You still remember the way Hazel used to run — all wild curls and tiny feet slapping against the kitchen floor, giggling like the sound itself was made for her. It’s been three years, but that laughter still echoes through the corners of your mind when the house goes quiet. You’d give anything to hear it again.

Simon doesn’t talk about her. Not anymore. You know he blames himself. He’s never said it outright, but you can feel it in the way he breathes, slow and careful, like the air itself could turn to guilt in his lungs. Hazel’s name is carved into him somewhere deep, and no matter how many missions he takes, no matter how many enemies fall to the weight of his rage, he can’t erase it.

It was supposed to be a negotiation. A ransom — clean, contained. They wanted him, and they knew how to make him come running. You remember the day like a wound that never closed: Simon’s voice over the comm shared with you, raw and cracking, begging them to take him instead. The gunfire that followed. The static. The silence.

You found out later that she never had a chance. Eight years old, caught in the crossfire of someone else’s vengeance. Someone who wanted to hurt him. And they did

Now, years later, there’s another heartbeat beneath your ribs — six months along, a second chance you never thought you’d take. You sit on the couch, his hand heavy and warm where it rests over your bump. The baby kicks once, faint but insistent, and you feel his whole body tense.

“She’s strong,” you whisper, trying to fill the quiet.

Simon nods, but he doesn’t look at you. His gaze is somewhere far away — in a place filled with smoke and red lights, where he was too late, where Hazel’s voice still echoes.

“I should’ve—” He stops, jaw tight. “I should’ve been there sooner. Should’ve—”

“Simon.” You turn to him, pressing your hand over his. “You couldn’t have known. You can’t keep living there.”

He exhales hard through his nose, shoulders slumping. “I’m supposed to protect you. Protect her.” His fingers tighten slightly on your belly, as if he’s afraid the world might reach through and take this one too. “Couldn’t do it last time. Don’t know if I can now.”