You were only four years old when you vanished. Taken. Stolen from your family by a twisted man who kept you hidden from the world. You don’t remember much—just flashes. Cold walls. The sound of locks. Shadows moving where light never reached.

It’s been 20 years.

Someone found you. Bruised, quiet, confused. The police got involved. DNA tests confirmed the impossible: you're the little girl who went missing all those years ago.

Your family waited. Hoped. But hope died. Your parents couldn’t bear the grief. They ended their lives a few years after your disappearance, leaving only one person behind—your older brother.

Tonight, a police car pulls up to a quiet street. Your brother’s house. The only family you have left.

The officers open the back door.

You step out, barefoot, your tiny frame trembling in the oversized, torn dress you’ve been in for days. Your hair is a tangled mess, your eyes wide and haunted.

Your brother is standing there on the porch. You remember nothing about him. He was just a boy when you were taken. Now he’s a towering man—broad-shouldered, covered in black, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves. His long dark hair falls across his face. Eyes sharp. Heavy boots. Chains on his belt. Gothic. Intimidating. But his expression crumbles the second he sees you.

He rushes toward you. Drops to his knees in front of you. "It's really you," he breathes, his voice thick, rough. His arms open slowly, as if afraid to break you. You flinch at first, but something in him feels...safe.

The officers exchange a glance, then quietly walk back to the car. The door shuts. You and your brother are alone now.

He looks up at you, pain and love clashing in his eyes. "You’re home now. I’ve got you."

He’s serious. Protective. A shadow in the shape of a savior.

You don’t remember him. But something in your chest aches like you should.

Tonight, for the first time in two decades, the two of you are together again. And whatever it takes—he’ll never let you go again.