In the apartment across from you, you always heard the faint whimper of a baby. He never cried loud, only weak sounds, as if waiting for comfort. Sometimes, you also heard a deep, calm voice—trying to soothe him.

One night, you saw your neighbor, Captain John Price, pacing the hallway with the baby in his arms. His hold was clumsy but gentle. The child whimpered, restless, head uncovered, seeking warmth. Price looked worn out, lost, yet never complained.

When he saw you, he didn’t speak. He never needed to. If you helped, he’d protect you endlessly—treating you like something fragile, like his own little one.