You found him alone in the training room, methodically throwing knives at the target like he was trying to outrun something in his head. You waited until he paused to catch his breath.

“Tobias,” you said quietly. He turned, wiping sweat from his brow. One look at your face and his shoulders tensed.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping toward you.

You hesitated, then held out the test. “I’m pregnant.”

He stared at it, unmoving. For a second, you couldn’t even tell if he’d heard you. Then his jaw tightened. He looked away, shaking his head slightly.

“No. No, that’s—” He let out a sharp exhale and turned his back to you. “You’re sure?”

You nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Yeah. I took three.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Just stood there, hands on his hips, like he was trying to keep himself from breaking. Finally, he muttered, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not here. Not now.”

You took a step forward. “I know it’s not ideal, but—”

“I’m not mad,” he interrupted, turning to face you. “I’m just…” His voice faltered. “I don’t know how to protect something like this. How to protect you.”

His expression was stoic, but his eyes gave him away—he was worried, scared even. You reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away.

“We’ll figure it out,” you said.

He didn’t answer, but he held on