He didn’t.
Two years passed.
Time, as it tends to do, moved forward whether he was ready or not, carrying him into a version of life that felt unfamiliar but slowly became manageable. He adjusted. He learned. He rebuilt something resembling routine. But Titan remained a fixed point in his mind, a question without an answer, a story without an ending.
Then, on a cold morning that didn’t seem significant until it was, everything shifted.
Daniel had gone to the county shelter with a simple intention—to drop off donated supplies from his old precinct, blankets and food collected by officers who still checked in on him more often than they needed to. It was the kind of errand that felt small, almost insignificant, but it gave him a reason to stay connected, to feel like he was still part of something larger than himself.
