The carnage around Kray was slowly dissolving into thin air, but that didn't stop him from thinking about how he had completely lost control of himself. He prided himself on being calm, level-headed — the kind of person who didn't crack under pressure. But this incident had dragged up a memory he had buried a long time ago, one he had no intention of revisiting.
He looked down at the girl lying nearby and gently picked her up. She was light, almost too light. He didn't even know what he was going to say to her when she woke up.
Let's leave that for later. Right now — where do I take her?
There was only one person he could think of. One person close enough that he could tell her everything without having to explain too much.
A while later, Kray was standing outside Miss Charlotte's apartment, the girl still in his arms. He knocked three times.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door opened. Charlotte was in her nightwear, hair loose, eyes still adjusting to the light. The moment her gaze dropped to the unconscious girl in Kray's arms, something shifted in her expression — but she didn't ask a single question. She simply stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.
He nodded, grateful in a way he didn't have the words for.
Some time passed. The girl was lying on the sofa in the living room now, and Kray and Charlotte sat nearby, watching her in quiet. Charlotte had cleaned the girl's face while Kray wasn't looking — the blood was gone, and without it, she looked startlingly young.
Red hair. Light freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks. And even in sleep, there was something painfully innocent about her face.
Kray stared at her and felt something heavy settle in his chest. He was already dreading the moment she'd wake up.
Charlotte broke the silence first, her voice gentle.
"What happened, Kray?"
He exhaled slowly. "I was waiting for the bus when I heard a scream. I ran toward it and found her in an alleyway, cornered by Spectres." He paused. "I got there in time to kill them. But not in time to save the two people they'd already killed. I think they were her parents."
Charlotte was quiet for a moment. Then she put her hand on his back, a steady, grounding pressure.
"Don't beat yourself up over this. You did what you could, as fast as you could."
He didn't respond. She looked at him and smiled — not a pitying smile, a reassuring one.
"I'll talk to her when she wakes up," she said. "You need to rest. It's late. Stay over tonight."
He nodded and pulled out his phone to message his mom, telling her he'd be staying at Shane's.
Charlotte patted his arm and stood. "I'll go get you something from the kitchen—"
His hand shot out before he even realized what he was doing. He grabbed her wrist, and his grip was tighter than it should have been — almost desperate, like some part of him was convinced that if he let go, she'd disappear.
Charlotte looked surprised, but her expression softened quickly.
"I'm just going to the kitchen," she said, gently but clearly. "Nothing's going to happen."
She slipped away, and Kray sat there quietly, staring at the floor.
When did I get like this?
He never showed this much emotion in front of anyone. He thought he was better at keeping himself contained. Clearly, tonight had found a crack in something he hadn't known was fragile.
A few minutes later Charlotte returned, still in her nightdress, purple hair falling loose around her shoulders, carrying two cups of something warm and sweet-smelling. She handed one to him and settled beside him.
"Here."
"Thank you," he said. Then, after a beat, "For all of this."
She just smiled at him — that quiet, easy smile she had — and looked at the sleeping girl on the sofa.
"Doesn't this look like a happy little family?" she said softly.
Kray let himself sit with the image for just a moment. The warm room. The sleeping child. Charlotte beside him.
It wasn't the worst thought in the world.
But then the memory of the alleyway came back. And behind it, the weight of everything that lay ahead. He smiled, but it came out helpless.
"Maybe," he said. "But it's not real. Just a fantasy."
Charlotte's expression shifted — only slightly, only for a second — but he caught it. There was nothing he could do about it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
She stood and smoothed her nightdress. "She seems fine. She'll probably be awake by morning." She glanced at the other end of the sofa. "You take the couch. Get some sleep."
That night, three people slept under one roof.
A boy whose destiny was still undefined, still unraveling at the edges. A woman whose origins were as mysterious as the thoughts behind her eyes. And a girl whose entire life had been turned upside down in the span of a single night.
Three people. Three fates. Three stories that none of them yet knew were already beginning to twist together.
The Next Morning
Kray jolted awake to the sound of crying.
He was off the couch before he was fully conscious, heart already loud in his chest — and then he saw her. The girl from last night, sitting up on the sofa, sobbing. Charlotte was crouched beside her, speaking softly, one hand held out in a careful, non-threatening way. But the girl wasn't calming down.
The moment the girl's eyes landed on Kray, something changed.
She scrambled up and ran to him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his side. The crying got louder, the kind that came from somewhere deep and exhausted.
Kray stood there, stiff, completely at a loss.
Charlotte stood up and gave him a helpless look. "She woke up crying. I tried everything I could think of. Apparently you're the one she wants."
He looked down at the small hands gripping his shirt and felt something in him go very still.
Okay. Okay.
He did the only thing that felt right. He placed his hand on top of her head, slowly, and said in a low, even voice —
"You're going to be okay."
He said it again. And again. A quiet, steady repetition until it became less of a promise and more of something solid to hold onto.
Gradually, the crying softened. Her grip loosened. Her breathing evened out.
And then she looked up at him — big green eyes, still wet, still searching his face for something — and said in a small, very certain voice:
"Dad."
Silence.
Kray didn't move. He didn't speak. He just stood there while that single word rearranged something in the air around him.
...This isn't going to be simple, is it.