18
RYDER
The moment Kate confirms what I’ve been suspecting from the moment I laid my eyes on Julian, I’m unable to say anything. Silence has always been easier than reacting wrong, and this—this is too big to get wrong. The word hangs between us anyway, sinking in layer by layer.
Son. Fuck. I have a son.
I’ve carried worse truths, absorbed worse outcomes, but this one doesn’t come with instructions or an exit route. There’s no doctrine for it, or training manual I can fall back on. The usual reflex—assess, neutralize, and move on—has nowhere to land.
My gaze drifts back to the bassinet without me deciding to look. Julian is sleeping on his side now, tiny mouth parted, breath soft and even. The fire throws a slow rhythm of light across his face, confirming each suspicion I had. I felt it, and now it’s been settled. Julian James Ellington is my son.
I’ve always been careful about attachments. I learned early what happens when people become leverage. What it costs when you hesitate, what you lose when the world finds something you’re not willing to sacrifice. That’s why I left, built this place, and live like a ghost—slipping through the cracks, existing just far enough out of reach that no one can get their hands around my throat through someone else.
And now there’s a child here.My child.
As I look at my son—my son—for the first time with clear eyes, I understand something with a clarity that cuts through every doubt I’ve ever carried. I may not know how to live with this truth, but I will die protecting it.
I glance back at Kate, who is watching me carefully, like she expects me to vanish and shut the door the way I always do. She’s braced for rejection, even now, even after everything it took to get here.
“I don’t make promises lightly,” I start. “So take my word for it when I tell you that I will keep both of you safe.”
I don’t know how to be a father, how to stay, or exist in a world where my choices ripple outward instead of stopping with me. But I know this: no one touches what’s mine.
She exhales, a slow, steady breath, looking relieved. She doesn’t thank me, cry, or try to turn it into something bigger than it is, which I appreciate.
“That’s all I need,” she replies quietly.
I nod once in response as we have reached an agreement. From there, my mind shifts automatically into motion as I start running through contingencies the way I always do. I step away from the table and move toward the console built into the wall, fingers flying over the interface as I bring up the external feeds. Thermal cameras sweep the tree line, the motion sensors registering clean with no anomalies.
After that, I check on the escape routes. I have two vehicles ready, fueled. Speaking of vehicles, I turn to Kate. “You told me you packed up a car to come here. Why did I find you on foot, halfway up the mountain?”
“My car wasn’t built for such terrain, and it got even worse when it started raining. I got stuck in a trench and had to abandon it,” she explains.
I hum in understanding, realizing just how much she had to go through to get here. “I’ll go get it tomorrow. You and Julian need your own clothes, and I only have so many towels. The kid needs diapers.”
She blushes in embarrassment, nodding at my suggestion.
I go back to checking supplies and the airstrip mapped in case of a worst-case scenario that requires us to bail out of here. Kate watches me work without interrupting or asking questions; she knows I won’t answer. There’s intelligence in that restraint.
Night settles calmly around the house as the last of the storm drains away, leaving behind a deep quiet that presses in from all sides.
Julian wakes once, with a small, restless sound that signals discomfort more than need. Kate moves before I do, instinct guiding her steps, and I watch closely as she lifts him from the bassinet. Her movements are gentle but practiced, the result of months spent learning his language the hard way.
She murmurs to him—nonsense words layered with affection—rocking him lightly as she checks his improvised diaper and adjusts his blanket.
“Do you want to…” she trails off, glancing at me. “Do you want to help?”
She doesn’t assume, she offers, and by God, if that doesn’t wreck me from the inside.
I step closer, careful with my hands, conscious of my size, my strength. She places him in my arms without ceremony, guiding my grip with a light touch. He weighs almost nothing, but theawareness of him is overwhelming, the responsibility settling into my arms with unexpected gravity.
He smells like clean skin, milk, and warmth. He squirms, unhappy with the transition, and I instinctively adjust, tucking him closer to my chest the way I held him earlier. His head fits neatly beneath my chin, breath puffing softly against my collarbone. The tension drains out of him in seconds.
Kate watches me, eyes searching, but I keep my focus on him.
“This was the last place I wanted to come to. I know you didn’t want any of this. I just needed him safe, and I had nowhere else to go,” she expresses.
Her honesty lands harder than any accusation could have.
