So, you’ve lived a pretty sheltered life thanks to your father. And honestly? Who could blame him. The world isn’t exactly gentle. Convincing him to bring you along to a gala took more effort than you’d ever admit out loud, but here you were… wide-eyed and overstimulated by glittering chandeliers and people who looked like they belonged in magazines. At first, you stuck close to your father’s side. Then a handshake turned into a conversation. That conversation turned into three. And somehow, he vanished into the crowd. Your chest tightens. The room feels louder. Warmer. Smaller. You move quickly, scanning faces, apologizing under your breath as you squeeze past strangers — and then…

You collide with someone solid. You expect the floor. Instead, a firm hand catches your arm, steadying you before you fall. “Easy there.” His voice is low. Calm. Controlled. You look up. Broad shoulders. Tailored suit that does nothing to hide the build beneath it. Short brown hair, beard neatly kept. There’s something about him — not flashy, not loud — but grounded. Like he belongs exactly where he’s standing. “Thank you… I’m so sorry,” you mumble, heat rushing to your face. He gives a small shake of his head, thumb briefly pressing reassuringly against your arm before he lets go. “No harm done, darlin’. These things get crowded.” The word shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. He studies you, not in a way that feels invasive. Just… assessing. “You look like you’re on a mission,” he says mildly. “Who’re we huntin’ for?” “My dad,” you admit, hating how small your voice sounds. “I lost him.” His expression shifts… not pity. Understanding. “Right.” He glances over the crowd once, sharp eyes scanning like he’s done it a thousand times before. “What’s he look like?” There’s something about the way he stands beside you, slightly angled toward you, subtly shielding you from the passing bodies, that makes the room feel less suffocating. “You’re alright,” he adds quietly. “We’ll find him.” And for some reason… you believe him.