It had been months.
Ryan didn't realize it at first—not in a clear way. Time blurred when every day looked the same: meetings, files, bloodless decisions made behind locked doors.
But the ache crept in quietly.
He noticed it when he reached for his phone and stopped.
When he opened Kia's contact and stared at the name without pressing call.
When he told himself not now—and then told himself that again the next day.
Kia's absence wasn't loud.
It was constant.
Ryan sat alone in his office, the city spread out below him like something already conquered. His fingers hovered over the screen.
Just one call.
No expectations. No apologies. Just to hear his voice.
His thumb lowered—
The phone rang.
Ryan froze.
Not Kia.
The caller ID made his breath hitch.
"Hey," he answered quickly.
The background was noisy—soft laughter, movement, the familiar chaos of children who felt safe.
"Daddy!" a small voice chirped. "Auntie said we could call you."
Ryan closed his eyes briefly.
"Hi, my love," he said softly. "Are you behaving?"
"Yes! Auntie braided my hair like you do. Is it neat?"
Ryan smiled despite himself. "Perfect. Just like always."
They talked for a while—small things. School. Food. What they'd watched that day. Normal. Gentle.
Then came the pause.
The one Ryan had been dreading.
"Daddy," the kit asked quietly, "when is Kite coming back?"
Ryan's chest tightened.
Another voice joined in, softer. "We miss him."
Ryan leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Kia with them—laughing, patient, warm. Kia fixing things without being asked. Kia existing in their world like he belonged there.
Because he did.
But they didn't know the truth.
And Kia didn't either.
"He's fine," Ryan said carefully. "Just busy right now."
"Did we do something wrong?"
"No," Ryan said immediately, voice firm despite the ache. "Never that. Kite loves you. He's just… handling grown-up things."
"Oh," the kit said, clearly unconvinced. "Tell him we said hi."
Ryan swallowed. "I will."
The call ended.
Ryan stayed where he was, phone still pressed to his ear long after the line went dead.
That was when Liam spoke.
"You should go back to him."
Ryan didn't turn. "No."
Liam leaned against the desk, eyes sad. Not jealous. Not angry.
Just honest.
"You're hurting," Liam said quietly. "And so are the kids."
Ryan laughed once—short, humorless. "Pain is manageable."
"You don't have to do this alone."
"Yes," Ryan said. "I do."
Liam watched him carefully. "You love him."
Ryan finally turned.
"And that's the problem."
Silence stretched.
"If I go back to Kia," Ryan continued, voice low, controlled, "I'll feel human again. And humans hesitate. They forgive. They break."
He looked down at his hands.
"I can't afford that."
Liam's voice softened. "You don't have to be a monster to win."
Ryan met his gaze, eyes cold and resolved.
"I do."
Because monsters didn't flinch.
Monsters didn't reach for warmth.
Monsters survived long enough to burn entire organizations to the ground.
Ryan turned back to the window, the city reflecting in his eyes like something already lost.
"Tell no one I wavered," he said.
Liam nodded, heart heavy. "I won't."
Ryan picked up his phone again.
Not to call Kia.
To lock himself deeper into the darkness he'd chosen.
Because if becoming a monster was the price of keeping them all alive—
Then so be it.