It was past midnight when you heard the commotion at the gate, muffled voices, hurried footsteps, and the metallic clank of someone being helped inside. When you stepped out of your quarters, lantern in hand, the guards stepped aside… and there he was.

Aiden.

Blood streaked his cheek, his coat torn at the shoulder, one hand pressed to his side. He looked like he’d walked through hell just to make it here. When one of the settlers reached for him with a stimpack, he growled under his breath and shook them off.

“Not them,” he muttered, voice strained, pointing at you. “Just… you.”

You rushed to him, taking his arm before he could collapse. He didn’t fight you, not like he usually would. He just leaned into your touch, breathing shallow but steady. You led him inside, helped him onto your bed, and started patching the wound despite his weak protests.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he murmured, gaze softening. “Didn’t want anyone else’s hands on me.”