The door clicked shut behind him with a soft thud, the familiar creak echoing through the quiet house. The air was still, heavy with sleep. He rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of his boots, each movement dragging like gravity itself was pulling harder tonight. His shirt clung to his skin, wrinkled from the long hours, the scent of smoke and rain still faintly clinging to the fabric. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing old scars across his forearms. He didn't bother to fix his appearance—what was the point?

His scarred fingers brushed back a few strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes, and he glanced down the hallway. The bedroom was quiet, but he didn't head that way.

There it was.

A soft whimper from the nursery. Small, pitiful. It brought him back to life.

He moved silently down the hallway, the worn wooden floor cool under his socks. The dim light in the nursery spilled into the corridor, warm and golden. As he stepped inside, he saw her—tiny, swaddled, restless in her crib. Her lips quivered in the dark, eyes still shut but beginning to crinkle with the prelude of a cry.

"Tch," he breathed out quietly, voice hoarse.

His hands moved with care that would surprise anyone who didn't know him—steady, slow. He scooped her up, cradling her close to his chest. Her warmth seeped into him instantly, grounding him like it always did. Her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin, her breath fluttering against his neck like the beat of a moth's wings.

She was so light. It never stopped amazing him.

"You're making trouble for your mom again, aren't you?" he muttered softly, though there was no real bite to the words.

She fussed, wriggled, tiny fists brushing against his shirt.

He adjusted her, rocking gently. His feet shifted into a slow rhythm, back and forth, like he had done a hundred times before. The song came to him without thought—an old lullaby from somewhere far away, somewhere forgotten. He began to hum it low in his throat, soft enough to keep the quiet intact, but enough to fill the room.

She began to settle.

The tension in his chest eased ever so slightly.

He looked down at her, and something in him twisted. The kind of thing that didn't have words. Just raw, aching quiet. Her nose, her lashes, the way her mouth twitched when she was about to smile in her sleep.

Levi leaned down, brushing a kiss against her cheek. Her skin was impossibly soft, warm like fresh linen. The kiss lingered. He didn't pull away right away. He let his lips rest there just a second longer than he probably should have.

His scar pulled slightly as he shifted his face.

"You've got no idea how damn small you are," he whispered against her cheek. "And yet somehow, you've got the entire house under control."

She made a sleepy sound, a soft puff of breath against his collar.

He didn't realize how tired he was until he stopped swaying. Until the silence crept back in.

The lullaby faded from his lips.

He held her tighter, one hand brushing down her back, soothing her without needing to think. His eyes stayed on her face. She was almost asleep again.

He didn't need anyone else. Not right now.

Just her.

And maybe... just maybe... the warmth of the home he never thought he'd have.

He didn't notice the shadow in the doorway. Didn't hear the soft breath. His world was narrowed down to a bundle of blankets and a beating heart no bigger than his fist. A fragile life that had already brought him to his knees.

And still, he stood—quiet and still, cradling the only thing he knew he'd die to protect.