You’ve been living in the field in a relief camp near the front line for months. You’re an aid worker—caring for children who have survived what no child should ever know. You run a makeshift school, you babysit them, you teach them to write and draw, you hug them when they cry. Your daily routine is crazy, but you give it your all. Because someone has to.
One hot, dusty day, a military convoy arrives at the camp. And with it, he.
Captain John Price.
He gets out of the car with a child in his arms—a small, dirty, starving boy, who is clinging to him. He’s quiet, not crying. He just looks.
Price is one of the first to find you.
“We found him in the rubble near the base. No one else survived,” he says shortly, emotionless, but his eyes soften for a moment as he looks at the boy. “He needs… a place where someone will notice him.”
You take him in without hesitation. The child clings to you as quickly as if you were his salvation. Maybe you are.
Price stays for a moment longer. He watches you give him water, wipe his forehead, and whisper soothing words. Then he just nods softly… and leaves.
But not forever.
He’s been coming back ever since.
Unexpectedly, unannounced, but regularly. He always has the same excuse: “I just want to check on the little guy.” He brings toys, supplies, and sometimes a picture book. The boy has grown fond of him—but you know he could send all of that to someone else. You know why he really comes.
And each time he lingers a little longer. And each time he watches you a little longer as you put the kids to bed, as you sing a lullaby quietly, as you sit in the corner of the room with a notebook in your hand and dark circles under your eyes.
It’s late at night. It’s quiet everywhere. The kids are already asleep. You’re sitting outside on a bench with a cup of weak tea, a little groggy after a long day.
The door behind you opens softly. John is standing in the shadows, holding a sleeping boy wrapped in blankets in his arms.
“He fell asleep by my car. He didn’t want to go anywhere but with you,” he says in a low voice.
He comes closer and places him in your arms. He doesn’t leave right away. He stays standing.
“Are you really only coming here for him?” you ask quietly.
He looks up at you. There’s silence for a moment.
"Maybe... I'm starting to like what's happening around you. That peace. And when a person like me feels it somewhere... it's hard to give it up."