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Minho was supposed to disappear clean. "New name, new city, no ties, no traces" was the deal he made the night he walked out of the OSF for good. He wasn't supposed to be hiding two newborns in a bathroom by sunrise. He wasn't supposed to be alone, without his mate.
He doesn't know how to feed a baby. He doesn't know how to hold one. He knows seventeen ways to kill an alpha with a hotel hand towel and exactly zero lullabies, and the only person who could have taught him the rest is gone.
But something found him in the water tonight. Something with purple eyes and a steady paw and a tongue rough against his cheek. Something that walked into the trees without leaving a single print on the bank, and felt, impossibly, like a promise.
Now, he has two daughters, a gun wrapped in a hotel towel, and a list of people who would kill all three of them before breakfast if they knew where to look. He has dawn pushing grey through the curtain. He has his obachan's smile on his own mouth and pine sap still ghosting in the air where there shouldn't be any pine.
It will have to be enough. He will have to be enough.
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