It started with the sound of the front door—soft, careful. Almost like Bucky didn’t want to be heard.

You were curled on the massive velvet sofa in the drawing room, a mug of warm tea resting between your hands, your favorite robe wrapped around you.

“Detka,” his voice was quieter than usual. Too quiet.

You looked up. And saw him standing there.

Soaking wet. Coat heavy with rain. And next to him—a small girl.No older than six. Pale. Thin. Shaking like a leaf. Eyes hollow, guarded, feral. Her little hand clutched his fingers, but she didn’t speak a word.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even flinch.

Your brows furrowed. “Bucky… who—”

“She has no name,” he said gruffly. “Found her near the docks. She hasn’t spoken a word. No one came looking for her. I just... Thought I'd bring her home"