John Wick sat at the kitchen table, his hands clasped tightly, a faint unease creeping into his usually unshakable demeanor. His eyes never left the faces of his brother-in-law and sister-in-law as they spoke in quiet, measured tones, updating him on the boy—his son. He had avoided this for years, not wanting to reveal too much, not wanting to pull the child into his world of shadows. He could never risk it. The life he led, full of violence and constant danger, was something he couldn't let touch his son.

A tense silence lingered before John could speak, but before he could utter a word, the door to the house creaked open. It wasn’t the soft click of someone arriving on time, but the unmistakable sound of someone returning early.

Everyone froze.

John’s gaze snapped toward the door, the muscles in his jaw tightening instinctively. The air seemed to grow heavier, thick with anticipation. There was no reason for the boy to be back this early—his training was meant to keep him away until the evening. But there he was, standing in the doorway.

The boy—his son.

For a moment, the world outside the room disappeared, and everything shifted into slow motion. John's heart hammered in his chest, the weight of years of silence crashing over him all at once. His son had grown, but the same eyes—the same unspoken understanding—remained.

John didn't move, not a muscle. His eyes locked onto the boy, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. All the years of separation, all the lies and the fear of what would happen if anyone discovered the truth... it all hit him like a wave. He hadn’t meant for this. He had always wanted to protect him. But now the boy was here—unaware of the depths of his father's past, unaware of the danger he’d unknowingly lived in.

The room was still, no one daring to speak. The boy didn’t know it, but John had always been watching. Always protecting from afar.