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I did too.

That’s on me, but it won’t happen again.

I flex my leg absently, testing the healed muscle. It pulls, a faint reminder of the miscalculation on my part, but I welcome it regardless. Pain is data if you know how to read it.

Adrian’s no little lamb to the slaughter. A wolf in sheep's clothing, if you will.

Or worse.

Who and what he is… is still up for debate.

Chapter 6

Adrian

The morning air is crisp enough to bite when I pull into the reserve. I park near the entrance, camera bag slung over my shoulder. The gravel crunches under my sneakers as I follow the main path, breath clouding faintly when I exhale. Patches of mist still cling to the dam, rippling as ducks skim across the surface.

I raise my camera, catching the slant of morning warmth as it filters through the canopy. It paints the leaves in golds and ambers, soft enough to feel almost reachable through the lens. I crouch low, adjusting the focus, catching the thread of a spiderweb trembling between two reeds.

Click.

Click.

The shutter calms me with its mechanical familiarity.

I move on, now kneeling near a cluster of sedums—or better known as stonecrops. They’re small, hardy succulents that bring bold colour and texture to fall gardens with their clusters of star-shaped flowers in hues of pink.

I adjust the lens, frame the shot, and just as I press the shutter, a sharp bark cuts through the scene. Then pounding footsteps approach rapidly.

Before I can turn, a blur of golden fur crashes straight into the flower bed, tail wagging like it’s powered by a small engine. Dirt scatters and stems snap. I jerk back instinctively, camera clutched tight as something solid collides with me.

“Hey-”

The dog’s front paws hit my shoulders, and its weight throws me off balance, breath knocking loose from my chest as the beast crowds my space. Tongue wet and insistent against my jaw, its breath smelling faintly of grass and river water.

I lock in place, feel my nerves spike, then release the motion.

“Ender.” A voice cuts in cleanly, vibrating low and controlled. The dog huffs but listens, backing off just enough to sit, tail still thudding against the ground, arguing the point. I wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

“Sorry for that,” the man says, sounding closer, and I look up. My eyes scale black joggers and a white T-shirt that strains over his chest, revealing ink on the side of his arm. Then my attention shoots up to his eyes as the realization sinks in.

Dante extends a hand toward me without any hesitation whatsoever.

I don’t take it right away, and that pause doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Here, let me help you up,” he says again, quieter this time. “You okay?”

His touch is warm. Firm. Calloused in a way that suggests use, not labor per se, but something. He pulls me upright with controlled force, releasing me immediately once I’m steady, but not before I check the skin on the back of his hand.

No bite marks.

As the habit goes, ever since my ‘run-in’ with that masked psycho the night Xavier died.

‘Missing’, I mean.

The contact lingers regardless, and my body doesn’t correct as fast as it should. Shit, not this again. I take a step back to reset distance. I exhale through my nose, slow and controlled.

Of course it’s him, of all people I run into today.