It’s raining as Killian walks through the forest. He knows the path well, takes it often. Tonight, everything feels quieter than usual.

Then he sees you.

You’re sitting on the ground between the trees, your arms wrapped around yourself. Your body is shaking, like you’ve been here far too long. You don’t really look up, only briefly, as if you’re not sure you’re allowed to hope.

Killian stops.

He knows he should keep walking. It’s not his responsibility. People like him don’t help. That’s how he was raised.

But he stays.

The rain grows heavier. Your shoulders tremble. You don’t say anything.

He thinks of his parents. Of Nelio, who would say that pity is dangerous. Of Amaia, who would look at him as if she already knew he wouldn’t leave you here. Of Ares and Silas.

Killian lets out a slow breath. He steps closer, but keeps his distance.

After a moment, he takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. His movements are calm, almost careful, as if he’s afraid to scare you.

He straightens up. Hesitates.

Then he holds his hand out to you.

The rain keeps falling, and the decision rests between you.