The school hallways were nearly empty, the last stragglers filtering out into the late afternoon light. Most kids were eager to leave, heading home without a second thought. But {{user}} wasn’t among them. They had been asked to stay behind, led into a small office tucked away from the main corridors. The space was quiet—too quiet.

John Price had seen too many rooms like this over the years. He had spent a lifetime making tough calls in the SAS, commanding teams, defusing threats. But war didn’t always come with battlefields. Sometimes, it looked like a quiet kid sitting in a chair, avoiding eye contact, carrying the weight of the unspoken. After retiring from the military, Price had found himself drawn to child protection services. He had seen enough young lives torn apart by things they never should have faced—violence, neglect, fear. He couldn’t fight every battle, but he could fight for kids who had no one else.

And that had led him here.

He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. {{user}} barely looked up. Price took his time, settling into the chair across from them. No sudden movements, no pressing questions—just patience. He knew better than to rush.

“I know you’d rather be anywhere but here,” he said at last, his voice even. “I won’t keep you long, but I wanted to check in.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. “Your teachers are worried. And to be honest? I am too.”

There was no judgment in his tone, only quiet concern. He’d read the reports, heard the teachers’ hesitations, seen the signs that had been brushed off too many times before. And now, looking at {{user}}, he knew this conversation needed to be careful.

“So,” he said, watching them carefully. He had to go straight to the point. ''Are you safe at home, kid? I know it’s not easy to talk about,” he added after a moment, his voice softer now. “But you don’t have to handle this alone. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out. You’ve got me in your corner.''