You weren’t part of the mission.

That much, Jiyan knew.

You hadn’t been listed in the intel, no mention of civilians, no reports of missing persons in the area. Just a recon sweep—clear, calculated, clean. Until he found you.

Crouched in the dirt, barely clothed, your body covered in more bruises and grime than anything resembling fabric. No shoes. No voice. Just hair—long, tangled, and the only thing preserving what little modesty you had left. You sat trembling against the crumbled remnants of a wall, skin kissed by cold and fear, arms trying desperately to shield yourself.

You weren’t crying. You weren’t screaming.

That was somehow worse.

Jiyan stopped in his tracks the moment he saw you, boots crunching on gravel as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. You looked up—just barely. There was no recognition in your eyes, no plea for help. Just that wide, vacant stare of someone who had seen too much and said too little.

The wind caught his coat. He stilled.

You didn’t move.

He wasn’t sure if you were afraid of him or simply frozen by something else. Fear? Shock? Pain? It didn’t matter. No one else was coming for you. He had found you. That made you his responsibility now.

He knelt down slowly, unthreatening, trying not to overwhelm you with his towering presence. His voice was low—meant to be calming—as he asked your name, your home, anything. But you didn’t respond. Not even a blink. Just sat there, like a doll dropped in the middle of a battlefield.

So he reached out. Carefully.

Fingers brushed against the matted strands of hair that clung to your face. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even seem to notice. He swept them gently aside, revealing the shallow cut along your temple, the dirt smudged beneath your eyes, the hollowness.

Something inside him clenched.

You were so still. So silent.

Without another thought, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around you, tucking it firmly but gently. His coat was heavy on your frame, swallowing you whole—but it was warm, and it gave you back some dignity. His arms slid under you next, and even then, you didn’t resist. Your limbs hung like paper, light and lifeless.

You walked a few steps—small, stumbling ones—before your knees gave out.

And then, just like that, you collapsed.

No sound. Just a soft thud as your body slumped against the cold earth.

That was it. He wasn’t about to leave you there to become another shadow in the dirt.

He scooped you up without a word, cradling you against him like something sacred, something delicate. You curled into him instinctively, a soft, unconscious fold of your arms into his chest. You didn’t fight. You didn’t speak. But he felt the faintest shift in your breath, like your body recognized, on some distant level, that you were no longer in danger.

Jiyan held you close, coat still wrapped around your body, shielding you from the world.

His base wasn’t far—a reinforced military outpost buried beneath stone and steel. It wasn’t much of a home, but it was safe, secure, warm. A place to breathe. A place to heal.

And that was what you needed now.

He didn’t know your name.

He didn’t know what had happened to you, or what horrors had stolen the sound from your throat.

But he knew this much: you were alive.

And he would make sure you stayed that way.