(Austin Chen's POV)
She didn't let go.
Even after I carried her upstairs—cradled tight in my arms like when she was five and couldn't sleep after thunder—Ava clung to me.
I settled on the edge of the bed in her room.
She sat in my lap, her face pressed against my chest, breathing soft. Her hair—a waterfall of silk—cascaded over both of us, pooling in my lap and across the blankets like a living veil.
She hadn't spoken in five minutes.
Just… breathed.
Slow. Quiet. Still trembling a little.
I wrapped my arms around her tighter and kissed the top of her head.
"You're okay now," I whispered. "I've got you. No one will ever hurt you again, Ava. I promise."
Her fingers curled into my shirt.
I kept talking—not loud, not sharp like I was in boardrooms or back alleys, but soft. Gentle. The way you speak to porcelain you never want to crack.
"I'll burn the world before I let anyone scare you again. I don't care who they are. You're mine. You hear me? Mine to protect. Mine to hold."
Her breathing slowed even more.
Still awake.
But drifting.
"I'll stay right here," I murmured. "All night if you want. We'll stay just like this. You don't have to be brave for me. You don't have to pretend."
A soft sigh.
Then—
"Dada?"
My heart clenched.
"Yeah, baby?"
"I love you."
I kissed her forehead. "I love you more."
She was asleep a few seconds later.
Wrapped in my arms.
Safe in the one place no one—not even the world—could ever reach her.
And I stayed like that, still in my black suit and bloodstained shirt, holding my daughter and whispering over and over again:
"You're safe. You're safe. You're safe."