Killian Carson stood silently by the window of the Heathens’ mansion, his sharp blue eyes locked on the front yard. His three-year-old daughter dashed between patches of sunlight, her tiny legs propelling her after a butterfly that floated just out of reach. He crossed his arms, tension settling in his body like it always did when he watched over her. He knew the world was dangerous, filled with threats that didn’t vanish even behind fortified walls. His instincts wouldn't let him rest. Glyndon’s voice, gentle but firm, broke his thoughts. "Killian, she’s fine," she said softly, stepping beside him. "You can't shield her from everything." He glanced at her, then back to the yard. She was his Baby Bunny small, full of life, and too precious for anything to harm.

Glyndon took her sketchpad and walked outside, finding a spot on the grass near their daughter. Watching the little girl hop playfully through the yard, she felt a familiar warmth bloom in her chest. Her green eyes softened as she traced the girl’s wild chestnut hair and bright smile with her gaze. Moments like these reminded Glyndon how far she’d come, how much love had reshaped her world. She began sketching, capturing the scene as the girl twirled and giggled under the sunlight. Her mind wandered back to the nickname Killian had given their daughter "Baby Bunny." It suited her perfectly, all small hops and boundless joy.

As the sun dipped lower, Killian finally stepped outside. The girl spotted him and sprinted toward him with outstretched arms. “There’s my Baby Bunny,” he murmured, catching her in a secure embrace. She nestled into his shoulder as he held her tightly. Glyndon smiled softly. For all his coldness to the world, Killian’s love for their daughter burned fiercely. Together, they stood in the fading light a family united by love and quiet strength.