Ma belle- JJ Maybank

The Phantom

Clark Edwards bursts through the hospital doors, his heart pounding like a drum solo at a rock concert. Spotting the Pogues in the waiting room, he sprints over, his anxiety written all over his face. "Where is she? Where's my daughter?" JJ freezes, his shirt splattered with her blood, and gazes ahead in shock.

Kie, the voice of reason among the chaos, steps forward. "They rushed her into surgery. That's all we know for now." Clark nods solemnly and collapses into a chair between Pope and JJ, his sigh echoing through the tension-filled room. This breaks JJ out of his daze.

Clark buries his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the situation. "I just don't know what to do, you know. She's all I have left. I can't lose my little girl."

JJ wordlessly places a comforting hand on Clark's back, offering silent support. And miraculously, it helps.

"Freya Edwards," a nurse announces, entering the room, and all five jump to attention. "She lost a lot of blood, but thankfully the gunshot missed any fatal arteries." The collective exhale of relief fills the room like a gust of wind through an open window.

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JJ strolls into the room and spots the girl with the strawberry blonde hair wide awake. Her vibrant locks practically shout amidst the hospital's sea of beige. "Well, hey there, stranger," he greets her, unable to contain his relief. Without a word, he rushes forward and wraps her in a tight hug. "Hey hey, it's all good."

"Don't ever scare me like that, Freya," JJ blurts out, his emotions running high. Freya is at a loss for words, so she simply places a hand on his cheek. He reciprocates, their eyes locking in a silent conversation. The air between them crackles with an unexpected tension.

Holy shit, is this really happening? Freya's mind whirls with uncertainty. She's fond of JJ, but does he feel the same way about her? As their lips brush against each other, neither of them seems inclined to pull away anytime soon. That is until the nurse barges in to check on Freya, shattering the moment.

"How's everything going in here?" the unsuspecting nurse chirps, oblivious to the electric atmosphere.

"I'll catch you later," JJ murmurs, reluctantly stepping away and making his exit.

"Yeah," Freya replies softly, her mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events

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Clark gazes upon his daughter, Freya, nestled in the hospital bed, her delicate breaths echoing in the sterile room. A poignant memory dances through his mind as he watches over her.

In the vivid recollection, a tiny bundle of joy rests in the arms of a mysterious woman, perhaps Freya's mother, though her identity remains shrouded in the mists of the past. The infant, adorned with a mere wisp of hair forming a mischievous widow's peak, is serenaded by the gentle melody of her mother's lullaby.

Fast forward less than a year: Clark fiercely argues with his wife. Upstairs, oblivious to the storm brewing below, little Freya, barely a year old, sits in her crib, wrapped in innocence.

"I'm doing everything I can to provide for our family!" Clark's voice booms with conviction, frustration tinging his words.

"But he came to our house, Clark! He spoke to our daughter!" His wife's voice wavers, a tremor of fear underlying her words. "This... this isn't safe."