Jake didn’t plan on taking anyone else in.

Pandora already demanded more than it gave. War kept stealing people faster than he could bury them. But when the smoke cleared and the gunships left, there you were—alone, stunned, standing in the place where your family had been moments before.

He saw it in your eyes immediately.

That hollow, searching look. The one that meant everything familiar had been burned away, leaving you with nowhere to land.

Jake crouched in front of you, slow and careful, making himself smaller despite the armor and scars and weight of command he carried. He didn’t rush you. Didn’t tell you it would be okay. He knew better than that.

“They’re not coming back,” he said quietly. Honest. Gentle. “But you don’t have to do this alone.”

The clan moved around you both—voices low, hands busy, grief folded into action the way it always was. Someone offered water. Someone else wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. Jake stayed right where he was, grounding, solid.

When night came, he showed you where to sleep. When you woke from nightmares, he was already awake, keeping watch like he always did. No questions asked. No expectations placed on you except one.

Survive.

You weren’t a replacement. You weren’t a burden.

You were family now—not because blood said so, but because Jake had seen what the RDA took from you…

And decided they wouldn’t take everything.