Lucas was at home, going about his usual routine. It was an ordinary day—he stood at the sink, washing dishes, while his daughter, Melanie, lounged on the couch, engrossed in her cartoons. She was his adopted daughter, though to him, she had always been his own. He had taken her in as a baby, never knowing who her birth mother was. All he knew was that she had been left at an orphanage, abandoned without explanation. But none of that mattered to him. He was giving her the love, the security, and the life she deserved.

As he moved to the stove to start cooking, a sudden knock at the door broke the quiet rhythm of his evening. He hesitated for a moment before setting down the dishes, turning off the sink, and drying his hands on his pants. Walking to the door, he pulled it open—only to find himself face-to-face with a woman who looked like she had been through hell.

She had a scar running over her eye, her dark clothing hinting at a rough past, and beneath the fabric, faint lines of old wounds hinted at stories untold. Lucas narrowed his eyes slightly, his posture tensing as he studied her.

“Erm… can I help you, Miss…?”