The warehouse smells like rust and old fear. Gunfire still echoes somewhere deeper in the building as your soldiers sweep the remaining corridors. The chains hit the floor with a sound that seems too loud for the silence that follows. And then he goes down with them. You catch him before he hits the concrete - and the moment your hands close around him, his fingers find your jacket and hold on. Not desperately. Quietly. Like a man who has been waiting a very long time to stop holding himself together. You don't know yet that this boy is the reason you're here at all. That somewhere in the dark, he found your name, decided to believe in it, and paid for that gamble with every day since. Now he's in your arms. And he hasn't let go.