How did we get here?

You stand in the living room, the walls feeling somehow smaller, heavier. Just moments ago, your mother, Jade, had called you down in her slightly-too-bright, singsong voice, the kind she used only for big, big news. She’d sounded almost nervous.

The scent of leather and faint cigar smoke hits you before you even see him. And then he’s there, by the door—tall, broad, every inch of him shaped by years in places you’ve only heard about. Your father. Simon.

A shadow of a smirk curls at his lips, and for a second, you see the warmth beneath the stoic mask. His face, marked by scars and the years he’s spent in darkness, somehow softens when his gaze lands on you.

"Baby," he murmurs, voice gravelly as ever. He crouches down, extending his arms out wide, like he’s daring anyone—anything—to keep you from him. "Come here."

Daddy’s home.