Alice couldn't sleep.
The shelter bed was stiff. The pillows smelled of detergent and dust. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly in the hallway outside. Somewhere down the corridor, a baby was crying. But none of it compared to the ache gnawing through her chest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother's hand slipping, her father's face disappearing into the sea.
Tears soaked her cheeks again. Her body curled tighter under the rough blanket, but the cold didn't go away. Nothing did.
Except one thing.
Elvin.
He hadn't let go of her hand since the police handed her over. Even now, he sat in the corner of the room on a low chair, military jacket still on, legs stretched out, eyes closed—but never asleep. She could tell by the way his hand tightened slightly every time she shifted in bed.
That hand. So strong, so steady. So different from her father's, yet oddly reassuring.
Alice sat up slowly. Her fingers clutched the edge of the blanket as she turned to face him. The room was silent, but her thoughts were loud.
Who was he really? Why had Mama never mentioned him before? Why did he come?
"Elvin?" Her voice was hoarse, just a whisper.
His eyes opened instantly. Alert. Sharp. Military.
But when he looked at her, it softened.
"Yes, Alice?"
"Why did you come?" she asked. "You didn't have to…"
He didn't answer immediately. He leaned forward instead, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. "Your mother… she raised me. She was the only family I had when I was younger. She taught me how to shave, how to iron, how to not punch boys who bullied me. When I was eighteen, she sent me off to the army with tears in her eyes." He paused, swallowing thickly. "When I got the call about the accident, I was stationed nearby. I came as fast as I could."
Alice's lips trembled.
He continued, voice low. "She used to send me your drawings. Your birthday photos. She talked about how smart you were… how you loved stories."
She looked down. "I do."
"I know." He smiled faintly. "I read one of your fairy tales last year. The one where the princess had a sword and saved the prince."
Alice blinked. "You really read it?"
He nodded. "Every word."
Something in her chest warmed, just a little.
Then came the silence again.
"Elvin…" Her voice cracked this time, and her eyes filled once more. "They're not coming back… right?"
His face changed, not with denial, not with empty hope. But with a pain she recognized—real, grounded, and heavy.
"No," he said softly. "They're not."
The tears broke through again, and this time she didn't hold them back.
Elvin rose from the chair. Without hesitation, he came to her side and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't ask for permission. He just opened his arms.
Alice threw herself into them.
He held her firmly, like he'd done on the cliff. One hand cradled her head, the other wrapped around her shaking back. No soothing words. Just silence. A silence that made room for grief, and held it gently.
She sobbed against his chest, soaking his uniform. "I don't want to be alone."
"You're not," he whispered against her hair. "As long as I'm breathing, you'll never be alone."
Her arms clung tighter around his neck.
In that moment, Alice didn't care who he was. She didn't care where they were. The pain was still there—deep and raw—but so was something else.
A warmth.
A pulse.
A stranger who wrapped her broken pieces in his quiet strength.
That night, under the hum of hospital lights and the weight of loss, Alice fell asleep in Elvin's arms—safe, for the first time since the world had crumbled.