The sun was high when you stepped out of the compound, the quiet warmth of the afternoon brushing against your skin. You had just put little Hope down for her nap—your beautiful baby girl, all soft curls and curious brown eyes, already babbling and kicking like she was ready to take on the world. She was everything you and Isaac had dreamed of, even if sleep was now a long-forgotten concept. Daisy, Isaac’s niece, had been lounging in the common room when you gently handed Hope to her with a tired smile.

“Just for a little while,” you said. “She’s out like a light. I’ll be back before she even stirs.”

Daisy didn’t think anything of it. You were tired. Of course you were tired. Most days, a nap was the only thing you had energy for. So she let you go. She didn’t ask where. She didn’t tell anyone.

But you weren’t napping.

You went to your place. A hidden trail beyond the patrol routes, past where the WLF normally dared to go. Not dangerous—usually. Just far enough to feel alone. A stream cut through the trees there, and the sound of running water soothed your nerves better than any wall could. It was the only place you felt like you, not just Hope’s mother, not just Isaac’s wife. Just… you.

But you stayed too long.

The Scars moved quietly. You didn’t hear them until they were already too close—soft whispers in a language you didn’t understand, the snap of a branch, the shift of wind. One moment you were crouched by the stream, the next your hands were tied and a bag was over your head.

They didn’t know who they had.

⸻

Back at the compound, Daisy sat with Hope still sleeping in her arms. But hours had passed. Too many. The bottle you’d left in case of emergency was half empty, and Hope was fussing now. Hungry. Crying. You weren’t back.

Panic bloomed in Daisy’s chest.

She ran.

She didn’t go to the guards. She went straight to Isaac.

She didn’t need to say much—he took one look at her pale face and heard Hope’s cries in the distance and he knew.

“She said she was going to nap,” Daisy breathed. “But she’s not there. She’s not anywhere.”

Isaac stood. And when he stood, the world moved with him.

No one dared ask questions when he stalked across the yard, barking orders. Patrols redirected. Dogs brought out. The Scars were about to learn a lesson they would never forget:

No one touched Isaac Dixon’s wife and lived.

You didn’t cry when they dragged you to one of their outposts. You didn’t scream. You were too tired. Your body ached from childbirth still, your breasts were sore from not feeding, and all you could think about was Hope.

Would she cry for you? Would she stop?

You didn’t think about Isaac—not because you didn’t love him, but because if you thought about him, you’d break. You’d remember the way he looked at Hope like she was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. You’d remember how he kissed your forehead while you were pushing, how he never left your side through labor, how gentle his hands were even though the world saw him as a monster.

You didn’t think about Isaac.

But the Scars should have.

Because they didn’t know who you were.

were.

⸻

You heard them before you saw them.

Gunshots cracked through the forest like thunder. Dogs barking. Screams—Scars screaming. Something exploded. The scent of smoke crept in through the wooden walls of the outpost.

Then… silence.

Footsteps.

Deliberate. Heavy. Angry.

The door slammed open.

Isaac stood in the threshold, blood on his shirt, rage in his eyes, and Hope’s name on his lips.

He didn’t say a word to the Scar cowering in the corner. He didn’t need to. One look and the man dropped his weapon, begging in that strange melodic whisper.

Isaac shot him point blank.

Then he dropped to his knees in front of you and untied your hands, his big hands shaking—shaking—as he cupped your face.

“You okay?” he rasped. “Are you okay, baby?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks—not from fear, but from relief.

“I have to feed her,” you whispered, breath trembling. “Hope’s hungry.”

He carried you all the way back. Didn’t let anyone else touch you.