"Then... can you help this infant find a new home?" Seyfe asked, his voice low, uncertain, as his eyes remained locked on the female Veiler. The air between them felt heavy, as if the question carried more weight than he intended.
The Veiler didn't look up at first. She calmly reached for a diaper, her movements measured. "If that's all you want," she said, "then yes. I can find him a new home."
Seyfe lingered in silence, fists tightening at his sides. His thoughts clashed in his mind, none loud enough to silence the others. Finally, he spoke.
"How can you be so sure?" His voice cracked slightly, frustration bleeding through. "You don't know him. You don't know what he's been through. I can't just hand him over to someone who sees him as... an obligation."
Now she looked at him.
"And yet you're the one who brought him here," she said softly, but there was a sharpness beneath her tone. "You, who claim not to trust anyone."
Seyfe's lips parted, but nothing came. The Veiler stepped closer, the diaper still in hand.
"Why are you protecting him, Seyfe? He isn't your blood. You don't owe him anything. So why do you care?"
The words struck like a blow—too close to the truth he didn't want to face.
She watched him carefully, eyes narrowing just slightly. "Or is it that you see something of yourself in him? Something broken. Something no one else protected."
Seyfe's breath caught. The child stirred in his arms, a soft whimper breaking the silence. He looked down, jaw tight.
"I don't want him to grow up thinking this world doesn't care," he said at last. "Not like I did."
The Veiler stood still.
For a moment, her expression faltered—just slightly. The clinical detachment she wore like armor cracked at the edges. Bewilderment passed through her features, like she hadn't expected vulnerability from someone like him. Someone rough. Guarded. Angry.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
When she finally spoke, her voice was softer. Measured."That's not something people usually admit."Her eyes lingered on the infant, then rose to meet Seyfe's again. "Not unless they've lived it."
Seyfe didn't answer. He couldn't. The truth was already out, hanging heavy between them.
The Veiler took a step back, her demeanor still composed—but no longer untouched. Something had shifted.
"I'll find him a home," she said again, but this time there was no formality in her tone. No cold duty. "Not just any home. A safe one. I promise."
There was silence again—different this time. Less of a standoff. More of a shared wound left unspoken.
Seyfe cradled the baby, his arms instinctively tightening around the small bundle as he stared down at the infant's sleeping face. The Veiler's words still echoed in his head, unraveling old scars he thought had long since hardened over.
He didn't notice her at first—only the soft rustle of her robes as she stepped closer. When he looked up, she was there, just a breath away, her posture calm, unthreatening.
She didn't speak.
Instead, she slowly extended her arms, palms open, fingers slightly curled—not demanding, just… offering. A gesture that asked rather than ordered. Her eyes met his, not with authority, but with something quieter. Something close to empathy.
"Let me," she said gently, her voice barely more than a whisper.
Seyfe hesitated. His instincts screamed to hold on tighter, to protect, to shield. But something in her face—something in the way she approached—eased the coil inside his chest. Not trust… not yet. But maybe the faintest shadow of it.
His arms moved, slow and reluctant, as he carefully passed the child into her waiting hands.
Their fingers brushed in the exchange. Just for a moment.
But in that small, silent contact, a fragile understanding passed between them—one neither of them dared to name aloud.
The Veiler gently laid the baby down on the soft cloth she'd prepared earlier, her movements fluid and unhurried. There was no awkwardness in her hands, no hesitation—only the kind of calm precision that came from repetition, from knowing exactly what to do.
She removed the soiled diaper, cleaned the child with care, and dressed him in fresh clothes pulled from a small satchel nearby. Every fold, every button, was handled with the delicate attentiveness of someone who'd done this before. Not just once. Many times.
Seyfe stood nearby, silent. Watching.
It was... disarming.
She hadn't needed to say anything. The way she moved, the way her hands cradled the baby's head, how she soothed him with quiet hums—he saw it all. Not duty. Not obligation. Something else.
"You've done this before," Seyfe murmured, more to himself than her.
The Veiler glanced up, just briefly. A soft, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Yes," she said, adjusting the blanket around the infant with a final, gentle touch. "More times than I can count."
There was a long pause.
"Not many in my line of work know how to hold a child," she added, her voice distant, as if speaking to a memory rather than to him. "Let alone care for one."
Seyfe studied her. For the first time, she looked less like an official and more like someone real. Someone layered.
"Why?" he asked quietly. "Why do you?"
She didn't answer immediately. She simply looked down at the baby, smoothing a curl of hair from his forehead.
"Because someone has to."
Seyfe stood still, watching her.
An array of emotions stirred within him—uncertainty, relief, a strange ache he couldn't quite name. There was something grounding in the way she moved, in the care she gave without fanfare. It wasn't perfect, but it was human. And that, more than anything, eased the knot in his chest.
At least it wasn't a machine.At least it wasn't cold, calculated efficiency.That was enough.For now.
He was thankful, though he didn't say it outright. The words felt too fragile to speak.
Instead, after a moment of silence, he asked, "Right… how did you know my name?"
The Veiler paused, hands still lightly resting on the edge of the cloth wrapped around the child. Her eyes lifted to meet his, calm but attentive.
"As far as I remember," Seyfe went on, his voice low, "the last time I was registered was when I was five."
A faint flicker crossed her face. Not quite surprise—something more reserved. Almost like regret.
"You were flagged in the cross-check logs when your ID chip activated near the perimeter. Most people don't realize those old implants still work… at least partially."
She straightened, brushing her hands off. "The system picked up a name. Seyfe. That was all."
Seyfe's expression darkened slightly. "So I was tracked."
"You were found," she corrected softly. "There's a difference."
He didn't argue. But the word hung in the air like smoke.
"Is that so?" Seyfe muttered, more to himself than to her. His gaze drifted back to the infant, now quietly dozing, the soft rise and fall of its chest oddly comforting.
Still, the unease remained. A name from a system long forgotten. A Veiler who moved like a caregiver but spoke like a soldier. None of it sat easily in his mind.
The silence stretched, and then—without looking up—he asked, "How long before the Shift ends?"
The Veiler was quiet for a moment. The hum of distant machinery pulsed faintly through the walls, a subtle reminder that even in this pocket of calm, the world outside was still turning, still changing.
She finally answered. "Four hours. Maybe less, depending on how stable the outer sectors remain."
Seyfe frowned. "And after that?"
She gave a slow shake of her head. "Depends on what's left to return to."
Her words hung heavy, and not just because of what they meant. It was how she said them—without fear, without hope. Just fact. Like someone who'd seen too many cities vanish, too many promises collapse.
Seyfe exhaled through his nose, the weight settling back onto his shoulders. "Of course it does."
"Call me Aki," the female Veiler said suddenly, her tone even, but softer than before.
The words caught Seyfe off guard.
He blinked, startled—not by the name itself, but by the quiet vulnerability it carried. Names had weight. In their world, giving one away wasn't just a courtesy—it was a risk.
He took a breath, collecting himself, pushing down the instinct to recoil.
"Is it... fine for a Veiler to reveal their name to a civilian?" he asked, eyes narrowing just slightly, not with suspicion, but with genuine curiosity.
Aki didn't look at him right away. She finished tucking the cloth around the infant before answering.
"It's not standard protocol," she admitted, glancing up. "But then again, most Veilers don't change diapers during a Shift either."
There was a flicker of something in her expression—dry humor, maybe. Or something quieter. Tired. Human.
Seyfe stared at her for a beat longer. Then, finally, he allowed himself a small, fleeting smirk.
"Fair enough," he muttered.
For him Aki was a strange individual.