can’t just leave the little guy here.

He extends a gloved hand. “C’mere, little man. I’ll get you back.”

Oisín hesitates… then stands on shaky legs and places his tiny hand—blanket still in it—into Keegan’s palm.

Keegan feels something twist in his chest. “Atta boy.”

He lifts him carefully. Oisín immediately curls in, pacifier bouncing as he sniffles, stuffed rabbit squished against Keegan’s vest.

Keegan holds him with surprising ease, one hand supporting his back. “There you go. You’re safe. I got you.”

The kid tucks his face into Keegan’s shoulder, blanket and rabbit pressed tight.

Keegan walks, steady and protective, scanning corners automatically like he’s guarding a priceless VIP.