His breath hitched as he tried again, voice trembling, insisting through tears that Anna knew him, that she trusted him, that she had always been safe with him. But even as he said it, his chest caved inward at the sight of her shrinking further into Lydia’s arms, her small hands gripping at Lydia’s coat as though she were clinging to the last solid thing left in her world.

Cain’s grip tightened on Bear’s shoulder—not harsh, but firm, grounding—because he could feel Bear’s knees threatening to give way. And for a moment, neither man spoke. The forest around them seemed to shrink into a single, suffocating silence broken only by Anna’s trembling breaths and Bear’s choked attempts to steady himself.

He wasn’t angry at her fear. He wasn’t hurt by her pulling away. What broke him was knowing why.

That Celia and Ray had twisted everything they could, that they had dragged Anna through terror so severe it rewired her instincts. They had poisoned moments that once held laughter and trust. They had forced Bear into a nightmare so cruel that now even his presence felt like danger to the child he had risked everything to save.

Bear swallowed hard, his voice barely holding together as he whispered that all he wanted was to make sure she was safe. But Cain shook his head—not in disagreement, but in grim acknowledgment that this wasn’t something Bear could fix tonight. Not with words. Not with promises. Not even with the truth.

“Give her time,” Cain murmured quietly, his tone lacking its usual edge. “She’s in shock. She doesn’t understand what’s happened yet.”

But Bear only closed his eyes, shoulders crumpling inward as if the weight of the entire night had finally settled fully upon him. He nodded—once, shallowly, painfully—because there was nothing else he could do. He couldn’t take away her fear. He couldn’t make her look at him the way she had yesterday. All he could do was stand there, a silent wreck, while the paramedics lifted Anna gently into their care.

Lydia brushed past him, offering a small, tight nod that carried both gratitude and heartbreak. Sam followed, casting Bear a look filled with sympathy he was too shattered to absorb. And as the flashing ambulance lights cut across the clearing, Bear remained rooted to the spot.

Cain didn’t try to move him again. He simply stayed beside him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ground as though guarding the last remnants of Bear’s strength.

And when the ambulance doors finally closed around Anna, Bear exhaled a sound that wasn’t quite a sob and wasn’t quite a breath—a raw, broken release that carried every moment of fear, guilt, and helplessness he had been forced to endure.

He whispered her name once more—not to call her back, but because letting it sit on the air felt like the only way he could hold onto her without causing more pain.

The grave remained beside him, half-dug, a cruel symbol of what nearly happened. A reminder of the nightmare Celia and Ray had pushed him into. A reminder of how close he had come to losing everything.

And in that haunting, hollow silence, Bear understood the truth that would follow him long after the soil settled:

Saving Anna was only the beginning. The damage Celia and Ray had inflicted would not heal overnight. And no matter how deeply it broke him, Bear would have to take each step forward slowly—quietly—until Anna could look at him again without fear in her eyes.

Because he would never hurt her.

And that alone was the truth he clung to.