June's gaze lingers on Grace, unmoving, as silent tears continue to trail down her cheeks.
What is she dreaming about... that could bring her such sorrow?
The question echoes in his heart like a whisper he can't silence. An overwhelming urge rises within him—to climb down from his bed, to reach out, to gently wipe away her tears with his own hands. But he restrains himself, jaw tightening, and remains still in the darkness.
Grace no longer murmurs in her sleep. Her tears, too, have finally ceased, yet a quiet sadness clings to her face like morning mist. Bathed in the silver-blue light spilling in from the window, she looks fragile—almost otherworldly. Julian lies motionless, watching her, a dull ache blooming in his chest.
Just the sight of those drying tears, of that gentle sorrow etched into her expression, is enough to make his heart twist painfully.
And then, the thought comes—sharp, unwelcome, undeniable.
Do I like her?
Julian jerks his head slightly, as if to shake the notion loose before it roots itself any deeper. He shifts, presses his head back against the pillow, eyes clenched shut.
No… no way.
He tries to shut her out. To push away the image of her—the softness of her voice, the warmth of her presence, the way she laughs with her whole heart. He tells himself it's foolish. A passing emotion. A trick of the night.
But his heart already knows the answer.
No matter how fiercely he tries to forget, no matter how many times he tells himself it's impossible, she's already there—tucked quietly inside the most vulnerable part of him.
With a deep breath, Julian lifts his upper body from the bed, careful not to make a sound. He glances down at the smaller bed beside his, the one reserved for guardians. Grace lies there, finally at peace, her breath light and steady.
Moonlight spills across her like a gentle blessing, illuminating the curve of her face. Julian's eyes trace her features with aching reverence—her soft, rounded cheeks, her plump lips, the straight line of her brows and long lashes resting like feathers on her skin. Her nose—neither too high nor too low—fits her face just right, and her delicate chin completes the beautiful shape of her visage. One slender arm lies above the blanket, unmoving, as if even in sleep she remains quietly composed.
That's when it settles in.
Clear. Quiet. Unavoidable.
I like this girl…
The truth hums through Julian's chest like a secret finally spoken aloud in his soul. I can't deny it anymore.
His mind drifts—unbidden—back to that day in Mellany. The moment he knocked the gangster to the ground, adrenaline pulsed through his veins… and then, he looked at her. Really looked at her.
Grace.
Eyes wide in shock, hair tousled, her expression unreadable.
From that moment on...
A slow breath escapes him as the corners of his lips lift—just slightly—into a faint, symmetrical smile. It's barely there, more an echo of realization than joy.
I liked her. From the very beginning.
He had tried so hard to run from it. From the tension that built in his chest whenever she was near. From the way her presence shifted the atmosphere around him. From the confusing calm and chaos she brought all at once.
But now… he can't outrun it. Not anymore.
The smile fades as quickly as it came. Julian's expression hardens.
But I can't.
His head drops slightly, and he shakes it with quiet finality.
I can't like her with Hannah in my heart.
That truth is rooted deeper than the one before. Immovable. Heavy.
He knows what it would mean to betray those memories—to betray Hannah. Her laughter, her quiet strength, the promise of something that once felt unshakable.
Even if Hannah is gone… even if Grace is here.
Even if his heart is slowly, helplessly beginning to choose someone else.
Warm light spills gently across her face, and Grace stirs beneath the covers. Her eyelashes flutter before she slowly opens her eyes, blinking into the soft morning sunlight that filters through the window.
Where… is this place?
For a fleeting moment, she forgets. The sterile ceiling. The faint beeping in the distance. The crisp sheets beneath her.
Then it all rushes back in.
The screech of tires. The rush of wind. Julian's body shielding hers. The sudden impact.
She remembers everything—how he got hurt, how he collapsed in front of her after pushing her out of harm's way.
A dull ache tugs at her wrist, and she glances down. The bandage is still there. She presses it lightly, then uses her other hand to push herself up, rising from the guardian's bed just beside the patient's.
She looks toward the patient's bed—the one slightly elevated from hers.
Empty.
Her eyes widen slightly as she scans the space, but he's not there.
Reaching for her phone, she checks the time. It's 7:45 a.m.
He already woke up, I guess…
She exhales quietly, but the stillness inside her doesn't last long. Another memory surfaces—one that feels heavier in a different way.
Right… I had that dream again.
Her gaze softens as her eyes fall closed, brows slightly furrowed as she tries to recall the pieces. The feelings are vivid—lingering like the scent of rain—and the details are also clear right now.
Okay, I have to write it down right now.
She opens her eyes and, without hesitating, reaches for her phone again. Fingers moving swiftly, she opens the Notes app and begins to type, trying to trap the pieces of her dream before they slip away completely.
[I was sitting on the edge of the bed with Angel beside me. She began to speak, her voice calm but steady.
"This is what we do… Our work is to find people who've been kidnapped or falsely arrested and sent away to be sold," she said. "Our main role is to rescue them and return them to their homes. And if they've lost their homes… we help relocate them—to shelters, or for children, to orphanages where they can be properly cared for."
I flinched at that. It wasn't something I had expected to hear.
So June… that man who looked exactly like Julian—his rescuing me from those soldiers hadn't been a coincidence after all.
"Wow… you all do something incredible," I say slowly, trying to grasp the gravity of it. "Since when did you all start this work?"
"When the war started," she answers, her voice steady. "That's when more and more people got kidnapped or arrested and sold. Both by the opposing soldiers or by the human trafficking brokers, who take advantage of the chaos."
I sighed deeply, a heavy weight settling in my chest as I processed her words. I understood what she meant. I've experienced it firsthand. I was about to be thrust into a future I couldn't even imagine—one filled with uncertainty and danger—until June showed up and rescued me.
Angela gave a soft shake of her head, her expression sobering.
"This work is really dangerous, to be honest. We've already lost…" She paused, her gaze dropping for a moment before continuing. "Six of our friends during missions."
My heart sank. That was when I realized how naïve my response had been.
"I'm so sorry," I murmured, guilt washing over me.
Angela looked back up and shook her head gently.
"No… but it's fulfilling. We get to save a girl like you. Isn't that worth it?"
I smiled faintly, my heart warm with gratitude I hadn't felt in a long time.
Then she asked, gently this time, "Can I ask more in detail… how you got separated from your family?"
"Well…" I began, but the tears came before the words could follow.
It was wartime. Things like this happen often these days. But I never thought… I never imagined it would happen to me.
I always believed we'd be safe—together. That no matter how close the war came, it wouldn't touch us. But then… it did.
"They attacked our village," I whispered, my voice shaking. "We were just sleeping in the middle of the night. I woke up to the sound of bombs—everywhere. I looked outside and saw houses nearby on fire. I ran to the living room… and my parents, my two brothers, my grandmother—they were all already up. We ran out of the house and…"
My words caught in my throat. I couldn't go on. The memories tightened in my chest like a noose.
Angela reached for my hands, her touch warm and steady, her expression full of sorrow.
"I'm so sorry…" she whispered.
I bit my lower lip, trying to push the grief back down where it usually stayed buried, and forced myself to continue.
"And the soldiers were out there… with guns. All of us just ran—different directions. I heard gunshots from behind us. I don't know if it was aimed at my family or not…"
Angela's voice broke in again, soft as a breeze. "Oh, I'm so sorry…"
I nodded, trembling.
"I tried to go back to the house… a few days later. I'd been hiding—just running through neighborhood houses, into the mountains, anywhere to stay away from the soldiers. And when I finally made it back…" My voice cracked. "I couldn't find them. They were gone. That's when I got captured."
Angela didn't say anything at first. She just pulled me into her arms and held me close, patting my back with slow, comforting motions.
"It must have been so hard, Hannah…" she murmured. "I'm so, so sorry."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let it all out.
I cried against her shoulder—really cried. It was the first time I had ever told the full story. The first time I had someone simply sit and listen.]