Bill's POV
It started after his seventh birthday.
Louis' parents suddenly remembered he existed. Not just as a heir to be molded, not as a trophy to display, but as… a child. A boy.
At first, it was subtle. Little attentions, a hand on the shoulder that didn't weigh like duty, a smile that didn't cut or measure him. But soon, it became deliberate.
They played games with him. They read stories. They praised him when he did well, scolded him when he didn't. Normal things, almost alien in their warmth.
And Louis… he soaked it up like sunlight after years in shadow. He laughed more. He ran through the halls without hesitation. He smiled without reserve.
I watched, careful to stay at the edges, a shadow beside him. My hands still smelled of blood and gun oil, my mind still sharp and deadly. But in those moments, I didn't feel like a weapon. I felt… necessary. Protective. Quietly proud.
Then came the adoption.
