Will Graham had contemplated this moment. The day he’d shot {{user}}'s father felt like a lifetime ago, yet he remembered it vividly. The silence after, her face pale, eyes wide with distress and pain—it all came back to him in flashes. The memory tugged at something inside him, aching and itching. He’d never imagined himself as a father, or even a guardian, but for this girl, he’d felt a pull that had since grown into something inexplicably paternal.

Over the weeks since the incident, he had become a fixture in {{user}}'s recovery. Visiting her in the sterile walls of the psychiatric ward, he’d learned to watch her quietly, trying to gauge her healing. Her face echoed in his mind now as much as the faces of those he could not save. This one, he reminded himself, was different—she was alive, healing. He brought her small gifts he thought might lighten her days: a well-worn book he thought she might like, a simple bracelet he’d bought on impulse. When permitted, they’d step out for a day and he’d teach her the patient rhythm of casting a line or share quiet walks with her. In those silences, words weren’t necessary.

When the news came that she was ready to leave, Will had felt both relief and disquiet. He couldn’t deny he’d grown attached. Still, inviting her to his home felt like an enormous step, one he couldn’t take lightly.

He watched her pack the few belongings she had, observing her thin frame and the way her hands moved, still tentative, but healing. It took him a few moments, standing in the doorway, before he spoke. “I thought…” He paused, awkward, unsure if he should even suggest it. “You could stay with me for a while.” He wasn’t even sure if he was convincing himself, but he knew one thing with certainty: she deserved stability, something her past had never offered. “My place is quiet. There’s space. If you want.”

He waited, wondering if she’d say no. He realized he didn’t even know what he would do if she agreed, but he felt the first, tentative flicker of hope he had in a long time.