Chapter 2

Shawn stood at the edge of the shadows, his gaze sharp as a blade, slowly sweeping over the small figures swaying in the blazing sun.

In his memory, Director Susan Miller was a gentle woman who couldn't bring herself to say a harsh word to any child.

The orphanage had been poor back then, but Susan would rather go to the market and pick through discarded vegetable scraps than let the children go without a warm bowl of porridge.

"How did it come to this?" Shawn muttered to himself, feeling something stir deep inside him — a volcano that had been frozen for years, beginning to tremble.

The children before him had shirts soaked through with sweat, clinging to their backs, outlining every thin, bony rib.

Some of them were already rolling their eyes back — a sign of severe dehydration.

He drew a slow breath and forced down the murderous rage rising in his chest.

He was the Arctic Marshal. When his anger flared, the temperature around him seemed to drop. He was afraid of frightening these already fragile children.

Shawn walked into the courtyard and crouched down in front of a little girl with pigtails.

She was a pretty child — even with her face drenched in sweat, there was a sharp, lively look about her. But right now, her lips were cracked and peeling white.

"Hey there, little one," Shawn said, trying to make his voice sound as gentle as a big brother next door. "Can you tell me your name?"

The girl slowly lifted her eyelids, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mister... my name is Linda..."

"Good girl, Linda." Shawn pulled an unopened bottle of water from his pocket, twisted off the cap, and held it out to her. "Can you tell me who made you all stand out here in the sun?"

Linda glanced at the water. Her throat moved on its own. Then she shook her head sharply, pulled her hands behind her back, and said in a small, timid voice, "It was Grandma Director... Grandma said we did something wrong and have to reflect on it here. I can't drink it. Grandma won't be happy if I do."

Grandma Director?

Shawn's pupils shrank. His expression turned dark as iron.

"She doesn't deserve to be called your grandma!"

Shawn shot to his feet, his voice cutting and cold. "Leaving you out in the sun on a day like this — she's trying to kill you! There's no cruelty like a woman gone cold. She's out of her mind!"

"Waaah—!"

To Shawn's surprise, Linda burst into tears at his outburst.

She wiped her face and sobbed out loud, "You're the crazy one! You're the bad guy! Don't you dare talk about Grandma Director like that! Grandma does it because she cares about us... You're a bad man! Go away!"

"Yeah! You're the bad guy! Leave Grandma Director alone!"

"Go away! Bad man, go away!"

The quiet line of children erupted all at once. Even the ones who had been barely standing were now glaring at Shawn, and some bent down to pick up pebbles from the ground and throw them at him.

Shawn stood frozen as a small stone struck him in the chest.

He didn't dodge. He didn't get angry.

Watching these children defend the very person who had punished them, with everything they had, Shawn felt something complicated settle in his chest. That pure, unguarded love reminded him of himself and his sisters, all those years ago.

It meant that in their everyday lives, this director must have treated them with real kindness.

And that only made the questions weigh heavier on him.

What could have happened to turn a gentle, warm-hearted old woman into someone capable of this?

"I'm going to see for myself just how much she 'cares' about them."

Shawn turned and walked with long, quick strides toward the three-story building.

The moment he stepped forward, a dull thud came from behind him, followed by the children's terrified screams.

"Linda! Linda, what's wrong?"

Shawn's face changed. He moved like a shadow, and in a fraction of a second, caught Linda before she hit the ground.

The pavement was hot enough to fry an egg. If Linda had gone down face-first, it would have been bad.

Linda's face had gone completely white. Her eyes were shut. Her forehead was burning.

Shawn was not only the Arctic Marshal who made nations tremble — he was also known on the battlefield as a healer who had saved countless lives.

He pressed two fingers to Linda's pulse and read it in an instant.

"Severe heatstroke. Mild dehydration. Heart rate too fast."

He let out a quiet breath of relief. Good. No lasting damage.

He picked Linda up and shouted at the children scrambling around him, "Everyone move — get into the shade! Anyone still standing out here, and I'm dragging your director away!"

The children froze.

Shawn didn't wait. He carried Linda inside the first-floor hall in a few quick steps.

A fan was running inside. The air it pushed was warm, but still better than outside.

He laid Linda on a bench and was about to use acupuncture to bring her temperature down when a rush of hurried, uneven footsteps came from outside.

"Linda! What happened to my Linda?"

A frantic voice rang out at the doorway.

Then several people in orphanage uniforms rushed in, surrounding a white-haired woman.

Linda, still unconscious, seemed to hear the voice. Her eyelids fluttered. She murmured weakly, "Grandma Director... I'm sorry... Linda's useless... Linda couldn't stay standing..."

"You silly child, don't talk. It's my fault, I shouldn't have..."

The old woman threw herself down beside the bench, tears streaming down her face.

Shawn slowly stood up, his eyes locking onto the woman's face.

It had been over a decade. The years had carved deep lines into her skin. The long golden hair he remembered had turned to stark silver.

But the way she carried herself — that warmth written into her very bones — Shawn could never mistake it.

"Susan?"

The word hit him like a thunderclap. His whole body went rigid, as if struck by lightning.

The person he had cursed, the person he had called a madwoman — she was really Susan. The director he had thought about for fifteen years. The woman who was as close to a mother as he had ever known.

Susan stiffened at the sound of her name.

She looked up slowly, her eyes clouded with tears, searching the face of this man whose presence filled the room like a force of nature.

"You... who are you? How do you know my old name?"

Ever since the orphanage had expanded, everyone called her Director Miller, or Grandma Miller.

"Susan" — only the earliest children, from over a decade ago, had ever called her that.

And the one who had said it most often was the skinniest boy, the one who was afraid of the dark and always on the verge of tears.

Shawn's lips trembled. He looked at Susan's rough hands and tired eyes. He had prepared so many things to say, but now not a single word would come.

He couldn't understand it. The Susan who had once been afraid to raise her voice around children — how had she become this?

What had happened in New York all these years? What secret was this orphanage hiding — something he wasn't sure he was ready to face?