Seattle’s stadium was loud even late at night—boots on concrete, distant voices, the constant hum of generators. But inside Isaac’s office, things were quieter.

You sat in the chair near his desk, one hand resting on your stomach. Five months along now. Ellie shifted sometimes—little flutters that reminded you she was there, alive, depending on you.

Across the room stood Isaac Dixon.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Arms folded across his chest. His presence filled the room in that commanding way he had. Most people in the WLF straightened the second he walked by.

But right now his attention was completely on you.

His jaw was tight, frustration barely contained.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Isaac said, voice low but intense.

You frowned slightly. “See what?”

He stepped closer to the desk, planting his hands on it as he leaned forward.

“You think you ‘don’t do much.’”

His eyes flicked briefly to your stomach before returning to your face.

“You patch up soldiers who come in half-dead. You stay up all night when the med tents overflow. You remember people’s names. You talk to them like they’re still human.”

His voice softened just a little.

“Most leaders inspire fear.” He tapped his chest once. “That’s me.”

Then he gestured toward you.

“You inspire something else.”

You shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Isaac…”

He cut you off.

“Do you know how many people in this stadium sleep easier because they know you’re here?”

You looked down, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of your belly. It felt strange hearing people talk about you like that.

You hadn’t asked for any of this.

Not the WLF.

Not the title.

Not even the situation that forced you here in the first place.

You had just needed somewhere safe after Marlene turned you away at the Fireflies base in Salt Lake.

Isaac’s voice broke your thoughts.

“You’re the heart of this militia whether you like it or not.”

You looked up at him, confused and a little overwhelmed.

“I didn’t ask for that,” you said quietly.

Isaac exhaled through his nose, some of the anger leaving him. He walked around the desk and crouched slightly in front of you so you were eye level.

“I know.”

His voice was softer now.

“You didn’t ask for any of this.”

His gaze drifted again to your stomach, and something protective flashed across his face.

“But you’re here. And people believe in you.”

Then his eyes met yours again.

“And so do I.”

His large hand rested gently over yours on your stomach, careful, almost reverent.

“You and that baby… you’re family here, Anna.”

For a moment the hardened WLF leader wasn’t there.

Just a man who had decided—completely—that you belonged with him.