Slade Wilson pressed himself against the alley wall, rifle ready, eyes scanning the burn-scarred storefront across the street. Every instinct screamed danger—wrong place, wrong time, wrong fight.

But there, just beyond the shattered glass, was the target: arms dealers slipping in crates of weapons. And beside him, his partner stood calm, posture steady, despite the soft rise and fall of the infant strapped to their chest. The baby’s tiny hands curled against the swaddle, unaware of the night’s violence.

Slade’s jaw tightened. They’d argued—silently—about bringing the newborn on the mission. He’d insisted it was madness. She’d insisted they wouldn’t abandon family. Now, with the baby’s quiet breaths punctuating the distant sirens, there was no turning back.

He signaled. She nodded, adjusting the carrier so the baby’s cheek rested against her heart—both shielded and exposed. Slade counted his breaths, slowing them. Every movement had to be precise. Every shot had to land. Every second mattered—not just for the mission, but for the life they carried with them.

He stepped into view, rifle trained on the nearest guard. Their world had always been blood and chaos. Tonight, it included something fragile, new, utterly precious—proof that even a killer could choose something worth protecting beyond himself.