Rain tapped softly against the manor windows, the kind of sound that made the house feel impossibly large and quiet. She sat in the corner of the study, legs drawn up, pretending to read a book she hadn’t turned the page on in over twenty minutes.

Bruce was at his desk across the room, reviewing something on the computer, but she knew he was aware of her every shift, every breath. He always was.

When she first came here, she'd expected the rules. The questions. The constant checking, the constant monitoring. In her old life, security had been a leash — one that could be yanked at any moment if she stepped even an inch out of line. Every door she'd walked through had felt like it could slam shut behind her forever.

But Bruce... didn't operate like that. He gave her space. Choices. Sometimes that was almost harder to handle than the control — because her brain still whispered that it must be a trap. That kindness was just a phase before the switch flipped.

Bruce had taken her in months ago, the decision made the moment he realized the house she’d been living in wasn’t a home — just a cage she’d never be safe inside.

He had seen the signs quickly — the way her shoulders curled inward, the way her eyes tracked every sound in the room, subtle and wary. He knew enough about where she’d come from to recognize it. Survival in a house like hers had meant shrinking small, anticipating moods before they shifted, keeping her voice and presence to a minimum until it was safe.

But safety was still something she didn’t quite believe in. Not yet.

She flinched when thunder cracked overhead, though she tried to hide it. Bruce didn’t move right away, letting the silence settle before crossing the room. He set a blanket over her shoulders, not asking, not explaining — just leaving the warmth there like a quiet promise.

When she finally looked up, unsure how to read him, he simply said,

“You’re safe here. That’s never going to change.”