Kian didn't let hesitation creep into his movements.
He wasn't someone who fumbled for words, who let things slip between moments, who waited for permission.
And now—standing before Chloe Redgrave, watching her guarded stance, her fingers tightening around her son's hand—he felt the weight of time pressing between them.
Six years.
And yet, she still looked at him like she wasn't sure whether to acknowledge or retreat.
His lips curved slightly—not amusement, not arrogance—something quieter.
"Didn't think I'd ever see you back in Marquesia."
Chloe exhaled, sharp, precise. "Well, surprises happen."
Her tone was clipped. Detached.
But Kian? He wasn't fooled.
She wasn't indifferent.
She was aware. Completely, entirely aware.
He tilted his head slightly, scanning the hesitation in her gaze—the way she stood straighter, more guarded. She was protecting herself.
Carter shifted behind her, small fingers gripping tighter onto his mother's coat.
Kian noticed.
His voice didn't soften—but it smoothed, eased, pulled the tension slightly without breaking it.
"You don't have to hide, kid."
Carter stiffened.
Chloe's posture straightened slightly, protective, immediate.
But Kian didn't push.
Didn't force the moment.
Just let his words exist, settle, hold space.
And slowly, Carter blinked, curiosity flickering across his expression.
Because Kian Ashford wasn't someone who could be ignored.
Even by a child who didn't yet know why.