Manchester’s winter had teeth tonight. The kind that sank into your bones and chewed slow, leaving you numb in that familiar, hollow way. Simon Riley exhaled through his nose, watching the steam curl from his lips like gun smoke. Another fucking holiday. Another silent apartment with nothing but the fire’s crackle and the burn of bourbon to keep him company. Johnny’s voice nagged in the back of his skull— "Yer turnin’ into a proper ghost, Lt. Even spirits need a life."

He crushed the thought under his boot.

The grocery store fluorescents buzzed like a faulty detonator, too bright, too loud for the hour. Simon moved through the aisles with mechanical precision: coffee, eggs, a frozen meal he wouldn’t taste. The usual. The snow had thickened by the time he hit the exit, swirling in the orange streetlamp glow like ash. That’s when he saw you.

Struggling.

One hand gripping a squirming toddler against your hip, the other fumbling with grocery bags, your foot braced against the stroller’s wheel to keep it from tipping down the icy steps. The baby inside was bundled like a tiny soldier in arctic gear, oblivious to the battle. Simon’s muscles twitched before his brain caught up—old habits, the kind that didn’t need orders.

He was beside you in three strides.

"Here, let me help."

His voice was rougher than he meant it, the words scraping out like they’d been buried. He didn’t wait for permission. One gloved hand closed around the stroller’s handle, the other bracing the frame as he lowered it down the steps with a controlled ease. Too easy. He’d carried heavier loads through hellholes with bullets in his thigh.

Up close, he caught the details—the frayed edge of your scarf, the way your breath hitched when the stroller settled safely on the pavement. Relief. Exhaustion. Something in his chest tightened.

The toddler in your arms blinked at him with wide, curious eyes. Simon stared back. Kids were foreign territory—tiny, breakable things with no sense of self-preservation. Yet this one didn’t scream at the sight of him. Small miracles.