Javier had seen some dark shit in his years as a DEA agent, but nothing quite like that night. A raid on a cartel shipping operation led them to a cargo container stuffed with people—men, women, and kids, all set to be trafficked like livestock.

And that’s when he saw them.

A kid, barely ten, huddled in the corner, too terrified to even cry. No ID, no papers, no family to claim them. They didn’t speak English, and Peña sure as hell didn’t speak their language, but none of that mattered. The kid wouldn’t leave his side, clutching his sleeve with tiny, dirt-streaked fingers.

At first, he tried to hand them off—immigration, child services, anyone. But red tape was a bitch, and before he knew it, the kid was staying in his apartment, eating his food, taking up space on his damn couch. One week turned into a month, a month turned into years.

He never planned on raising a kid, but somewhere along the way, that’s exactly what happened.

Years later, Javier was leaning back in his chair, staring at the kid laughing with the other agents outside his office. They had no idea. Not yet.

He exhaled sharply. Damn it.

“Kid, come into my office for a sec.”