The alarm wasn’t supposed to sound. Not today, not ever, if you asked anyone in the damn department. The Safe Haven box was one of those things everyone swore they’d maintain but prayed they’d never have to touch. And yet— BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Simon froze mid-report, pen paused between his fingers as every head in the station slowly lifted, eyes widening. The red light above the hallway blinked. Once. Twice. Urgent. “Riley,” the sergeant barked, already grabbing the keys. “You’re closest. Go.”

He didn’t argue. He never did. He just shoved his jacket on, the familiar weight settling over his shoulders as he jogged to the cruiser. It wasn’t fear that tugged at his gut—more like disbelief. Who the hell would actually…?

The drive was short. Too short for him to think, but long enough for his jaw to tense. By the time he reached the small brick annex with the reinforced metal baby box built into its side, the alarm had switched to a steady, heart-pounding pulse.

Simon unlocked the outer panel, bracing himself for—he didn’t know what. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Inside the warm bassinet, wrapped in a soft blue blanket, was the tiniest little thing he’d ever seen. Round cheeks. A button nose. Dark lashes resting heavy over plump, flushed cheeks. A tiny fist half-curled beside his face. Completely still—until Simon’s shadow fell over him.

The baby made a small sound. A quiet, breathy hmmh? and shifted.

Simon’s breath caught. “…Well, hey there,” he muttered, voice dropping without him meaning it to.

Then he saw the folded piece of paper placed gently on the infant’s chest. He picked it up with careful fingers—military hands that had once disarmed bombs were somehow trembling over a piece of stationary.

Luca. 4 months old. Born July 2nd. I can’t keep him safe. Please… someone take care of him. I’m sorry.

That was it. No name. No explanation. Just a mother’s shaking handwriting and a hope someone else could do better. Simon felt something tight coil in his chest. A tug he didn’t like. A tug that sank its claws deeper when he looked back down at the baby—Luca—who blinked his eyes open with slow, heavy blinks.

Blue. Big. Too big. Too trusting.

Luca stared up at him like he’d been expecting him. Like Simon was supposed to be there.

“…Christ,” Simon breathed, barely louder than a whisper.

He slid his hands beneath the little body, lifting him with a gentleness that surprised even himself. The baby weighed almost nothing—warm, soft, a faint baby-smell he couldn’t place but knew he’d recognize forever now.

Luca let out a small babble, nuzzled into his chest like he’d already decided this was safe, this was fine, this was home.

And that— That did something to him.

More than it should’ve.

More than he understood.

Simon secured the blanket around him with military precision born from habits he didn’t even think about anymore. Then, cradling the baby close, he turned toward the cruiser to take him to the hospital for intake and evaluation. Standard procedure. Routine. Simple.

But as he moved, Luca’s little fingers curled around the fabric of Simon’s shirt, gripping the cotton like a lifeline.

Simon stopped walking. Just for a second. Just long enough to feel something settle—sharp and terrifying and certain—right beneath his ribs.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He damn sure wasn’t supposed to feel this.

But he did.

Responsibility. Protectiveness. A quiet, dangerous promise forming in the back of his mind before he could stop it.

This kid… This tiny, abandoned boy…

He was his problem now.

And Simon Riley didn’t let go of things once they were his.