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Rescued, if I want to make myself feel better about it.

Extracted, if I want to sound military.

Protected, if I want to focus only on intent.

It doesn’t take too long to carry Kamden into the house and to the space that will become his bedroom.

The room looked fine earlier when I was dropping off the last of my supplies, but now it looks all wrong. I mean, there’s nothing technically wrong with it; it just looks too plain.

There’s a brand-new twin bed with the best mattress I could find, topped with quality sheets and a dark blue comforter. The walls are an off-white color, bare and boring. There’s a simple nightstand and one wooden dresser that currently has the lamp on it since I didn’t want to give him any possible projectiles.

It’s nothing I should be bothered by, really. It’s a safe, comfortable place for him. Maybe he’ll want to decorate it later on—much later on, once we’ve gotten through the rough patch I imagine will start the moment he wakes.

I lower him onto the bed, supporting his neck until his head rests against the pillow. Once he’s down, I crouch and remove his shoes, then stare at him, not loving what I have to do next.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the pack of zip ties. I feel bad doing it because I know it’ll scare the shit out of him when he wakes up, but I also know how fast people can come up swinging after the sedation fades. I don’t need him hurting himself on top of everything else.

I stretch his left arm up, feed one zip tie around the closest slat in the headboard, secure it, then use a second to restrain Kamden’s bony wrist and feed it through the first before securing it.

I stand and stare at him for a full minute, waiting for the ugly taste in my mouth to dissipate. It’s not all too surprising when it doesn’t. Still, I need him safe.

I get the rabbit and the box from the car, realize the stuffed animal’s ear is still damp, and take it to the bathroom.

I do my best to get dirt off the ear in the sink, then use a clean towel to dry it as much as possible. It’s not pretty, and it would probably benefit from a cycle in the laundry, but at the same time, it’s old, worn, and I’m just not confident it wouldn’t fall apart and add to Kamden’s trauma.

Once it’s as ready as it can be, I bring it into the bedroom and place it in the crook of his free arm.

I get the urge to tuck him in, then curse myself because he’s already lying comfortably on the bedding, and I don’t want to move him.

I find a throw blanket amongst the items I brought for him, and it’ll just have to do for tonight.

After situating the blanket over Kamden, John’s box goes on the dresser where he can see it as soon as he wakes. I frown at the cracks from Kamden dropping it onto the pavement.

I’ll have to take care of it later.

The last thing I need is for him to open his eyes in a strange room, restrained to an unfamiliar bed, and discover the box containing everything he has left of his father has disappeared too.

I reposition it on the dresser, turning the cracked side toward the wall so it won’t be the first thing he notices.

Then I look back at him.

The sensible part of me knows that between what I used to get him here, the adrenaline crash afterward, how little he’s slept over the past several nights, and the fact that it’s already well past his usual bedtime, there’s a decent chance he’ll stay down until morning.

That would be preferable—for both of us.

There’s a small camera mounted high in the corner opposite the bed, angled so I can see the whole room. I installed it earlier along with the rest of the security measures, because however much I dislike the invasion of privacy, I dislike the prospect of Kamden waking alone, panicking, and hurting himself more.

I pull out my phone and open the security feed, verifying that the image is clear. I’m happy with it, so I lock the phone again and head to the door.

“Sleep until morning, sweetheart.”

I flick off the overhead light, and leave the lamp glowing on its lowest setting. Waking in total darkness somewhere unfamiliar seems unnecessarily cruel.

I lock the door behind me as I go out, then move through the home. Everything is already locked down, but I never sleep without double-checking.

I check the alarm panel last. Every zone is green. No faults, no open contacts.

I pull up the exterior cameras on my phone next, making sure everything’s fine out there, too. The driveway is empty except for my car, and the backyard is still. Nobody’s out there. No one followed us.