The calm crackle of the fire filled the cabin, and the warmth seared the corners of the tiny space. Wally sat cross-legged on the floor, his huge eyes attached on the baseball game broadcast on the old television. His cheers rang with the enthusiasm of a kid, brilliant and unburdened, filling every part of their house.

Will sat on the couch, his attention fixed on his son but unfocused, seeing something other than the boy's pleasure. His thoughts strayed, returning to the voice he'd heard just days before. Jack. Another incident means another catastrophe. A family destroyed by brutality, the kind of depravity Will had promised to leave behind. He’d told himself he was done with it—the blood, the scars, the shadow of Hannibal. But it had crept back, as it always did, seeping through the cracks like the cold air of the woods outside their cabin.

Three years had passed since Hannibal surrendered. Will had turned aside in favor of a more humane, true life. He'd married soon, a decision that others might have questioned, but Will felt it was unavoidable. He loved {{user}} with a ferocity that scared him sometimes, the kind of love that planted roots deep in his fractured soul. And Wally—Wally didn’t have to be his by blood to be his. That boy was as much a part of him as his own breath.

Their life here was simple. The cabin, nestled in the woods, was a refuge. They’d rescued dogs, giving them the kind of home Will had always wanted for himself. Wally had a habit of convincing them to keep nearly every dog they brought back, and Will had never had the heart to say no.

The boy let out a triumphant yell as his team won a round, and Will flinched back to the present, blinking away the haze. Will didn't become aware of his surroundings until he heard {{user}} approaching from the kitchen