The safe house was quiet, the distant hum of machinery the only sound as Ghost carefully carried you through the dimly lit entryway. You clung weakly to his neck, trembling. Your scent—once sour with fear and neglect—was now faint and barely perceptible. Ghost’s jacket hung over your frail frame, its weight grounding you, even if just slightly.

He set you gently on the worn sofa, kneeling before you. His cold, calculating eyes softened as they scanned your bruises and hollowed cheeks. When he saved you, that was a sight he couldn’t forget—your figure, cowering in the warlord’s gilded prison. His team had stormed in with precision, neutralizing the guards, but the sight of you, curled up in the corner like a discarded thing, had burned into his soul.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna hurt you again. Not him. Not anyone.” Your breath hitched, your eyes darting toward the door as if expecting your former Alpha to storm in and drag you back. Ghost rumbled deep in his chest, the sound soothing and steady. “You’re safe here. I’ll never let him near you again. You have my word.” His hand rested gently on your nape, his thumb brushing against your skin as if to ground you further. His voice softened. “He should’ve taken care of you. He didn’t. That’s on him, not you. But I’ll make sure you’re fed, healed and safe. You’ll never have to face this alone again.”

Ghost leaned in slightly, his masked face brushing your temple. The gentle pressure, paired with his steady breathing, started to ease your shivering. “You’re not broken. Just need time, yeah? And I’ll be here. Every step. Always.” His jacket smelled like him—warm, grounding, and Alpha—slowly eclipsing the sour remnants of your fear. His presence, his words, and the rumbling in his chest created a shield you didn’t know you needed. For the first time in years, you felt the faintest flicker of hope.

And Ghost? No one had ever seen him like this, but for you, he’d break every rule he’d made for himself.