The van rumbled to a stop under the silver spill of moonlight. Cal shifted in his seat, brushing his thumb across the polished surface of the short sword now strapped to his side—Fangbite, Selene had called it. He glanced at the modest home before them; two stories, quiet, with a trimmed but weathered lawn and shuttered windows that practically trembled with caution.
As the operatives fanned out silently, taking their pre-planned positions around the house and nearby perimeter, Cal walked alone toward the door. He adjusted the collar of his charcoal-gray jacket, the suspenders beneath it biting lightly into his shirt as he moved. The weight of the mission, the responsibility on his shoulders, settled in like cold fog.
He knocked and for a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Then, a sound. Metal sliding.
A small hatch built into the center of the wooden door slid open with a groan. Through the rectangle of darkness, a pair of tired eyes behind thick glasses peered out, blinking warily.
"Who are you?" the man asked, voice trembling.
"I'm your protection detail," Cal said calmly. "We're here on police protection duties. We're here to help."
There was a pause, long enough that Cal felt a prickle of tension.
Then the door creaked open, revealing Mr. Grant Mason fully. He was in his late 40s, dressed in a rumpled button-down and slacks. His glasses were slightly crooked, his hands jittering around the crowbar he held tight against his chest. Despite his fear, he tried to mask it with fatherly determination. The kind that screamed: I'll die before anything gets to my family.
Cal glanced past him.
Standing in the hallway was Mrs. Elena Mason, a woman slightly younger than her husband, with sharp cheekbones and an anxious gaze. Clutched tightly to her hip was their daughter, Lily. Four years old. Her small fingers dug into her mother's blouse as she peeked out from behind her like a kitten under shelter.
Grant followed Cal's gaze, then stepped aside.
"You should come in."
Cal nodded and entered. "The rest of the men are stationed outside. You're covered on all sides. Nothing's getting in."
Mrs. Mason gave a grateful but still-nervous nod. Cal bent slightly, giving her a gentle smile. "Ma'am."
The little girl's voice piped up.
"Who are you?"
"Lily—" Elena said gently, but Cal crouched slightly to meet the child's gaze.
"I'm Cal," he said. "And I'm your guest for the next few days."
Mrs. Mason knelt beside her daughter and brushed a hand through her hair. "Remember what we said about the men outside? They're here to protect us. Cal is one of them. Be nice, sweetheart."
Lily gave a small, hesitant nod. "Okay…"
There was something warm about the exchange. Cal found himself moved by it. The mother's gentle way of comforting, the child's trust despite the tension in the air, it reminded him of what he was here to protect.
Later that evening, Cal was given a small guest room on the second floor. Nothing extravagant; just a bed, a dresser, and a window with the blinds drawn—but he appreciated the peace of it. Before long, Mr. Mason called him down for dinner.
The meal was simple: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and a quiet sense of trying to feel normal. They ate around a small round table in the kitchen. Mr. Mason sat at the head, Mrs. Mason to his right, Cal to his left, and little Lily perched between her parents.
Midway through the meal, Lily lifted a tiny chicken leg off her plate and extended it toward Cal.
"You can have this one," she said, smiling. "Because you're my new friend."
Grant chuckled softly. "She likes to share. Don't mind her."
Cal paused, smiling back.
He pushed his chair back, lowering himself to one knee beside Lily. He reached out and gently patted her on the head.
"Thanks, Lily. That means a lot."
She giggled and returned to her seat, her cheeks red with childlike pride. Cal returned to his seat with a slightly fuller heart than before.
After the plates were cleared, Elena and Lily moved to the kitchen to wash dishes and ready the girl for bed. Cal leaned slightly toward Grant, keeping his voice low.
"Do you have any idea who might be targeting your family?" he asked.
Grant shook his head slowly, weariness sinking into his features. "No. None. I've asked myself that every night since the killings started. I can't think of a single person with a grudge… not one."
Before Cal could press further, Lily returned. This time she carried a thick family photo album, nearly half her size, and dropped it onto the table with a thud.
"Wanna see my pictures?"
Cal smiled. "Sure."
She flipped through the pages with glee, pointing excitedly at various baby photos. "That's me! That's me again!". Her joy was infectious, and Cal found himself chuckling despite himself.
Then his hand stopped on a particular photo.
A younger Mr. Grant, standing with another man, slightly taller, leaner, in military uniform. They were shoulder to shoulder, the man's arm looped around Grant's back in a casual but firm way.
There was another picture beneath it: the same man, standing alone at attention in full dress uniform, saluting. Beneath the image, a quote: "A good death is its own reward."
Cal looked up. "Who's this?"
Grant leaned over and let out a soft breath. "That's Malvek. My best friend… well, used to be. He was stationed abroad after we stopped talking, military stuff. Ten years back. I heard he never came home. People said he died during one of the border conflicts out east. I stopped looking after that."
"A good death is its own reward..." Cal muttered. Mr. Grant scoffs and said "that's just something he liked saying"
"What happened between you two?" Cal asked.
Grant's expression clouded, but before he could answer, Elena re-entered, gently scooping Lily into her arms. "Time for bed, sweetie."
Lily reached out and waved as she was carried away. "Goodnight, new friend!"
Cal waved back. "Goodnight, Lily."
Elena smiled at Cal. "You should get some rest too. We haven't slept properly in days. It's a relief just having someone here."
Grant rose from his seat, brushing his hands along his pants. "She's right. I'll catch some sleep while I can. Thanks again, Cal."
They disappeared into the hallway.
Cal lingered at the table, flipping through the rest of the photo album idly until his communicator buzzed. He pulled it out.
Selene.
He clicked in.
"How's the site?" she asked, voice low and smooth through the speaker.
"Quiet so far. Nothing strange. The family's calm now."
"Good. Keep your eyes open. They might strike when you least expect it."
Cal nodded. "I will."
The call ended. He glanced out the window before heading upstairs. A gust of wind rustled the trees beyond the yard.
All was still. A silence that pressed gently against the walls, as if the house itself was holding its breath.