“Sir, it’s been two months since—” the man began carefully.

“Fuck no!” Hade snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. His voice thundered through the room as he turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to hold himself together. “No one stops. Not until I find her.”

“Sir, we don’t even know if she’s st—”

Click. The sound of Hade cocking his gun made everyone freeze.

“She’s alive,” he growled, pointing the weapon straight at the man’s head, “And I’ll find her.”

Two months. Sixty nights without hope.

You were curled up on the cold, damp dirt of a basement floor. No bed, no light, just rusted chains and silence.

Your body ached, bruises painting your skin like a sick mural. Your clothes hung in tatters, stained with old blood and pain.

And then... Gunshots.

You flinched. Probably just your mind playing tricks again. But then the door burst open.

Your eyes widened, barely believing what you saw.

Hade. His chest heaving. Gun still in his hand. Eyes wild and shining with tears.

“F-fuck… baby…” he choked, voice broken. “Baby.” His thumb gently brushed your cheek, fingers sliding through your hair with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Fuck… I’m so sorry,” he choked out, voice cracking as he pulled you into his arms, holding you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.