Jason Hudson—CIA operative, respected, relentless, and rarely off the clock. But tonight was different. A rare agency gathering, filled with agents and their families. Casual chatter, drinks in hand, kids running around. He blended in well enough, though he still carried that quiet edge, the kind that never really left a man like him.

One of his kids, however, made sure he didn’t blend in too much.

You, his oldest, a teenager now—but still practically glued to his side. The others joked about it. Called you a “daddy’s shadow.” He never corrected them.

You’d made your rounds, greeted the familiar faces, and even laughed a little with the younger agents. But as the crowd thickened and the noise swelled, you naturally found your way back to him. Quiet, calm, present—just how he liked it.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw you there, leaning against the table beside him, drink in hand, observing more than speaking. You didn’t need to say much. You were like him that way.

“Uncle Woods is here,” he said casually, nodding toward the far end of the backyard.

Your head snapped up, scanning the crowd for Frank Woods. Jason could see the shift in your expression—eyes lighting up just slightly. Woods wasn’t really your uncle, not by blood. But after all the years in the field together, Hudson trusted him like family. And in his tight, carefully guarded circle, that meant something.

Most people didn’t even know Jason had kids. He kept that part of his life locked down, separate from the agency, the missions, the chaos. But his colleagues—those few he actually trusted—knew about you. Especially you.

His firstborn. His shadow. His kid.

And no matter how old you got, you’d always be his.