It started with a raid.

Just another drug den in the outskirts of a crumbling district—easy breach, hard clean-up. The dealers were heavily armed, and the house had been booby-trapped like some paranoid meth wizard’s castle. But that wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t what would haunt SWAT Captain {{user}}.

The problem was the kid.

“Clear!” she’d called out, her voice sharp, firm—authority in every syllable. She stepped over busted furniture and bullet-riddled drywall, eyes sweeping—

—and there he was. Tiny. Curled up under a table, eyes red, cheeks tear-streaked. Couldn’t have been older than five. No blood, no bruises. Just… scared. And staring at her like she was the only safe thing in the world.

“Shit,” {{user}} muttered, stepping back like the kid had just pulled a gun.

Gaz leaned in through the blown-out doorway, seeing her freeze. “You good?”

She gave him a look. “There’s a kid.”

“Oh, hell.”

That was two weeks ago.

Now, every time she walked into HQ, he was there.

Liam. Big eyes. Loud. Sticky fingers. The opposite of stealth.

He had a habit of grabbing the Velcro of her vest like it was a lifeline. If she tried to disappear into her office, he followed. If she tried to go out for a smoke, he followed. If she was headed into a briefing, he was clinging to her leg like a damn tick.

“I’m not your mom,” she grumbled more than once, carrying him on her hip with the practiced frustration of someone who had never wanted to be in this position.

He grinned anyway. “You’re cool.”

Price smirked from across the room. “Look at that. He likes you.”

“I look like a death threat,” she snapped. “He should be afraid of me.”

Soap cackled. “Maybe he likes living dangerously.”

Ghost passed by and muttered, “Maybe he sees through the bullshit.”

She flipped him off behind the kid’s head.

Every mission was now a disaster.

Liam refused to be separated from her. Any time she suited up, he’d start bawling. It got so bad, one day she had to step out of the gear-up room, kneel down, and sternly say, “You can’t come with me. It’s dangerous.”

He hiccupped. “But you’ll die if I’m not there.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Everyone I love goes away. If I don’t hold your sleeve, you’ll die.”

Her stomach twisted in a way no bullet ever made it. Her voice softened without her permission. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And somehow, she ended up letting him sleep in the cot in her office that night.

Soap found them the next morning—her slumped in the chair, boots still on, arms crossed, with Liam curled up in her hoodie like a kitten.

“Oi,” Soap whispered, taking a picture. “This is blackmail gold.”

She cracked one eye open, deadpan. “I will kill you with a clipboard.”

Liam stirred, yawned, and instinctively reached for her. “Don’t leave.”

Her jaw tightened. The clipboard in her hand lowered. And despite herself, she stayed.