Was.
I wince, fighting back those fragments of memories. My snarls, manic and feral. Rusted metal bars. Stench of damp and mould.
Julien stands beside me, not too close. Just enough.
“Breathe, mon ami,” he soothes, calm and unshakeable as always. The same way he sounded when he found me.
I don’t remember much about that time, trauma has a funny way of fucking with your mind like that, but I remember that day. I remember Julien.
He begins to breathe, the same technique he’s taught us all when we need grounding. He completes a full set before I finally try to join in.
I exhale, it stutters out. “We kept her in another cage, man.” I shake my head, inhale. Hold. “A better one. But still…” Exhale. “How are we any better than the fuckers she was with?”
“This is different, Sai.” He waits until I’ve taken three more breaths before continuing, “Deep down, you know that. You know we gave her freedom—time on her own, away from us. We didn’t keep her a prisoner. We gave her choices.”
“I know, I know. But—” My throat tightens. “She deserves more. There’s so much she’s not had, so many things she’s gone without. We should’ve—Ishould’ve—”
“We will,” he cuts in softly. “We’ll give her everything. Show her everything.”
I look at him then. Really look. Past the calm expression and the carefully composed demeanour. I see the man who pulled me from the dark.
“Like you did for me?” I whisper, the words dragging through the sharp ache in my chest. The kind of pain that never really leaves.
His eyes soften. “Yes, my friend.” Then he smiles. “But this time, the four of us will. Together.”
Together.
Decades ago, it was only him. Julien, standing outside my cage in the dark, offering a hand when all I’d ever known were bars and cruelty.
He gave me something no one else thought I deserved—freedom. Choice. A future.
And now… we get to give that to her.
We both fall quiet, but the ache doesn’t go. It pulses in my chest like an old wound torn open. Because I remember what it felt like being pulled from the dark, not sure I wanted to be saved.
Too feral to really understand.
I remember Julien’s hand reaching out, steady and patient, like he wasn’t afraid of what I was.
And then the slicing ache begins to ease, because I feel her.
That familiar pull. That quiet, unmistakable gravity that makes me turn before I even realise she’s entered the room.
She steps in like she’s always belonged. Hair still piled high, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder, skin flushed from the heat of the bath.
Her eyes scan the room, her expression soft, and then she looks at me. Straight at me. And she knows.
She walks over barefoot, without hesitation, and wraps her arms around my neck like we’ve done this a thousand times.
It feels like muscle memory. Like safety. Home.
“What’s wrong?” she asks so softly, leaning back to search my eyes.
I can’t answer. I just lift her into my arms, hold her close to my chest.
I don’t know how to explain the chaos inside me. The rage. The guilt. The doubt. Or how the impossible ache only eases when she’s near me. I just need to hold her, let her quiet the storm I can’t outrun.
I carry her to the sofa, settling with her in my lap, burying my face into the warm curve of her neck. Her shadows curl around me, her fingers thread into my hair.
