Sleepy Tani

What Lies Below

^{#3c6c6b ....|..... outfit ............... #fcb9c1 ....|..... outfit ............... boone's garage}

It only took a minute or two to walk anywhere along Main Street, and the diner was no different. As they started in that direction, Warren immediately slowed his pace to match Sutton’s stride, placing himself on the roadside edge of the sidewalk instinctually, without making a show of it as they slipped back into their easy conversation. They walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing as the soft thud of boots and click of heels beat in sync along the concrete. Their warm laughs and soft smiles preceded them as they neared Harv’s Diner.

Even with Main Street closed, the parking lot was packed at the height of lunchtime, with more cars lining backroads and alleyways. The bright neon lights shined like a beacon against the backdrop of the Black Hills and the ever present gloom that hung in the air around Pine Ridge like fog. The scent of grilled burgers and fresh brewed coffee hit them first before the soft ding of a bell and the murmuring wave of chatter that slipped out the door as an unfamiliar group of tourists left with wide smiles and full bellies. Sutton couldn’t help but watch them as they crossed her path, picking up small pieces of their conversation as they pointed at the various stalls and booths that littered the street with an enthusiasm that made all the hard work feel a little more worth it.

The walk to the diner passed far too quickly for Warren's liking. He matched Sutton's pace without thinking about it, long strides shortening naturally until they moved together down the sidewalk. Every so often their shoulders brushed, fleeting points of contact that somehow felt more significant than they should have. He found himself listening more than talking, content to hear her voice drift between them while the town bustled around the festival preparations. Somewhere along the way he realized he was smiling so much his face actually hurt.

By the time they reached the diner, he was already moving toward the door ahead of her. The motion came automatically. His hand caught the handle before it could swing shut and he stepped aside, the familiar grin returning the moment she looked up at him. "After you." The words came easily.

Sutton followed him up the stairs, her smile never once fading even as her gaze watched every step she took, if only to prevent her from making a fool of herself. When she reached the small landing, her eyes lifted until they met his gaze, smile softened as she whispered a quiet, "Thank you." When she went to take a step forward, she was stopped dead in her tracks by a small kid in a pumpkin costume, that was twice as wide as he was, waddling through the open door. Her smile widened at the sight, taking a small step back, drifting closer to Warren to make enough room for him to walk by.

Too focused on the overwhelming cuteness as it scurried past her, Sutton didn’t notice the parent trailing after him until a shoulder clipped sharply against her own. The force made her stumble back a step until she bumped into the broad plane of Warren’s chest. Her hand reflexively rubbed her shoulder with a muffled, "Ow," as her brows furrowed and her gaze trailed after the woman. "Excuse you," Sutton called after her with a scoff, already half writing her off before the words left her mouth.

The moment shattered when another figure pushed through behind the boy. Warren recognized Heather instantly. The collision happened before he could say anything. Sutton stumbled backward and he reacted on instinct, one hand settling firmly against her arm while the other found her waist to steady her before she could lose her footing entirely. His smile vanished. The warmth that had followed him all the way from the garage cooled several degrees as his gaze lifted from Sutton to Heather's retreating back. "You alright?" he asked first, attention returning immediately to Sutton. His thumb brushed once against her arm before he looked back toward Heather again, jaw tightening. Whatever apology Heather should have offered never came, and the absence of it irritated him far more than it should have. Warren shifted subtly closer to Sutton, broad shoulders squaring. He didn't say anything else, but the protective edge settling beneath his skin remained.

"Yeah…" Sutton’s voice was quiet and confused like she was trying to put together a puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces for. Her cheeks grew warm, but for an entirely different reason than they had at the garage. She was embarrassed for reasons she couldn’t even explain. It was like being caught redhanded doing something she shouldn’t, but she didn’t have a clue what she did in the first place. Her hand rubbed her shoulder as she slowly turned back toward the door. "Let’s just go."

Heather stood near the bottom of the stairs with her arms crossed over her chest, like she waited for the retaliation that never came. She almost looked disappointed before her expression shifted more to a bored lack of surprise. Of course, a woman like her was never satisfied until she had the last word. "You did always like my sloppy seconds, Lockwood," she mocked with a familiarity that tinged her words, twisting them into venom.

The irritation he'd been holding back since that morning snapped taut inside his chest. Heather had spent years finding ways to make everything uglier than it needed to be, and somehow she'd managed it again. His arm remained steady around Sutton as he turned his head toward his ex, eyes hard enough to cut glass.

"You don't get to say that shit to her." His voice wasn't raised. Somehow that made it worse. "Not when you're the walking embodiment of sloppy seconds after you cheated and lied to me, if you want to go I can go lower, or is that not why Jack’s father left you?" The words landed flat and final. Warren didn't wait for a response. He'd spent years listening to Heather's excuses. He wasn't interested in hearing another one.

The words cut deep, as they often did, but Sutton had learned to mask her discomfort years ago, and this was no different. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular across from her, almost pretending as if she didn’t hear rather than humoring Heather with a reaction. She had intended on dragging Warren into the diner and acting as if nothing happened, but then he spoke, drawing her attention toward him as she craned her head to the side to look up at him. It only took a second for her to realize what this could quickly devolve into, and no matter how terrible Heather was, Jack was just a kid.

She gave Warren’s hand a gentle tap, reassuring him without words that she was fine before slipping from his protective hold. She descended the stairs as if Heather wasn’t standing just out of arms reach, staring daggers at her the entire time. Having enough situational awareness to not block the entire staircase, Sutton stepped to the side and lowered herself into a poised crouch. "Hey Jack," she called out to the boy, seeking to distract him before his mother caused a scene. She held out her hands toward him, beckoning him over with a friendly gesture and a warm smile. "Come here."

Jack spun around, tilting his head back to look beneath the heavy hat. Once he noticed it was Sutton his smile widened, bright and toothy as he quickly waddled back over to her, having completely missed her a moment ago being too focused on navigating the giant pumpkin. He tripped on the hem of the costume a step or two away, but her hands were there for him to grab and to help steady his fall. "Hi, Ms. Sutton!"

Sutton had managed to distract the young boy before the tailend of Warren’s words could reach his ears. She tried her best to keep her smile warm and happy as she looked down at Jack, but when she spared a glance back over her shoulder toward Warren, the corners of her mouth fell and her brows creased. It felt like she had stumbled in at the end of a conversation years in the making. Questions and concern flashed across her face briefly before her smile returned effortlessly as she looked back at Jack. "Let’s see if we can fix this hat."

Her fingers gently ran along the strap of the hat, finding the clasp, and working the elastic tighter with a slow diligence, being sure not to pinch his skin but also keep his attention focused on her. While she worked, Sutton tried not to fixate on what Warren said, but it nagged at her thoughts regardless. Cheated. Lied. She had no clue that they had dated, but it had to be the truth. Heather didn’t contradict him. She didn’t even argue the cheating accusation… So that had to be true too. Then the comment about Jack’s dad… Sutton’s expression saddened as her hands stalled and she studied the young boy’s bright face. Her heart ached for the pain that would follow those truths when he was old enough to understand.

Jack’s head tilted slightly to the side as he looked up at her confused. "Are you ok, Ms. Sutton?" he asked with that gentle earnestness that only a child could possess.

Sutton’s smile returned almost immediately as she met his gaze and gave the hat a playful tug. "Your hat’s just being a little difficult," she mused with enough confidence in her voice to fool him. Even after fastening the strap as tight as it would go, it did little to keep the pumpkin top in place on Jack’s blond curls. Instead, she tied a small knot in the elastic and tucked it up beneath the hem. "There." She adjusted it back out of his face, along with straightening the felt stem and leaf. "Best costume at the festival." Her smile widened before leaning in to share a hushed secret with just him. "Don’t tell Ollie."

After giving Jack a gentle boop to his nose, Sutton shooed him, then pushed off her knees, standing back up right. Her hands ran along her skirt, brushing away dirt, and straightening out any wrinkles. The boy’s smile stretched nearly ear to ear as he bounced around enthusiastically before scurrying off down the sidewalk. Through the whole interaction Heather had been surprisingly quiet, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched Sutton choose kindness over cruelty. She had always avoided conflict since she was little. It often painted her as a pushover or a doormat, someone who was too gentle or docile to raise her voice and defend herself. It may have been true, but she saw no point in playing into Heather’s immature games, especially when her child was still lingering nearby, bright eyed and innocent.

She slowly turned her head to look over at Heather, trying to find an ounce of compassion beneath her sharp gaze, but only saw envy and greed. "He’s a good kid," Sutton offered genuinely, like an extended olive branch the other woman didn’t necessarily deserve, but should take anyway. "You should be a better role model." With nothing else to say, she turned around and climbed back up the stairs to where Warren waited.

Heather scoffed the second Sutton turned her back to her, rolling her eyes with the sort of disgust only a mean girl who peaked at sixteen could possess. "You haven’t changed since high school," she called after her, the words landing like she thought they were the sharpest insult she had thought up in days.

Sutton sighed softly, not because the comment hurt, but more out of frustration at how a single interaction could somehow sour what was turning out to be the first halfway decent day she had in months. "Sadly, neither have you," she replied without looking back, ending the conversation there because it wasn’t worth the effort.

Warren's anger lingered for exactly as long as it took Sutton to crouch down in front of Jack. The sharp edge of it dulled as he watched her call the boy over, watched those careful hands steady him when he stumbled, and listened to the easy warmth in her voice. She never hesitated. Heather had thrown a stone into the middle of an otherwise good afternoon and Sutton's first instinct had been to protect the child standing between them. A knot tightened unexpectedly in Warren's chest as he watched her adjust the crooked pumpkin hat with the same patience she seemed to offer everyone. He wasn't sure whether the ache came from guilt over the words he'd thrown at Heather with Jack nearby or from the simple realization that kindness like Sutton's was rarer than he'd allowed himself to admit.

The noise of the diner faded around him while he stood there, and he found himself studying the little details instead. The way she tied the elastic carefully so it wouldn't pinch, the way she immediately noticed something was bothering the kid and fixed it without making him feel foolish. The way her smile reached her eyes when she leaned in to whisper a secret meant only for him. Warren had spent most of his life around loud personalities, stubborn people, and problems that required force to solve. Watching Sutton work through the world with gentleness felt strangely powerful by comparison.

When she finally stood and brushed the dirt from her skirt, Warren already knew how the exchange would end. Heather's expression had taken on that familiar pinched look she always wore whenever someone else's goodness made her look smaller. Sutton offered an olive branch anyway, but she didn't do it because Heather deserved it, she did it because it was who she was. Warren felt something settle heavily and comfortably inside him as he watched the interaction unfold, as though another piece of the puzzle had quietly clicked into place.

Heather's final jab followed Sutton, and Warren stepped forward before he consciously decided to move, placing himself between the two women as naturally as drawing a breath. His gaze settled on Heather for a brief moment, cold and openly disgusted, before he dismissed her entirely. No argument followed. No cutting remarks. She wasn't worth another second of his attention. Instead he turned his back on her, fell into step beside Sutton, his focus returning wholly to the woman who had somehow managed to make him forget everyone else around him.

The tension eased from his expression almost immediately. "Ignore her. I do." His tone softened, the protective edge still there but directed elsewhere now. "She doesn't have anything worthwhile to say." He tried to smile, but it was a little more forced now. He didn’t regret snapping at her, but a small part of him did feel sorry for the kid. Having a mom like that would make his life hell. "Did you want a booth or a table?"

"It’s ok," she reassured him quietly, meeting his smile with one of her own, even if it took more effort than it had a few minutes earlier and sat a little heavier across her face. Sutton stepped through the doorway, stopping just inside the diner as the wave of scents, chatter, and curious glances hit her all at once. She drew in a sharp breath, trying not to focus on how the locals stared at them in that way that said Sutton and Warren had already made their way to the top of the gossip charts for the day. Her gaze drifted around the cramped restaurant before settling on what appeared to be the only available booth that was nestled in a back corner and bathed in a small glimmer of sunlight that crept in through the blinds.

"Seems the choice was made for us," Sutton replied, making a weak attempt at a joke to try and find some levity given everything. Then, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she slipped her hand into Warren’s with a subconscious sort of determination, and started leading him through the diner. Her fingers curled around the side of his hand, using the touch like an anchor in a sea of crazy, giving compassion, sympathy, and security without having to speak a word. She could feel the eyes following them, but ignored them as they weaved through tables and stepped out of the way of passing waitresses carrying trays full of hot food.

It was only when they reached the booth that Sutton’s hand slowly went slack before releasing her hold, letting the tips of her fingers run along the coarse roughness of his palms as she pulled away. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then slid onto one of the sun-warmed vinyl seats with a soft sigh. The golden chain of her purse fell from her shoulder as she took the bag and set it on the banquette beside her. There was a heavy silence that fell between them as they got settled in the booth. She slowly leaned back against the cushion, resting her hands on top of the table as she lightly pressed her thumb into the opposite palm. "Sorry," she whispered, finally breaking the silence to look over at him from across the table. It was one word, simple, but weighed down by countless meanings she didn’t dare speak. Sorry for the whole situation. Sorry for the part her presence played in it. Sorry that it shattered the warm illusion that had curled around them since she set foot into his garage… But more importantly, sorry for the pain that Heather had caused him. He didn’t deserve that.

The moment Sutton's hand slipped into his, Warren forgot entirely about the looks following them through the diner. Something warm and embarrassingly boyish fluttered through his stomach, the sensation so unfamiliar that it caught him off guard. A crooked smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it, and he let her lead him through the crowded room without the slightest protest. His thumb brushed absent circles over her knuckles as they walked, committing the shape of her hand to memory, the softness of her skin standing in quiet contrast to the calluses roughening his own palms.

He followed her into the back booth, reluctant to surrender the contact when she finally released him. Her fingers slipped from his hand slowly, grazing across his skin on the way out, and Warren found himself staring after the motion for half a second longer than was probably reasonable. The booth creaked beneath his weight as he slid into the opposite seat, sunlight catching along the worn edge of the table between them. The noise of the diner faded into a distant blur of clinking dishes and conversation. His attention stayed fixed on Sutton, on the way she tucked her hair back, on the tension lingering around her shoulders despite the smile she'd worn all the way inside.

When the apology left her lips, Warren's expression softened immediately. He leaned forward without thinking, drawn toward her in the same unconscious way a sunflower turned toward light. His hand found hers atop the table, settling over it gently, loose enough that she could pull away whenever she wanted. "You have nothing to apologize for," he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the gruffness it usually did. "I'm sorry for putting you in that position."

His thumb brushed once across the back of her hand as he glanced down at their joined hands before looking back up at her. A faint frown tugged at one corner of his mouth, more reflective than upset. "I was young and dumb when I was with her." The admission came with a soft exhale. "I thought..." He shook his head once, dismissing the thought before it could gather any weight. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I was a moron." Despite the self-deprecation, a small smile returned as he looked at her.

Sutton’s heart skipped subtly in her chest as she felt his hand rest on top of hers after leaning closer. When she had taken his hand not a moment ago, she was offering quiet comfort. It was simple, something that came to her as naturally as breathing, just like distracting Jack outside the diner. But there was something about Warren doing the same for her that caught her off guard, like she had forgotten how to accept kindness. College and working under the Mayor had left her unknowingly jaded. That wasn’t to say she expected everyone to be cruel, but friendliness and kindness were not the same thing, and had a habit of being mutually exclusive more often than not.

Her gaze fell to their hands, studying how Warren’s hand engulfed both of hers in a protective warmth. Sutton couldn’t help the weak laugh that escaped at his own self-deprecation. A single finger rose, lightly tapping her knuckle against his palm with a gentle chastising. "Don’t be so hard on yourself," she said softly, keeping her voice quiet so it didn’t drift beyond their booth. "We all have shitty people from our past. You’re just unlucky and live in the same small town as yours." Her head tilted to the side slightly, offering him a small, sympathetic smile.

Her attention drifted out the window as she caught a glimpse of the excited little pumpkin bounding down the sidewalk followed by his frustrated witch of a mother who occasionally kept glancing back over her shoulder toward the diner, like she was waiting for Warren to chase after her. Sutton’s brows creased as she tried to remember ever hearing about the two of them together. "I had no idea the two of you ever dated," she confessed, her words quiet like it was a thought that slipped free rather than something intentionally spoken. "Must have been when I was away at college," she added before slowly looking back over at Warren with a faint smile and a small shrug. "If I had known I might have warned you about her."

Warren's expression softened further at her gentle reprimand. The warmth of her hands remained beneath his own, grounding him more effectively than he cared to admit. A faint chuckle rumbled in his chest at the mention of shitty people from the past, and he shook his head once as his thumb brushed absent circles across the back of her hand. "Yeah," he admitted quietly. "It was after you left." His gaze drifted briefly toward the diner window before returning to the table between them. "I wanted to find the right person. I wanted to build a life with somebody, but..." He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "It didn't work." The words felt simpler now than they once had. Time had worn down most of the sharp edges, leaving behind lessons and scars instead of open wounds.

"Well… I think you dodged a bullet as far as Heather’s concerned," Sutton mused with a warm, sympathetic smile. "You still have time," she added, gently nudging her hands into his as if it took more than words to get the message across. "I always thought of the shitty people as life’s way of showing us what we don’t want out of a partner. So then when the right person shows up, it’s hard to miss." Her head tilted slightly to the side while her shoulders raised in a small shrug. "It’s a steep price to pay. But, in theory, it’ll all be worth it in the end when you find that person."

While it could seem like Sutton was trying to paint herself as the perfect candidate, it had nothing to do with her. She wanted everyone to find happiness, especially someone as nice as Warren. Both him and his brother worked so hard to take care of everyone else in town, that he deserved someone who would take care of him, someone worth coming home to. There was no knowing who could give him that happiness… it could be her, it could also be someone else. And that was ok. To her, everyone else’s happiness was more important than her own. It was a sacrifice she made over and over again. Sometimes it hurt, but she always persevered.

Warren listened without interrupting, his thumb continuing its slow path across the back of her hand while she spoke. The diner hummed around them with the scrape of forks against plates, distant laughter, and the steady murmur of conversations blending into comfortable background noise. He found himself watching her more than listening to anything else, catching the quiet conviction behind her words and the way she instinctively nudged her hands against his, as though reassuring him came as naturally to her as breathing. A small smile settled across his face, softer than the one he'd worn walking into the diner, touched by something quieter than amusement.

"I think you're right," he admitted after a thoughtful moment. "Heather taught me a whole lot about what I don't want." A breath of a laugh escaped him, more self-aware than bitter. His gaze drifted down to where their hands rested together before lifting back to hers. "I'd rather come home to someone kind than someone exciting."

His expression grew thoughtful again, not heavy, but deliberate. "The only part I don't like..." he began, his thumb pausing briefly against her knuckles. "...is the way you talk about everyone else's happiness like it's more important than your own." There wasn't any accusation in his voice. If anything, it carried quiet concern. He held her gaze, the warmth in his eyes steady and unwavering.

"Whoever that right person is for you..." he said quietly, a faint smile returning to his lips, "...they'll be lucky as hell." His fingers gave hers a gentle squeeze before relaxing again. "Because the way you care about people..." He shook his head once, searching briefly for words that felt big enough. "You don't find that every day, Sutton. Especially not in a town like this. I just hope, when they finally show up, they take half as good care of you as you already seem determined to take care of everyone else."

Sutton wanted to respond with a joke or something else equally dismissive to lessen the weight of what he said, but she couldn’t bring herself to cheapen his words, not when he seemed to believe them so wholeheartedly. Her gaze remained fixed on their hands, only peeking up at him occasionally until the conviction and warmth behind his smile made heat spread along her cheeks all over again and she had to look away. She didn’t understand how someone she talked to once every handful of months could see through her so easily. It was disarming, yet also comforting, like she was trying to find stable footing on uneven ground, but Warren could see her missteps before she did and was offering her a hand before she had to ask.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a long moment, then sighed softly and conceded, if only moderately, to some of what he said. "I… I’ve always preferred taking care of other people. It’s easier and less disappointing." There was less room for error when she was in control. Helping people put the power in her hands, so she could see the outcome. It was tangible and obtainable. Sutton relied on her family, when she was allowed to see them, but friends were fleeting, and the few partners she had been with were far too much like Heather to care about anything beyond their own happiness.

Beneath Warren’s hands, her fingers anxiously tugged at the cuffs of her turtleneck, like fidgeting might help the uncomfortable reality settle a little easier. "There’s a reason I haven’t dated since returning to Pine Ridge," Sutton confessed quietly. While the uncertainty of what Samuel would do if she found herself in a relationship was a scary enough reason to avoid dating, no one had been interested, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t been trying to remain off of most people’s radars. Apparently that only lasted so long. Loneliness had a way of chipping away at a person until they abandoned logic, and Sutton was only human… and Warren was easy to talk to.

A beat passed and her fingers stilled before her gaze slowly raised to meet his with a lopsided sheepish smile and a small shrug. "You seemed pretty determined to break that streak," she mused with a quiet chuckle.

Warren's smile came easily, brightening with a quiet sort of delight that reached his eyes the moment she admitted he'd been trying to break her streak. There wasn't any triumph in it, only genuine happiness that she'd been honest with him. He'd noticed it from the beginning, the way Sutton instinctively stepped around herself whenever the conversation drifted too close to what she wanted. Hearing her acknowledge it felt less like she'd lowered a wall and more like she'd opened a window, just enough to let him see inside.

His fingers shifted slightly against hers, not to hold on tighter, but to reassure her he was still there. "I am," he admitted with the same steady confidence she'd already come to recognize in him. "I don't know what the reason is," he continued, his voice softening as he searched her face instead of the words. "But I don't scare easy, and I don’t think I’m going to give up anytime soon." The statement carried no bravado. It was simply true. Whatever had convinced Sutton that she was safer alone, whatever disappointment or hurt sat behind the careful way she rationed pieces of herself, it wasn't enough to make him turn around.

A small breath of laughter escaped him before he shook his head. "Besides..." His grin returned, warmer now than mischievous. "You've got this habit of making me want to know what you're thinking before you've even finished the sentence." He leaned back just enough to study her with quiet affection. "Most people spend the first date trying to impress somebody." The corner of his mouth tugged upward another fraction. "I just keep finding more reasons to like you."

Sutton’s gaze fell to their hands as he spoke, taking in his every word as she watched the way his fingers reflexively curled around hers whenever he was open and raw with her. That sort of honesty was rare, the kind that came without strings, simply given because she gave it in return. There was something about the way Warren shared his feelings openly, while leaving room for her to speak without ever prying that made him feel safe. It was like he said, most people spent the first date trying to impress each other, like they’re trying to sell themselves. But she wasn’t like that, and neither was he. Warren didn’t fill the silence talking about himself, if anything he filled it with compliments and kind words that she felt severely unequipped to handle gracefully.

The tip of her thumb absently brushed the callus hewn skin of his palm, tracing the rough edges molded through years of hard work, unable to meet his gaze. A bashful smile remained persistently curled into her faint dimples, reluctant to fade while sitting across from him. Sutton didn’t receive praise well, yet Warren kept offering it freely like he was personally determined to keep her blushing for the remainder of lunch… Which had hardly even started. She didn’t know how to respond, first laughing softly while words eluded her, before finally forcing her gaze to lift from their hands and drift back across the table to meet his.

"No one’s ever been as interested in getting to know me as you are," Sutton confessed in quiet bewilderment. "Everyone thinks they’ve got me pegged, and that’s enough for them… but not you." For a long moment she simply looked back and forth between his eyes, studying the dark hazel as if it held some secret answer she was missing. If she were asked to guess the type of person Warren would be interested in, she would have been the last person on that list. Yet there she sat across from him as his smile widened ear to ear and his hands remained stubbornly wrapped around hers. He seemed like a man that was exactly where he wanted to be, and Sutton, for the life of her, was incapable of accepting the simple truth of it.

Warren couldn't help but smile, the expression softening into something quieter as she admitted no one had ever tried to know her the way he had. He watched her thumb wander absentmindedly across the rough skin of his hand, tracing old calluses that had long since become as familiar to him, and found himself wondering if she realized she did little things like that whenever she was thinking too hard. It wasn't rehearsed or cautious. It was simply Sutton, gentle without trying to be, and he doubted she had any idea how much those small moments gave away.

A warm laugh escaped him as he tipped his head ever so slightly to one side, his eyes never leaving hers for very long before they drifted back to where their hands still rested together. "I guess everyone else is just dumber," he said brightly, as though that truly settled the matter. The answer came without hesitation or irony, carrying the same matter-of-fact certainty he'd used when insisting she was the prettiest girl in town. To Warren, the conclusion was obvious. If people thought they'd already figured Sutton out after a passing conversation or a handful of assumptions, then they simply hadn't been paying attention.

His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand before settling again, the movement absent and reassuring rather than possessive. "You know what I've figured out so far?" he asked, his smile tugging a little higher. "You think everyone deserves patience except yourself." There wasn't any judgment behind the observation, only quiet fondness. "You notice when people are hurting before they say a word, you apologize for things that aren't your fault, and every time somebody says something kind about you, you look like you're trying to find the nearest exit."

He chuckled softly, giving her hand the faintest squeeze before relaxing his grip again. "Seems to me I've barely scratched the surface," he admitted, the warmth in his eyes settling on her with unwavering sincerity. "I'd be a fool to stop asking questions now."

Sutton’s head tilted downward slightly, hiding her face behind a curtain of blonde waves as a quiet laugh fell from her lips. "I never realized I was that transparent," she mused with a guilty smile. Either she wasn’t as elusive as she imagined—which wasn’t that much, to be fair—or Warren was far better at reading people, or perhaps just her, than he had let on. Regardless of how much of an open book she claimed to be, there was something that resonated with her in the way he noticed the small things that were meant to go unnoticed, instead of commenting on the obvious. It was disarming the way he took his time reading each page thoroughly, wanting to take in everything he could, rather than skipping over the boring pieces to get to the good parts... He seemed to be full of surprises.

One of her hands slowly slipped free from beneath his, lifting to brush her hair back out of her face, tucking it behind her ears. She studied her empty palm for a long moment, rubbing her fingertips together like she was trying to come to terms with the strange, cold sensation that lingered along her skin where his touch once was. She blinked once, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze for a second before hesitantly slipping her hand back beneath his while warmth settled back across her cheeks.

Before Warren could notice, or perhaps to hide the honesty of the gesture beneath something else, Sutton cleared her throat and lightly tapped her finger against the table. "To be fair, you don’t seem to be the best at accepting compliments either," she commented with a knowing gaze that was nothing but warmth and unspoken endearment. Her left brow rose slightly in a silent gesture that said she saw things too, even if he thought she didn’t. She noticed the subtle ways he wanted to skirt around her gentle compliments in the garage, how his gaze found more important things to fix on than her, the minute shift of his weight, or the way his shoulders straightened, just a fraction. It wasn’t a bad thing, if anything it showed that he wasn’t a narcissist, because he didn’t expect kindness or flattery. So no matter how sincere they were, they still sat uneasily like a shirt that was one size too big. It fit, but felt like it was meant for someone else.

Warren watched her slip her hand back beneath his, the movement small enough that someone else might have missed it entirely. He certainly didn't. The corners of his mouth softened into something quieter as his thumb settled instinctively against the back of her hand once more, as though it had belonged there all along. Whatever reason she'd found for returning it, he wasn't about to question his good fortune.

Her observation earned a short laugh and a slow shake of his head. She'd caught him just as thoroughly as he'd caught her. Warren looked down at their joined hands for a moment before lifting his gaze back to hers, a faint flush warming the tops of his ears despite the easy smile tugging at his lips. "I guess you've got me there," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Though, if I'm being honest..."

His eyes settled on her again, steady and unhurried, carrying the same openness that had marked every conversation they'd shared that afternoon. "I only seem to have that problem when the compliments are coming from you." The confession arrived so matter-of-factly that it took away any chance of mistaking it for flirtation alone. "Anyone else says something nice, I can usually nod, say thanks, and move on with my day." A sheepish smile crept back onto his face as he gave the smallest shrug. "You say it..." He glanced away for barely a heartbeat before looking back at her. "...and suddenly I don't know where I'm supposed to look."

Sutton couldn’t fight the blush that warmed her cheeks. She had expected some deflection or perhaps an easy admission that everyone gets a little bashful when they are bombarded with compliments, but once again his candor left her speechless. How Warren managed to take something about him and spin it so effortlessly back onto her like it took no thought at all, she didn’t know. She had never met someone so naturally adept at making nearly everything he says land in that flustering, bashful way that left her constantly red faced and struggling to form sentences. Whether she wanted it to or not, her smile curved bright and unbidden into her cheeks as she shook her head in quiet disbelief.

She lightly picked at a small scratch in the table, laughing softly before looking up and meeting his gaze. "You know," Sutton mused, tilting her head to the side like she was pondering a deep thought, although the slight smirk to her smile betrayed her. "With how people talk about you around town, I just assumed that you were probably used to it." She playfully rolled her eyes before giving her own dramatic rendition of the things she heard, even batting her eyelashes for extra effect. "‘Warren’s so kind, and generous, and considerate.’ ‘How is he that hot and single?’" Her smile widened, not out of contradiction, but in that quiet unspoken way that said she related to the sentiments, more than she cared to admit. She just never said them out loud.

"Most of the single women—and some not—whisper among themselves over which of them will be ‘the one’ to nail down one of the Boone brothers." Sutton’s left shoulder rose in a small, lopsided shrug as her gaze fell to where his hand rested securely on top of hers. "I assumed flattery would lose its charm if it was all you heard day in and day out." It wasn’t like she could relate or knew what it felt like. Perhaps he just sort of became immune after a while? Or maybe the only people bold enough to say it to his face were women like Heather who felt disingenuous before speaking a word. Still… It was somehow her, over everyone else, that made Warren bashful. That fact made her stomach knot with an anxiety she couldn’t name, but it also felt strangely powerful, like she was capable of doing something that no one else could.

Sutton leaned forward until her chest pressed lightly against the edge of the table. She held his gaze as her voice lowered to barely above a whisper like she was about to share a secret. "Does this mean I have a superpower?" she mused. "I can make Warren Boone blush." A mischievous glint sparked behind her eyes as her brows rose and her smile carved deeper into her cheeks. "I feel like this is where someone tells me ‘with great power comes great responsibility,’" she added, before quickly tucking her lips between her teeth to try and keep herself from smiling too wide or letting a laugh slip free.

Warren laughed quietly, shaking his head as though the whole thing sounded far stranger when someone else said it out loud. A faint flush still lingered around the tips of his ears, refusing to disappear no matter how much Sutton seemed intent on drawing attention to it. "It's been like that for so long," he admitted with an easy shrug. "But it's... kind of dumb when you're the person they're talking about." His gaze drifted toward the front windows where festival volunteers and tourists wandered up and down Main Street beneath strings of decorations. "You hear people talk in circles about how amazing they think we are, about how much they'd love to be with one of us..." He snorted softly, the sound carrying more amusement than pride. "But hardly anybody actually tries, you know? They don't really want to know either of us."

The smile faded into something more thoughtful as his thumb traced an absent circle against the back of her hand. "Most people would rather ask strangers about my brother's or my past than just ask us themselves." He shook his head, a quiet scoff escaping before he could stop it. "It's ridiculous. They've already decided who we are before they've ever had an actual conversation with us." He let the thought settle for a moment, drawing in a slow breath that eased some of the frustration from his shoulders before his attention found Sutton again.

The heaviness left his expression almost immediately when he looked at her. "You're different, though," he said, his voice softening into something warm and certain. "I'd like to say it's because you went away to college and came back more mature..." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gave the slightest shake of his head. "But I honestly think it's just who you are." His eyes held hers with an easy steadiness that never felt demanding. "You don't seem interested in who people tell you someone is. You'd rather find out for yourself, and..." He smiled a little wider. "I think that's one of my favorite things about you."

Sutton’s smile softened, laughing quietly as her gaze lowered, fixating on a small bit of fuzz that clung to the cuff of her sweater. Warren handed out compliments so easily that she hardly knew what to do with them or how to accept them without continually spiraling into her bashful shell. She didn’t know if that’s how he was with everyone or just her. It wasn’t like she had much to compare it to, but it was like every time he found something new about her he liked, he couldn’t keep it to himself… He had to tell her. And each new gentle flattery rooted itself somewhere in her chest, knotting so stubbornly around her ribs that she feared if she ever tried to remove it, it would cause more damage than good. It was ridiculous. One man’s words shouldn’t have such an effect on her, especially not the first time they shared a meal together. Yet, as she sat there, she could feel it weaving its way through her, inch by inch.

She inhaled, slowly dragging her bottom lip between her teeth before speaking. "I just… like to give people the same respect and consideration that I want." Her shoulders lifted in a small shrug, as if there was no simpler way to describe it than that. "Town talks," she added. A fact that anyone who’s been in Pine Ridge for more than a week would know. "I hear what they say, but I also know that there’s more to you than a mechanic with a nice face that everyone wants to sleep with." Some of the flush returned to her cheeks, but it didn’t dull her conviction as her eyes slowly lifted until she met his gaze. "I knew that before today. I knew that before… Well, I don’t know. I guess I always knew." A frayed laugh slipped out as one corner of her mouth curled a little higher. "I figured… If I’m more than the goody two-shoes everyone thinks I am, then there’s more to you too."

Her thumbs strummed against the table beneath the steady weight of his hand. "I think some people are just too focused on the idea of something, rather than making it a reality," Sutton continued as her head lulled to the side in thought. Blonde hair fell from behind her ear at the subtle movement, resting against her cheek as she pursed her lips. "They delude themselves with fantasies about you, or your brother, because they like the Hallmark image of it." Then her smile slowly curled into something bashful and faintly guilty as her head tilted the other way. "And then some, maybe, are just too shy to try… College didn’t seem to solve that one," she confessed, her words so soft that they were nearly lost beneath the constant roar of the diner around them.

His eyes drifted toward the window where festival volunteers wandered past carrying bundles of decorations before settling back on Sutton. "I think a lot of folks forget that getting to know somebody takes work," he said thoughtfully. "It's easier to fall in love with an idea than a person." A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "Ideas don't disappoint you. Real people do. They make mistakes, say dumb things, have bad days." His gaze softened again. "I guess I've always figured those parts are worth learning too."

Sutton's shy confession settled warmly somewhere beneath his ribs. He could picture her younger somehow, standing at the edge of a conversation she wanted to join but convincing herself not to, quietly watching instead. It fit her far too well. "You know..." he began, a faint grin returning as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, "I probably would've been too shy too." His shoulders lifted in an easy shrug. "I don't think I would've had the nerve to ask you out back then."

She laughed softly, shaking her head in slight disbelief with a sheepish smile. The thought of Warren being too shy to ask anyone out was hard to imagine, let alone her. Sutton was probably one of the least intimidating people in town: quiet, soft spoken, and often keeping to herself. She had a difficult time believing anyone would struggle approaching her. It was easier assuming people overlooked her, or maybe forgot she existed entirely. The idea of him being bashful and trying to build up the courage to talk to her felt so stark in comparison to his shameless flirting that it just didn’t add up. "I don’t know if I believe you," she teased quietly as her grin grew a fraction wider.

Sutton’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "That was a long time ago," she commented while her head lulled to the side in thought. "I was barely an adult and preparing to move to the other side of the country. And you were—" her eyes squinted, "—older." She laughed softly, holding his gaze as she shrugged a second time.

A laugh escaped Warren before he could stop it, warm and unguarded as he shook his head. The tips of his ears betrayed him first, a faint blush creeping into them despite the grin tugging comfortably across his face. "Hey now," he protested with mock offense, pointing a finger at her across the table. "I wasn't that much older."

He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture oddly bashful considering how confidently he'd spent the better part of the day flirting with her. "Besides..." he admitted with an easy shrug, his smile softening as his eyes settled back on hers, "Pretty girls have a way of making a fella second guess himself, no matter how old he is."

His smile faded into something more contemplative as his attention dropped to the grain of the tabletop, his jaw shifting thoughtfully while the murmur of conversations drifted around them. "Honestly, when you left for college, I never thought you'd come back." The confession slipped out before he could reconsider it. He finally lifted his eyes to hers again, a crooked half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm glad you did." The words carried an easy sincerity that left little room for doubt. "I just figured there was so much more out there for you than Pine Ridge." His gaze lingered on her face as he spoke. "You were smart, driven, ambitious, kind. You could go places I never could." There was no bitterness in the admission. If anything, there was a quiet pride in it, as though he'd always expected her to outgrow this place and had been rooting for her the entire time. His fingers tightened slightly around her hand, the motion small enough to go unnoticed by anyone except the person sitting across from him.

Sutton’s smile softened as her gaze fell to the table beneath their hands. She had never been the best at accepting compliments, and while she heard those words thrown around countless times between her parents or family friends… It was different hearing him say them. Warren wasn’t obligated to placate or push her to strive for bigger and better things. He simply observed. She had no idea that he knew much about her back then, let alone noticed her enough to have thoughts and aspirations for the trajectory of her life. Pine Ridge was small, sure, but she had just assumed she never crossed his radar until she started going to the garage. The realization to the contrary made it difficult to meet his gaze as something stirred within her chest.

Her thumb ran along the laminate tabletop, catching on a small knick from decades of wear and tear. "Connecticut wasn’t for me," Sutton admitted, slowly lifting her eyes to meet his gaze. "I always felt like I was ten steps behind everyone else. I never really fit in." She could still remember how overwhelming it all was the first time she set foot onto Yale’s campus. While she never considered herself a big fish in a little pond, she did feel like an ordinary pond fish that was dropped into the ocean and told to figure it out. It was a reality shock that she struggled through for six years and never quite found her footing. "People out there are loud and powerful. They don’t ask to make room, they demand it."

She laughed softly and shrugged her shoulders, having come to accept that wasn’t the life for her a long time ago. "I learned a lot of life lessons the hard way out there." No one had really noticed how much college had changed her. They all chalked it up to her being older and wiser, or whatever other bullshit reasoning they thought of to explain no longer knowing her after six years. But the truth was far simpler, she had changed. Her experiences made her guarded, it chipped away at her optimism, and made it difficult for her to trust what people say at face value. She no longer felt like she quite fit into Pine Ridge anymore, like she had been forced to outgrow it, but she never filled the shoes of the outside world either. She hovered in limbo between the two.

Warren had spent most of his life while she was gone believing Sutton had gone out into the world and found exactly what someone like her deserved. Hearing that she'd never truly belonged there quietly dismantled a belief he'd carried for years. It wasn't satisfying that she had come home, it was the realization that she'd been lonely somewhere he'd always imagined she'd been thriving.

He stayed silent, not because he didn't know what to say, but because for the first time since they'd sat down, Sutton wasn't deflecting with humor or concern for someone else. She was talking about herself. Really talking. Warren had the distinct feeling that if he rushed to fill the space, she'd retreat behind another polite smile and change the subject before she ever reached whatever she was actually trying to tell him.

His gaze never left her, steady without being intense, the corner of his mouth lifting into the faintest smile as if to reassure her she didn't need to hurry. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod when she mentioned learning life lessons the hard way, inviting her to continue without pressing. Whatever those lessons were, whatever Connecticut had taken from the bright, optimistic woman sitting across from him, he wanted to understand them—not to solve them or argue with them, but because they had shaped the person she had become, and he found himself wanting to know every version of Sutton Lockwood that existed between the girl who had left Pine Ridge and the woman who had found her way back.

"College is overrated anyway," Sutton amended with a warm smile while playfully rolling her eyes. There was a second or two of silence as her expression softened into a gentle seriousness. "You could accomplish anything you wanted if you set your mind to it. You don’t need college or whatever else to do it." She knew when he said that she could go places he couldn’t that it wasn’t to undermine himself, but from where she was sitting Warren seemed plenty accomplished and determined enough to achieve anything. "It might not seem like it, but you’ve already done a lot with your life. You run the garage, help people around town…" Her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted around the diner, snagging on the familiar faces that watched them out of the corner of their eyes with a knowing smirk.

Sutton’s cheeks flushed faintly at the attention. She shifted slightly in her seat and cleared her throat before continuing. "But if Pine Ridge feels too… constricting, you can always get on your bike and leave. Go to a different place where no one knows who you are and build that life you wanted." If there was a dating rulebook, telling Warren to leave town was probably a big hell no. Sure, the thought of it made something small in the pit of her stomach ache, but it wasn’t about her. There was a sincerity to what she said that reflected in her eyes as she looked at him, but there was also something heavier hidden beneath the gentle words and warm smile. "It worked for my brother," she offered.

"Plus, you’re kind, outgoing, charming, and good looking, you’ll thrive anywhere you go." The words came so naturally that it didn’t register that Sutton had actually said them until a few seconds later. Then her eyes widened slightly while her cheeks grew a shade darker. Her hands reflexively tensed beneath his as her attention quickly found its way back out the window again.

Warren's smile lingered through her praise, quiet and genuine, until she told him he could always leave. The words settled somewhere deep inside him, stirring a longing he'd taught himself years ago was safer left untouched. For the briefest moment he imagined it anyway. Miles of highway stretching beneath the tires of his bike, a town where no one knew his last name. A garage with his name on the sign and nothing heavier waiting for him at home than tomorrow's work. The picture lasted only a heartbeat before reality folded neatly over it again.

He couldn't leave. It wasn't fear that kept him in Pine Ridge, or complacency, or a lack of ambition fueled dreams. The further a wolf wandered from these mountains, the weaker they became. Their senses dulled first, then their strength, until eventually something inside them began to unravel. The wolf grew restless, unstable, like it could feel the distance between itself and whatever ancient thing beneath Pine Ridge had first given it life. Warren had watched older pack members test that boundary before. Every one of them came home thinner, sicker, quieter than when they'd left. Some never made it back at all.

Even if that curse had never existed, there was still the pack. There were children learning to live with wolves beneath their skin, elders whose bodies could no longer survive the full moon without help, families who looked to him whenever something went wrong because Harlan had placed that responsibility squarely on his shoulders. There were human lives and his duty to protect them wrapped up in that promise too, whether they knew it or not. Warren had long ago stopped thinking about what he wanted in favor of what everyone else needed from him. It wasn't resentment. It was simply the shape his life had taken, until duty fit him more comfortably than freedom ever could.

His gaze settled back on Sutton, affection warming the sadness that lingered there. She believed every word she'd said. She truly thought the world was still wide enough for him to climb onto his motorcycle and disappear toward a better life, and he found himself wishing, just for her sake, that she was right. His mouth parted as he searched for a way to explain a truth he wasn't allowed to tell, wanting her to understand that it had never been about courage or ambition. "Actually, I—"

"Sutton Lockwood," a warm, familiar voice called out as one of the waitresses drifted up alongside their table. Corina Anders beamed down at her with a bright smile just like she always did since her and Nelthea were far younger, bouncing back and forth between sleepovers at each other’s houses rather than saying goodbye. Time had weathered the woman’s face, adding smile lines and gentle creases beside her eyes, but she hadn’t lost an ounce of her easy, comforting aura. "It’s so good to see you, sweetie." The woman leaned over, pulling Sutton into a tight hug, with all the love of an aunt by choice, not by blood.

Sutton’s attention had been solely and intently focused on Warren and whatever he was about to say, that the new voice took a second or two for her to register, and another beat still for her to reluctantly pull her gaze away from him. There was some point in the transition between looking at him and up at their waitress, that her smile faltered, only to be quickly replaced by something wide and warm that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She barely got a chance to notice who it was before she was pulled into an embrace. Her hands slowly slipped from beneath Warren’s to wrap around the woman and gently stroked her back. "Hi, Mrs. Anders," she muttered into the woman’s shoulder, hardly able to pull her head back enough to speak. "It’s good to see you too."

After a moment or two of Corina Anders squeezing her tighter and rocking back and forth, she let go. She stepped back just enough to keep her hands on Sutton’s shoulders, looking her up and down with the kind of concerned scrutiny reserved for family members who always worried and wanted to make sure the people they loved were happy and healthy. "It’s been forever since you stopped in here for a proper bite. Always coming and going like you’re running late," she commented, lifting one of her hands to wave it back and forth as she spoke.

Sutton's smile became tight-lipped and strained as the familiar guilt that always lingered just out of sight crept into view and clawed at her chest. "I know… The Mayor keeps me busy."

Corina blew a soft raspberry and waved the notion off like it was a pesky fly. "Busy or not, a young girl like you has gotta eat. Put some meat on those bones." She reached up, pinching Sutton’s cheek in that way people who cared always loved to annoy the younger people in their lives. The woman’s hand slowly fell to take her chin, gently tilting her head up to catch the light and meet her gaze as her voice quieted and her tone grew more grave. "When’s the last time you visited your parents? They talk about you all the time. They really miss you."

The knot twisted tighter in Sutton’s stomach as she looked away, fixating on a stain on Mrs. Anders’s apron rather than meeting her inquisitive gaze. There was a heaviness that settled behind her eyes as the silence grew. It was a sadness she had struggled to hide for years, only managing to repress it when she was able to push the thoughts and memories away. She cleared her throat, trying to fight the lump that was forming in her throat and keep control of her emotions. "I know…" she replied sheepishly, the faintest hint of strain tingeing the edge of her words. "I—I really need to go see them."

The older woman ran a work-worn thumb along Sutton’s cheek, concern knitting her brows, but she did not pry. After a second or two, her attention drifted toward the other person at the table like she had almost forgotten. Her hand fell, lightly slapping her leg as she chastised herself. "Ah, where are my manners?" She shook her head before resting her hand against Warren’s shoulder with a warm smile. "It’s good to see you too, Warren dear."

Warren sat quietly through the exchange, his hand retreating from Sutton's only when Corina swept in and claimed her in a hug. A small smile lingered at the corner of his mouth as he watched the older woman fuss over her. It was familiar. Half the town had raised each other's children in one way or another, and Corina had spent decades collecting strays beneath her wings whether they belonged to her or not. The sight should have been comforting. Instead, Warren found himself paying closer attention to Sutton than the conversation itself.

He noticed the moment her smile tightened, the change was subtle enough that most people would have missed it entirely. Her shoulders drew in slightly, her eyes lingered a fraction too long on the table, the wall, anywhere except Corina's face. When her parents were mentioned, something heavier settled across her expression before she hurried to tuck it away. Warren didn't know the details. He only knew guilt when he saw it, and sadness had a way of recognizing itself in others.

His jaw shifted slightly as he watched her struggle through the conversation, and there was a familiar feeling in it. Not the circumstances themselves, but the way people carried things they didn't talk about, letting them grow heavier with every passing year. Warren had spent enough time doing exactly that. His gaze lingered on Sutton for a moment longer before Corina's attention finally turned toward him and pulled him from the thought.

A warm chuckle escaped him as her hand landed on his shoulder. "Good to see you too, Mrs. Anders." His smile returned easily for her sake, though his eyes drifted briefly back toward Sutton. "Looks like you're feeding half the town today, we were lucky to get a free table." The teasing came naturally, but a protective concern remained tucked beneath it as he watched Sutton from the corner of his eye, wondering what burden she was carrying that made the mention of home hurt so much.

Corina took a small step back, looking back and forth between the two of them as the dots slowly connected behind her eyes. She lifted her hand from Warren’s shoulder to motion her finger back and forth between them. "I had no idea you two were seeing each other. How long has that been going on for?"

Sutton’s eyes widened and her face immediately turned as bright as the red vinyl beneath her. "Oh my god," she muttered under her breath, completely mortified. They couldn’t avoid people staring and gossiping at the diner, town was like that and there was no avoiding it. But ignoring lingering glances and whispers was significantly easier than being asked out right. She slowly sunk further into her seat until her knee accidentally bumped against Warren’s. Her gaze met his for a fraction of a second, somehow becoming more embarrassed, before quickly looking out the window and finding someone struggling to park far more fascinating.

Warren felt the heat climb into the tips of his ears almost immediately. He ignored it with the same stubborn determination he'd used his entire life whenever someone pointed out something embarrassing. Sutton, meanwhile, appeared ready to sink straight through the booth and disappear beneath the diner floor. The sight alone nearly undid him, and he was trying to hold in the laughter when her knee bumped against his beneath the table, her gaze collided briefly with his, and whatever composure he'd been attempting to maintain vanished beneath a widening grin.

A dangerous spark lit behind his eyes. It was the exact expression that usually preceded Harlan developing a headache and Charlie looking for an escape hatch. Warren leaned back against the booth, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he folded one arm across his chest. "We've only just started," he admitted easily, amusement threading through every word. "I believe I'm currently in the trial period." His grin widened another fraction as he glanced toward Sutton, who seemed determined to become one with the window.

Corina's smile immediately grew brighter, which only encouraged him. "I've got at least three more dates before she falls head over heels in love with me." The confidence was entirely theatrical. "If I fail, I suppose I'll have to accept defeat." He let out a dramatic sigh and shook his head like a man contemplating a truly tragic future. "The odds are against me, but I'm choosing to remain optimistic."

His knee nudged lightly against Sutton's beneath the table, equal parts reassurance and playful provocation. Warren's smile softened slightly as he looked at her again, though the mischief remained firmly intact. "What do you think?" he asked, directing the question toward Sutton while somehow managing to include Corina in it too. "Think I've got a shot?"

Sutton heard every word of it with an acute clarity. If it was possible for her cheeks to darken further, they would have, but her face was already reaching critical redness. She quickly started regretting wearing a turtleneck. The cotton was suffocating, the way it clung to her skin and crept up her neck nearly to her jaw. She curled two fingers beneath the collar and gave it tug just before she felt Warren’s knee bump against hers. The touch jostled a frayed gasp loose, followed by a wry laugh as her gaze reluctantly met his from across the table. While she tried to remain stubborn in her embarrassment and not feed into whatever game he was playing, the brightness behind Warren’s smile and the way it lit up his eyes was hard to ignore.

Her eyes narrowed as her nose and lips scrunched in that way they always did whenever she was trying to fight a smile. She shook her head in silent disbelief and lightly returned the bump against his knee. "Jury’s still out," Sutton rebutted, holding his gaze as something subtly challenging sparked behind her eyes.

Corina laughed, shaking her head as she fished her order pad and a pen out from a pocket in her apron. "Warren Boone, you are full of it."

Sutton’s smile instantly returned, wide and toothy and all too pleased with herself. "That’s what I’ve been saying." She motioned her hand toward him, palm upwards, before crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the booth’s cushion. "We both know you’d be the one to fall in love first anyway," she mused, holding his gaze for a second or two longer before looking up at Mrs. Anders. "He practically begged me to come to lunch with him," she whispered the playful confession like it was a secret, sparing Warren a single sidelong glance, punctuated with a slight curl to her smile.

Warren laughed, the sound full and unguarded as Sutton nudged his knee in return. The challenge behind her eyes caught him immediately, and his grin only broadened as he held her gaze across the table. There it was again, that quiet little streak of stubbornness she'd been revealing piece by piece all morning. He liked it far more than he probably should have. It made her smile brighter, her teasing sharper, and something about earning that look from her felt strangely satisfying. Corina's accusation only earned another chuckle. Warren tipped his head back for a second before looking between the two women, entirely too pleased with himself to be embarrassed.

"Sutton's got this one right," he admitted without the slightest hesitation. "I'd absolutely be the one to fall in love first." There wasn't an ounce of reluctance in the confession. If anything, he sounded almost proud of it, like he'd already accepted the outcome long before anyone else had considered the possibility. He turned his attention fully back to Sutton, the corners of his eyes creasing with an easy warmth as he gave her a conspiratorial wink. "I've never claimed to be a patient man, but for you I could be."

Somehow, through the rising heat that climbed up her neck beneath the turtleneck all the way up to her cheeks, Sutton didn’t look away. She held his gaze unwaveringly… through the effortless confession that made something in her chest constrict, through the wink, and even through the relentless flirting that made it very hard for her not to smile. A quiet laugh she couldn’t quite muffle slipped out as she shook her head. Her eyes narrowed in slight disbelief. "I’ll believe that when I see it," she mused.

"I can’t say I blame him for striking while the iron is hot," Mrs. Anders retorted with a mischievous smirk of her own.

There was a pause as Sutton’s brows knitted together and her jaw dropped slightly in bewilderment. "Ok, that backfired," she mumbled while the flush only darkened. Traitor.

"You’re kind, smart, and pretty," Corina stated it simply, like that was common knowledge. "It’s only a matter of time before someone snatches you up."

"That’s not exactly—" Sutton started to argue, but was cut off when Mrs. Anders lightly patted her on the cheek, in a lovingly chastising sort of way.

"Take the compliment, sweetheart."

Sutton’s brows furrowed more, creasing her forehead as she scoffed and tightened her arms across her chest. "Two against one isn’t fair," she lamented with little to no conviction, all of her frustration and huffing more for show to mask the embarrassment and barrage of compliments she didn’t know how to accept. "I want sweet tea." It almost looked like she was pouting and lasted for little more than a second before she looked up at Corina with an apologetic, lopsided smile. "Please," she added sheepishly, unable to keep up the ruse as her manners and kindness won out.

Warren watched Sutton's expression unravel beneath the combined effort of Corina's praise and her own failed attempt to turn the conversation back around. Every new compliment seemed to deepen the color in her cheeks until she looked ready to hide beneath the table, and he found himself smiling before he even realized he was doing it. There was something endlessly endearing about how hopelessly bad she was at accepting praise. She gave it away freely, yet the moment it was directed back at her she looked as though she'd much rather be anywhere else.

He made a quiet decision then and there, it settled somewhere in the back of his mind with surprising certainty. If making Sutton blush looked like this, he was going to make it his personal mission to see that smile and those rosy cheeks as often as she would allow. It wasn't about embarrassing her. It was the way her entire face seemed to brighten when she forgot to guard it, the way every genuine reaction she had felt honest in a town where so many people wore masks.

The corner of his mouth tugged higher as he glanced between Sutton and Corina before looking back toward the waitress. "I'll take a sweet tea too, please," he said politely, his voice warm with an easy smile. His eyes drifted back to Sutton a heartbeat later, the unmistakable glimmer of mischief still lingering there, as though he was already wondering how long it would take before he earned that next brilliant blush.

The silence was filled with the quiet scratch of scribbling on paper and the consistent roar of life that filled the diner around them. With a click of her pen, Corina’s smile widened as she looked between the pair of them. "Two sweet teas for the lovebirds, coming right up," she mused, all too happy with herself. She tucked her pen into her hair, turned away, and disappeared back into the chaos before either of them could respond or argue otherwise.

Sutton’s face scrunched up in that uniquely telling way it did when she was trying to hide a mix of embarrassment and a smile. She reached out her hand, grabbing one of the old menus tucked behind the napkin holder. Her gaze lifted from the outdated Harv’s Diner logo to look back across the table at Warren, whose deviousness still glimmered brightly behind his eyes like he was simply waiting for another opportunity to fluster her more. The plastic of the menu stuck together slightly from years of spilled syrup or sticky toddler fingers as she peeled it open with a faint grimace. She laid it open on the table in front of her, not because she particularly needed it. LIke everyone in town, she knew what every page said and probably tried it all at least once. It gave her something else to focus on besides Warren’s maddening smile that kept her stomach constantly twisting to the point that she didn’t know how much she’d actually be able to eat.

After the third or fourth time Sutton looked up at him from beneath long lashes and wild blonde hair that wouldn’t stay tucked behind her ear, she shook her head slightly, trying her best to fight a smile that widened with every glance… and failing. "You’re trouble," she muttered under her breath as she flipped over the menu, as if the back had anything to offer beyond senior specials and kids meals.

Warren's grin only deepened as Corina wandered away, entirely unapologetic about the title she'd assigned them. He picked up one of the old plastic menus himself, his thumb running absently over cloudy streaks left behind by someone who had started wiping it down before getting pulled away to another table. The pages clung together until he peeled them apart with a quiet crackle, though he spent far more time watching Sutton over the top edge than he did reading anything written inside. Every time she looked up at him only to duck her head back down again, he found himself smiling a little wider.

"I've heard that before," he chuckled when she declared him trouble. He flipped another page before his brows drew together in exaggerated concern, his attention settling somewhere beyond the menu entirely. "You..." He looked back up at her with all the seriousness of a man delivering terrible news. "Aren't allowed to talk to my brother or Charlotte until at least the fourth date." He nodded once, as though that seemed perfectly reasonable. "They're both shameless. They'll tell you every embarrassing story they've got, and I'd like to preserve what's left of my dignity for a little while longer."

Sutton was in the middle of flipping the menu for the fifth time when Warren’s tone turned grave, drawing her attention entirely. Her hands froze just where they were as her brows tugged together and lifted in concern. She had expected some dire, earth shattering news based on the way he looked at her… until he spoke. She paused, before exhaling deeply, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, then took her menu and smacked the back of his hands with it. "Oh my god, Warren," she drawled, before burying her face into her palms. A second later a muffled laugh slipped free as she peered out at him from between her fingers while shaking her head.

After a moment or two, her hands slowly slipped from her face and fell to rest on top of her menu. Sutton looked across the table at him with narrowed eyes and an expression that said she was two seconds away from bumping her knee against his just for good measure. She lifted one hand, aggressively jabbing a finger in the air at him with all the ferocity of a ferret. "I should go find one of them and ask, on principle now." Whatever threat was supposed to lace her words was gone entirely by the time she finished talking, replaced with a playful tease that lacked all conviction. "Give me a fucking heartattack," she muttered under her breath while snatching back up her menu and peeling open the pages… Then, she bumped her knee against his, because she could, and he deserved it.

The sound of Sutton's laughter washed over him, bright and warm enough that Warren found himself smiling before he even realized he'd started. It settled somewhere deep in his chest, chasing away the lingering bitterness Heather had left behind outside and filling the empty space with something lighter. He could feel warmth creeping into the tips of his ears, the corners of his face pulling higher despite every attempt to appear at least a little dignified. She looked beautiful when she laughed. Not simply because she smiled, but because every careful wall she carried seemed to disappear for those few fleeting seconds until all that remained was the woman underneath.

The playful smack of the menu against the backs of his hands earned another laugh, and he made an exaggerated show of pulling them back as though she'd dealt a grievous injury. The sight of her peeking through her fingers, cheeks flushed and trying so desperately to look annoyed instead of amused, only made the fondness in his expression deepen. Warren had spent years fixing engines, rebuilding transmissions, and solving problems with grease beneath his fingernails. Making Sutton laugh, though, felt suspiciously like discovering he'd stumbled into something far more worthwhile than fixing cars.

Her finger jabbed accusingly toward him, and he met it with the solemn expression of a man about to negotiate international peace. "Veto'd," he declared brightly, shaking his head without an ounce of hesitation. The knee she bumped against his earned no complaint whatsoever, only another grin that refused to leave his face. "Give me at least two more dates, and then I'll give Charlie permission to wrangle us all together for dinner so they can take turns humiliating me to their hearts' content."

He leaned back just enough to study her over the edge of his menu, amusement still dancing behind his eyes. "Besides," he added, entirely too pleased with himself, "If you hear all the embarrassing stories now, you'll figure out how weird I am before I've had a fair chance to convince you it's endearing." His smile softened into something quieter as he looked at her across the table, still riding the warmth of her laughter. "I'd like to keep that advantage for another couple of dates if I can."

Sutton’s smile remained bright and warm, making something unguarded glint behind her eyes as he negotiated more dates before she had dinner with his family, like that was an entirely normal conversation for a first date. And no matter how strange that might be, for whatever reason, it didn’t even register for her. It wasn’t the blind optimism that this was the first of many dates, or how he was already convinced it wasn’t a “maybe” but a “when.” It was simply the adamant way he wanted to defend his honor before embarrassing stories and naked baby pictures somehow tainted it. She laughed with an airy fondness she didn’t notice weaving its way through her, one smile at a time. "Maybe I like weird," she countered with a conspiratorial smirk and a small shrug.

Warren's grin spread so quickly it was almost impossible to believe he'd even attempted to hide how pleased he was by her answer. A laugh escaped him as he leaned comfortably against the booth, his eyes bright with unmistakable delight while he looked at her across the table. "Well," he said with an approving nod, "You're in the right place with the right fella then." The confidence lasted exactly one heartbeat before his expression shifted into thoughtful concern, as though he'd suddenly realized he ought to define his terms.

He lifted a hand, pointing a finger at her with exaggerated seriousness. "Now hold on," he amended quickly. "I should probably clarify what kind of weird we're talking about." His brows lifted as he tried to look as official as possible. "I'm not 'I've got a basement full of taxidermied roadkill' weird." He gave a decisive shake of his head. "Or 'collect my toenail clippings in a mason jar' weird. Those people are beyond saving."

A laugh that nearly turned into a snort slipped free as he all but wagged his finger at her. Sutton’s smile never once faded, settling into a natural brightness and warmth that seemed to linger persistently since she first set foot into his garage. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she lifted her own finger and lightly pushed his away while raising her brows curiously. "So then what kind of weird are you?" Her fingertip remained gently pressed against his in the space between them, like some strange thumb war, as her eyes narrowed. "Are you beyond saving?" she asked, turning his words against him as her nose scrunched playfully.

Warren laughed, the sound easy as her fingertip nudged his aside, though he made no effort to reclaim the tiny contest she'd started between them. Instead, he left his finger where it was beneath hers, looking down at the point where they touched before lifting his eyes back to her face. "I don't know," he admitted with a crooked smile. "I don't think I'm any weirder than half the people in this town." He gave one shoulder an absent shrug. "Pine Ridge's always had a way of collecting… interesting folks."

The smile lingered for another heartbeat before her second question settled somewhere much deeper than she could have known. Are you beyond saving? The words echoed quietly through him, brushing against a part of himself he kept carefully buried beneath easy smiles and steady confidence. He'd lived with the answer for years. Every full moon, every scar earned beneath fur instead of skin, every secret carried for the sake of people who would never understand reminded him of what he was. Warren had long since accepted that monsters didn't stop being monsters simply because they tried to be kind.

His thumb absently rubbed against the edge of the table as the thought passed through him, familiar enough that it no longer startled him. If Sutton ever learned the truth, she'd see claws instead of calluses, teeth instead of smiles, blood instead of grease beneath his fingernails. He wondered, not for the first time, whether every good thing he'd tried to build in his life was simply an attempt to balance scales that could never truly be even. The pack needed him, the town trusted him, those things mattered. They just didn't always quiet the voice that whispered there were some things a person couldn't outrun, no matter how many engines they fixed or neighbors they helped.

When he finally looked back at her, none of that turmoil reached his face beyond a gentleness that settled into his eyes. A small smile returned, quieter than before but no less sincere. "I guess..." he murmured, letting her fingertip remain where it rested against his. "That'll be up to you to decide."

For a brief second, Sutton’s finger curled around his gently. It was meant to be playful, more like an odd interlocking like a pinky promise, but instead it settled in that unspoken way that felt comfortable through the faint touch. Her gaze absently focused on the small point of connection before lifting to study his face as the silence stretched for a beat longer. "I don’t know," she mused quietly, taking a moment to consider the statement more seriously than the teasing implied. "You seem like the type to try and save everyone… but then who saves you?" Her question settled heavily between them, landing with more severity than she intended. But she didn’t take it back, instead lightly squeezing his finger with her own in a small gesture of understanding, and maybe some concern that he spends so much of his time helping others while no one does the same for him. They seemed far more alike in that regard than she cared to admit.

Warren's smile softened, the playful glint in his eyes settling into something quieter as her finger curled around his. He returned the gentle squeeze without thinking, his rough callused finger resting comfortably against hers while he considered the question. It wasn't one he'd ever really asked himself. "It doesn't matter to me if there's no one around to save me," he admitted softly, the words carrying the simple honesty that seemed to define him. There was no martyrdom in them, no expectation of praise. To Warren, it was simply the truth.

His gaze never left hers, but his thoughts wandered through the faces that had shaped him. He remembered Harlan after Savannah, watching his brother try to convince everyone he was fine while something fundamental inside him had broken. He remembered Charlie standing at her father's funeral, shoulders rigid beneath the weight of grief, fighting so desperately to keep the tears from falling because she thought everyone else needed her to be strong first. Then there was the pack. Every man and woman who carried the same burden beneath their skin that he did, bound together by something older than memory, something that demanded loyalty without ever asking permission. They carried one another because there had never been another choice, and Warren had long ago accepted that being their Alpha meant giving pieces of himself away whenever they needed them.

His thumb brushed lightly against the side of her finger before he let out the quietest breath through his nose. "I'm just happy if the people I care about are safe and happy," he said, his voice steady despite the tenderness that lingered beneath it. "If that means I have to carry a little more so somebody else doesn't have to..." A small shrug followed, almost sheepish in its simplicity. "That seems like a pretty easy trade to me."

"Hmm," Sutton hummed quietly behind her closed lips. It sounded like something she would say, almost verbatim. Yet, for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on, it didn’t sit right with her. The thought of him giving everyone everything but not receiving the same consideration in return landed so heavily and uneasily in her chest that it stole her breath. She sat there in silence for a long moment, simply studying the unwavering conviction behind his eyes until her own stubbornness bubbled out before she could stop it. "Well, this may need to be our last date… Because if you think I’d let you get away with that with me, then you are sorely mistaken," she mused with a playful sharpness that said she was deadly serious and dared him to challenge her.

For one awful heartbeat, Warren's smile vanished. His stomach dropped somewhere around his boots as he stared back at her, already trying to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Then the rest of her sentence caught up to him, and the relief that washed over his face was so immediate it broke into a warm, breathless laugh.

"Well, I know better now," he said, perhaps a touch too quickly, his ears faintly pink as he shook his head at himself. "So it doesn't have to be the last date." Hope brightened his grin as he looked at her across the table. "I'd be a fool to argue with you anyway."

Sutton’s brows rose, her smile softening into something amused and apologetically fond after seeing the way he seemed so heartbroken for the entire second or two where he thought she was serious. "I’m sorry," she whispered, slipping her finger from his. She slowly extended her left arm across the table and lifted her hand so she could gently cup his face. Her thumb lightly stroked from the top of his cheek and down along his beard, just once, in a quiet apology that went beyond words. "That was a mean joke," she added with a quiet chuckle. She then slowly withdrew her hand to pick back up her menu and busy herself before the redness in her face overwhelmed her again.

Warren leaned ever so slightly into the lingering warmth of her hand before she pulled it away, a soft smile settling across his face so naturally it almost seemed effortless, though he felt a bit like a kid again, uncertain and fumbling with his words for a moment. "You're forgiven," he said quietly, giving a small shrug as though the moment of panic had already been forgotten. "Besides..." His grin returned, warm and just a little crooked. "If that's the meanest joke you've got, I think I'll survive."

He mirrored her, flipping the menu over only to find the senior specials and children's meals staring back at him. He set it aside with a small shake of his head. Warren ordered the same thing nearly every time he came to Harv's. Biscuits and gravy had never let him down, but shoveling gravy into his mouth on a first date suddenly felt like a poor strategic decision. His eyes drifted back to Sutton, curiosity replacing the mischief as another thought occurred to him.

"Favorite book?" he asked abruptly, the question arriving without any transition whatsoever. His smile returned, smaller this time, easy and genuine. "I'm adding to my compatibility questionnaire."

Sutton looked up from the menu, brows raising incredulously as she held his gaze. "Now wait just a damn minute," she chided, while wagging a finger at him. "That’s the third ‘compatibility question’ you’ve asked me and you haven’t answered a single one." Her head tilted slightly to the right as her smile shifted into more of a challenging grin. "That hardly seems fair, Mr. Boone. I won’t be answering anything until I know your comfort movie and favorite flavor of ice cream." She pursed her lips before dramatically flipping a page in the menu and letting her gaze fall back down to the list of various burgers and sandwiches. "And then I get to ask my own question," she amended, sparing him a quick glance as she barely managed to keep herself from laughing.

Warren looked up from his menu with the unmistakable expression of a man who had just been caught cheating at his own game. A crooked grin spread across his face as he slowly lifted both hands in surrender, palms toward her as though she had him squarely in her sights. Rather than looking embarrassed, he seemed thoroughly entertained by the fact she'd finally called him out. Watching Sutton grow bolder with him was becoming one of his favorite parts of the day.

"Fair enough," he conceded easily as his hands dropped back to the table. "Die Hard. It's great because it's a Christmas movie you can watch at any time of the year." He nodded once with complete confidence in his answer before pausing to think, one finger tapping thoughtfully against his chin. "Ice cream..." he murmured. "Cherry vanilla, but it has to be the one from Blue Bell." He looked back at her with a small shrug. "Everything else is just pretending."

His brows lifted again as another answer came to mind, though this one carried noticeably less certainty. "I guess for books..." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile that looked strangely boyish on someone his size. "Does Narnia count?" A quiet laugh escaped him before he shook his head. "I don't read too often, I have to admit. I should probably read more, so hopefully I don't lose points for that."

He leaned back against the booth, folding his menu shut entirely as though it had become far less important than the conversation. His eyes stayed fixed on Sutton, bright with genuine curiosity and completely invested in whatever she'd come up with next. "Alright," he said with an encouraging grin. "Hit me with your best questions."

Sutton’s menu found its way to the table, losing any and all interest as her attention focused solely on Warren and his answers. She scooted forward slightly, her knee unintentionally brushing his once again as she rested her chin in her palm attentively. There was an all too pleased smirk that curled at the corners of her mouth while she listened to him navigate his own questions. Honestly, unless his answers were something like The Human Centipede or bubble gum ice cream, she doubted he could say anything that would make her write him off. But there was something oddly wholesome about learning the silly little things about him, like a comfort movie and ice cream flavor, that somehow painted a more vivid picture than the bigger questions. Life goals were important, but knowing the little things that no one else paid attention to felt… special.

With every answer, Sutton marked them down on a little list somewhere at the back of her mind, like it was important information she’d need in the future. Die Hard. Check. Blue Bell Cherry Vanilla. Check. Then her attention snagged on the bashful way Warren smiled and rubbed the back of his neck before admitting his favorite book was The Chronicles of Narnia. While he showed faint concern about losing points, Sutton’s smile only softened while a quiet chuckle hummed from behind her rosy lips. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something incredibly cute about a guy willing to admit that he hasn’t read since he was in school.

Once he finished, Sutton sat a little more upright, letting her hands rest on top of the menu as she laced her fingers together. "Die Hard and Stardust will be a very interesting movie marathon," she mused, her smile widening at the thought but no less discouraged. "I don’t have much time to read," she confessed, shrugging while tilting her head slightly to the side. "So I won’t hold that one against you." Her lips pursed in thought as she lightly tapped the tips of her thumbs together, racking her mind for every book she read and which one stuck out more than others. There was a brief moment where her cheeks turned a little more pink before she met his gaze sheepishly. "I think mine would be The Princess Bride… I like romance and happily ever afters," she confessed like it was the most basic answer in the world, but it was the truth, regardless of how predictable it might be.

Then the reality set in that it was her turn to ask a question. While, logically, it made perfect sense that she should also be allowed to ask her own compatibility questions, Sutton didn’t actually take the time to consider what those would be. She blew out a breath, puffing up her lips as she looked up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers. There were the easy ones like favorite song or color, but as much as she liked the simple questions, she wanted something deeper, something to counterbalance all the lighthearted flirting… if only for a moment.

After another long pause, Sutton rapped her fingers along the table and then found Warren’s gaze. "What are three things on your bucket list?" Rather than waiting for him to answer, she drew in a small breath then continued, offering up her own first before he had the chance to ask. "Mine are kind of boring," she confessed, raising one shoulder in a small shrug. Her attention fell to her hands, the words catching in her throat for a second, like they were somehow more basic or more honest than she had mentally prepared for. "I umm… I would like to be Mayor of Pine Ridge someday, build a family of my own… And, I want to fall in love." She let her answers rest between them for a long moment before her gaze slowly rose to meet his, uncertain of the expression that would await her.

Warren tucked The Princess Bride away the moment she said it, committing it to memory with the same quiet certainty he'd given everything she’d said thus far. He'd have to find a copy before their next date. Maybe the little bookstore in town carried it. If not, he'd order one. The thought of surprising her by actually reading her favorite book, then listening to her talk about all the parts he'd inevitably missed, settled warmly in his chest. He doubted she'd expect him to remember something that small, which only made him want to do it more.

"That's a good question," he said, his smile widening with easy approval. It felt like he'd done little else since she'd sat down across from him. The muscles in his cheeks almost ached from it, yet he couldn't seem to stop. Sutton had a way of making every answer feel worth giving, not because she demanded them, but because she listened as though each one mattered.

He leaned back thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward the window for a moment while he sifted through years of half-forgotten dreams. "I'd like to go to Greenland someday," he admitted, a wistful note slipping into his voice. "There's an old man who comes through every summer. He's from there, and every year he brings another stack of pictures." Warren chuckled softly, shaking his head as snow-covered mountains and blue glacial water drifted through his memory. "I swear that man has spent the last ten years trying to convince me it's the prettiest place on earth."

His eyes returned to Sutton, and the faraway look disappeared beneath the quiet certainty that always seemed to find him whenever he spoke from the heart. "Other than that..." He shrugged one shoulder, as though the answer were the simplest thing in the world. "I want to get married... and start a family." A small smile lingered on his face as he held her gaze. "Truth be told, I don't think my bucket list has ever been all that adventurous." He laughed under his breath, warmth softening the edges of his expression. "Most of the things I've wanted have always felt a whole lot closer to home than they have the other side of the world."

Greenland. Sutton had no clue what the country even looked like beside the old joke kids always shared that Greenland was icy, and Iceland was green. There was something wholesome about his desire to travel there stemming solely on the interactions with a single man and his love for his home. She could understand the appeal. Whenever she thought about traveling abroad it wasn’t to tourist hotspots like Paris or London, but to countries that other people didn’t talk about, places where she could immerse herself in the culture rather than going on tours through historical landmarks or museums. There was a brief moment where her mind wandered to what it would be like traveling to Greenland… with Warren. The thought came to her before she could stop it and was quickly followed by the returning flush that teased beneath the collar of her shirt and up the back of her neck.

Thankfully her overactive imagination was interrupted by the rest of his answer, but it did little to calm the warmth that now settled across the tops of her cheeks as if it had no intention to leave. Warren’s answers were easy, simple even, but Sutton couldn’t ignore the way they aligned with hers to the point where it made her breath hitch in her chest. She could see it plain as day, just like everyone else in town… He seemed every part the man that had lived his life with the goal of someday being a husband and a father. For whatever reason, she never noticed it before, like the town’s rumors somehow tainted the obvious truth right in front of her. The way he went out of his way to help others, his kindness, playfulness, and his unfiltered honesty… It all reminded her of her dad.

That thought sat with her for a long moment, stealing her breath and stirring something startling warm in her chest. Before her mind could grab hold of logic and stop her from speaking, Sutton’s lips parted and quiet words settled between them. "I think you’d be a great dad," she confessed while holding his gaze with a gentle sort of certainty. "You listen, and you’re not afraid of emotions. You seem like the type of man who’d just want them happy and healthy… Whatever that looks like." Her head tilted slightly to the side as she rapped her fingertips along the edge of the table. "That’s incredibly endearing," she added almost sheepishly.

Then her gaze immediately fell to her hands as if reason finally caught up a little too late. Sutton’s face somehow managed to redden further, warmth stretching from the collar of her turtleneck, across her face, all the way to the tips of her ears that shined like little pink beacons beneath her blonde hair. She cleared her throat and quickly picked back up her menu, peeling the pages apart once again like her food decision was far more dire than it was two seconds ago. This time she didn’t look up or steal quick glances over at Warren, instead focusing on the faded images of food that were older than she was. "I don’t know if I want pancakes or a burger," she muttered more to herself and to fill the silence than anything. "Both have bacon, which is the important part," she added with a small nod before her eyes narrowed. "Savory or sweet?" The question floated between them like a nervous diversion, anything to distract from what she said or how she looked like a blonde strawberry.

The compliment caught Warren so completely off guard that, for once, he had absolutely nothing clever to say. His ears warmed first, followed quickly by the color rising into his cheeks as he rubbed the back of his neck with a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. He'd been called dependable, hardworking, generous, even handsome more times than he cared to count, but none of those ever reached him quite the way those simple words had. A good dad. Somehow, of everything Sutton could have chosen to say, she'd managed to find the dream he'd carried quietly for most of his adult life. He ducked his head for a moment, smiling to himself before looking back across the table at her, still hidden behind a menu she was very obviously using as a shield.

"Thanks," he said softly, sincerity carrying every syllable. "I... I really hope I get the chance someday." His gaze lingered on her flushed cheeks, the corners of his mouth lifting despite himself as she very determinedly studied a menu she already knew by heart. Warren had the distinct feeling she'd rather debate lunch for the next hour than look him in the eye again, and somehow that only made her more endearing. "For what it's worth..." he continued gently, careful not to tease her out of the moment, "I think you'd be an incredible mom."

His smile softened as he settled back against the booth, not looking away from her even when she refused to look at him. "You make people feel safe without even realizing you're doing it." His voice remained quiet beneath the steady hum of the diner around them. "You listen first, you lead with kindness, and you don't seem to think twice about putting yourself between someone else and a bad day." His thoughts drifted briefly to Jack outside the diner, to the way she'd knelt on the ground without hesitation while his mother threw insults over her shoulder.

"Watching you with that little boy..." A fond smile tugged at his lips. "You didn't even stop to think about yourself. You just wanted to make sure he walked away smiling. That's the sort of thing kids remember, even if they don't realize it until they're grown."

The thoughtful warmth gradually gave way to another grin as he glanced down at the menu in front of him. "As for your crisis," he said, mercifully accepting the change in subject without calling attention to it. "Order the pancakes." He tapped his own menu decisively before looking back up at her, excitement brightening his expression once again. "I'll get the burger, and we'll split them." The solution seemed perfectly obvious to him. "That way we both get sweet, savory, and bacon. Seems like the only reasonable compromise." His grin widened another fraction.

Sutton caught the subtle ways Warren grew bashful at her comment. She watched color flood his cheeks more brightly than it had the entire afternoon as he rubbed his neck in that sheepish way she had only seen him do around her. A smile curled traitorously across her lips, even as her own flush clung persistently to her cheeks from behind the menu. For a moment she just let herself watch the way her words struck him more true than anything else she had said, as if it was something no one had ever taken the time to tell him, even if the truth was obvious… at least to her. It was definitely not something she should have said on a first date, but for a selfish second she was almost grateful she did, if only for his reaction.

Then she noticed him lifting his head.

Just before Warren was able to meet her gaze, her eyes darted back down to the menu in front of her, hiding in the comfort of something familiar. It felt safe, even as her heart raced so violently in her chest that Sutton struggled to draw in steady breaths. Then he did it again… Taking something else she said and somehow finding a way to turn it on her as well. Damn him. Her eyes threatened to betray her, drifting toward the top of the menu as he spoke. She only managed to catch it just before she looked at him, and then her gaze quickly fell to the sunbleached picture of the breakfast burrito or pot roast.

Sutton didn’t know how he did it, how he managed to see things in her that even she hadn’t fully discovered. She wanted to be a mother and have a family of her own, sure. Hell, she said as much. But the rest? Half of the time she didn’t even realize she was doing it. For whatever reason she had just assumed that if it was subconscious to her, then it was unlikely anyone else would notice. Sutton had been part of Pine Ridge her whole life, always present to the point where she was woven into the fabric of town. But her existence was never loud, nor did it demand attention. She was there like a permanent fixture, consistent but easily overlooked, no different than the clock above the library or the ghost town at the base of the mountain. And then there was Warren. He didn’t just notice her, he somehow managed to see her more clearly in a single afternoon than others did spending years around her. She had no clue how to handle that.

Words eluded her, but before she had to try and muster up something—anything—to say, Warren graciously took her sad attempt at bait and let the conversation drift elsewhere, if only for a few minutes. Her heart had started settling into a more normal rhythm by the time he suggested she should order the pancakes. Sutton folded her menu closed and started tucking it behind the napkin dispenser when his reasoning followed. She paused, arm still stretched across the table and fingertips lingering on top of the peeling laminate corner as she looked over at him. Her brows rose in quiet disbelief, followed by a soft scoff that teased on the edge of a laugh. "You can’t actually want pancakes and a burger?"

Before Warren had a chance to answer one way or the other, Corina sidled up to the side of their booth, sliding two iced sweet teas onto the table. "Have you two stopped flirting long enough to figure out what you want?" she mused, shamelessly goading them with a cheeky grin.

Sutton had to fight the urge to sink into her seat as she felt the warmth return to her cheeks. She adjusted slightly, which made her knee bump against Warren’s…again. How she managed not to die from embarrassment was a miracle. Rather than meeting either of their gazes, she cleared her throat and grabbed one of the straws, busying herself with removing the paper wrapper. She conceded to Warren’s suggestion rather than devolve into another round of playful bickering that would almost certainly end poorly, at her expense, once again. "I’d like pancakes, with maple syrup and bacon." She balled up the paper and set it aside, then slipped the straw into her drink. "A lot of bacon," she added with a faint smile. "Please."

Warren opened his mouth, already halfway to explaining that, yes, he absolutely wanted both. There was something deeply satisfying about the combination of fluffy pancakes drowning in maple syrup alongside a greasy cheeseburger and salty fries. It was the sort of meal that probably shaved a year or two off a person's life, but every now and then it was worth it. Before he managed more than the first syllable, Corina appeared at the edge of the booth with two glasses of sweet tea, rescuing Sutton from his answer and him from having to defend his questionable culinary decisions.

A grin spread easily across his face as he looked up at the waitress. "Actually," he replied, all traces of seriousness evaporating beneath a mischievous smile, "I'm very good at multitasking." His eyes flicked briefly toward Sutton, amusement dancing behind them before returning to Corina. "I'll take the double bacon cheeseburger with fries," he said, handing over his menu. "But could you put the lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, and mayo on the side?"

He waited until Corina finished jotting everything down before glancing back across the table at Sutton with a small, almost sheepish shrug. "Figured that way you can build your half however you like," he admitted simply. "I'm not about to assume everybody wants the same burger I do." His thumb idly traced the condensation gathering on his glass of tea before he looked back up at her, a crooked smile settling comfortably across his face.

Sutton held his gaze as the corners of her mouth curled a little higher into her cheeks. She slowly reached out for her glass, one hand curling around it gently while she pinched the straw between the thumb and index finger of her other hand. "Contrary to how I look, I’ll eat just about anything," she confessed with a quiet chuckle. "I’m not that picky." She swirled the tea around once before pressing her lips to the straw and taking a sip.

Warren's attention followed the small, absentminded motion of her hand as she lifted the glass. He'd been listening, he really had, but the moment her lips settled around the straw his train of thought derailed so completely it took actual effort to remember how breathing worked. She had very pretty lips. That was an entirely innocent observation... until his imagination decided it didn't particularly care about staying innocent. He cleared his throat and reached for his own tea with perhaps a bit more urgency than was strictly necessary, taking a long drink while firmly redirecting his thoughts somewhere safer.

"I'll remember that," he said after setting the glass back onto the table, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Makes cooking for you a whole lot easier if I don't have to negotiate around a list of foods you won't touch." His eyes met hers again, warm and quietly amused.

"Cooking for me already?" Sutton mused with a soft chuckle and a warm smile. She slowly spun the straw around in her glass, causing the ice cubes to quietly clink against the sides. "Brussel sprouts," she offered, looking over at him after she set down her glass. "That’s the only thing I won’t eat… So far, anyway."

Warren's brows lifted in pleasant surprise before a grin spread easily across his face. "That's it?" he asked, sounding almost relieved. "I can work around brussel sprouts." He nodded once with quiet confidence, as though he'd just overcome some monumental obstacle. His smile lingered as he looked at her across the table, already filing the information away with the same importance he'd given her favorite movie and ice cream.

Just as Warren promised, the moment their food arrived, he claimed both plates, sliding them to the center of the table before Sutton could protest. He shot her a triumphant grin that was impossible to deny. While she wanted to put up a fight, she couldn’t bring herself to dampen the genuine spark in his eyes. With a dramatic, exaggerated huff, she made a show of picking up her fork and skewering a bite of pancake, surrendering to his definition of a compromise… Just this once.

The remainder of the lunch followed a familiar, winding trajectory of heavy, meaningful conversations balanced by playful barbs, random compatibility questions, and the kind of thinly veiled flirting that made the air between them hum.

When they weren’t talking, they quickly devolved into a war over food. Warren strategically seemed to want anything and everything she was reaching for, to the point where it no longer seemed accidental, but intentional, if only to get a rise out of her. If Sutton went for the burger, he managed to snatch it just before her fingers curled around the bun. If she went for bacon, he got it first. And one time he even caught her wrist mid-air and stole a bite of pancakes right off her fork, earning himself a sharp, playful kick to the shin under the table.

Their laughter erupted in the back corner of the diner, vibrant and unbidden, drawing curious glances from the nearby booths. But for the two of them, the rest of the diner had blurred into insignificance. They were entirely lost in a bubble of shared warmth, their cheeks aching from smiles that never once faded and their eyes bright with the kind of tears that only came from breath stealing laughter. They quickly lost track of time and if it hadn’t been for Sutton sneaking a glance at her phone after it vibrated for the third time in a row, they might have stayed there until the beginning of the festival.

The walk back to the garage was slow, neither one of them in a rush for their time together to end. Their strides were steady and unrushed, standing close enough that their shoulders bumped and knuckles brushed with every step. By the time the Mercedes came into view they were both too lost in conversation to care or notice. Warren was animated, waving his hands around as he shared a story from his youth alongside his brother, no doubt embellishing it to favor him and make himself look good in Sutton’s eyes. She didn’t stop him, laughing and smiling brightly as she looked up at him, hanging on his every word, enraptured with the tale.

"What did you do?" she asked curiously as laughter laced every syllable.

"Well," Warren began, already laughing at the memory before he'd even reached the good part, "It's not my fault I lost the bet, I swear it was rigged." He pointed a finger toward Sutton as though that alone might sway the verdict in his favor. "Harlan and Charlie swear I agreed to the terms beforehand. I maintain they were explained very poorly." His grin widened shamelessly. "Anyway... dog-napping isn't one of my prouder moments. The agreement was I'd either dye Mrs. Peterson's poodle pink, or I'd have to dye my own hair pink for the Harvest Festival."

He shook his head with all the conviction of a man who still believed he'd made the sensible choice. "Now, I like Mrs. Peterson well enough, and that little poodle looked ridiculous for about three baths, but I stand by my decision because there wasn't a chance in hell I was pulling off pink hair." Warren chuckled to himself, already preparing to launch into the part where Mrs. Peterson had chased him halfway across town with a broom when his eyes drifted toward the garage. The laughter faded from his face almost instantly. Standing beside the open bay, leaning far too comfortably against a motorcycle Warren knew better than his own reflection, was a man he hadn't seen in a long, long time.

Every muscle in Warren's body tightened. His easy stride slowed to a stop as recognition settled heavily in his chest, his jaw clenching hard enough that the muscles jumped beneath his skin. That motorcycle should have been sitting inside his shop. Instead, it stood beside the man who'd stolen it. A low, involuntary growl rumbled deep in Warren's throat before he caught himself, drawing in a measured breath that did little to ease the tension gathering beneath his ribs.

Sutton’s smile was bright, stretching nearly ear to ear as her lips parted, preparing to make some playful comment about how she liked pink, but then everything fell apart in an instant. The light faded from her eyes as she watched his entire demeanor change before following his gaze over toward the garage. Near the bay doors stood a man that looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t begin to place his name or where she had seen him even if she wanted to. Presumably he had been around town at some point, but the mystery of it was far less concerning than the effect it had on Warren.

Her pace slowed to match his until they came to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Sutton’s brows furrowed as she looked up at him. The questions were painted plainly across her face, but she did not ask. There was a moment where she wondered if she should leave, but if she saw someone who drained the happiness from her that quickly, she’d hope whomever she was with would remain by her side in quiet support. So that is exactly what she did. Then she heard Warren’s quiet growl and her hand moved subconsciously, drawn by instinct rather than thought. Her fingers gently curled around his forearm, attempting to catch his attention and offer him some comfort. "Hey," she whispered.

He turned toward Sutton, and although the hardness remained in his eyes, his expression softened the moment it found her. Genuine regret settled across his features as he offered her a small, apologetic smile. "Looks like I'll have to finish that story another time," he said quietly. "I'm sorry." The apology lingered for only a heartbeat before he managed to coax another grin back onto his face, warmer now despite everything waiting a few yards away. "Before I go..." he asked, hope slipping easily into his voice, "Do I get that second date?"

Sutton’s eyes had been locked on him before he turned to face her, only shifting to meet his gaze as he looked down at her. A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, the inevitable end having finally caught up to them in just about the least enjoyable way possible. Her hand that still lingered on his arm gave him a gentle squeeze before slowly falling back down to her side. "It’s ok," she offered quietly with a small shrug. "There are still a lot of last minute festival things I need to take care of." She sighed softly as the list came to the forefront of her mind, already trying to figure out how she was going to squeeze in time to change into her costume before seven.

Warren’s final comment and surprising grin pulled her out of the spiral of work before it could fully take over. The flush Sutton thought she had finally beaten returned to her cheeks as she laughed softly and looked down at a crack in the concrete beneath her feet. She adjusted the golden chain of her purse against her shoulder, delaying her response even though an answer came to her immediately. "Only... If you keep your word and I get to pay," she teased while peeking up at him from beneath her lashes. "Although, knowing you, you’ll find some way to cheat." She rolled her eyes dramatically before jabbing him in the chest with her index finger.

A few more seconds passed, but Sutton didn’t step away, still lingering with an unspoken reluctance to go back to the real word. She sighed and looked up at him with a lopsided smile. "I would give you a hug, but uh—" She pinched a small bit of his grease-stained jacket, rubbing it between her fingers with a chuckle. "—I don’t think my clothes would survive." Then, as if something else seized control of her body, her hand curled tighter into the fabric, using it to guide him a little closer as she shifted to the tips of her toes. Being sure not to accidentally brush up against his clothes, she pressed her lips softly against his cheek.

The kiss lasted little more than a second and then sense came crashing back into Sutton like a tidal wave. She pulled away slowly, her gaze meeting his as they lingered close enough to feel each other’s breaths. A beat passed, then she quickly released her hold on him. She took a step back, and then another, before looking up at him with a bashful smile and cheeks the brightest they’ve been all day. "Bye, Warren," she whispered, then turned around and headed toward that damn black Mercedes.

The moment she caught hold of his jacket, Warren forgot about Vinny entirely. His breath stalled somewhere in his chest as she guided him the smallest step closer, every instinct in him suddenly focused on the woman standing on the tips of her toes in front of him. Then her lips brushed against his cheek, impossibly soft and gone almost before he could comprehend they had been there at all. The world narrowed to that single point of warmth, the faint floral scent that always seemed to linger around her, and the quiet rush of his own heartbeat pounding so loudly he was certain she had to hear it. He didn't move. He wasn't entirely convinced he still remembered how.

By the time his thoughts caught up with reality, she was already pulling away. Warren found himself staring into her flushed face with an expression so openly smitten it would have embarrassed him if he'd possessed the presence of mind to care. A slow, helpless smile spread across his face, the kind that reached his eyes without permission and settled there as naturally as breathing. "Bye, Sutton," he murmured, though he couldn't remember whether she'd still been close enough to hear him or not.

The soft sound of Sutton’s heels clicking along the concrete preceded her as she crossed the drive. Her gaze remained fixed on the ground in front of her, blonde hair framing her face as she toyed with the cuff of her sweater. Her face ached from the smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, bashful and impossibly bright. Somehow she managed to make it the entire way to the car and open the driver’s side door before giving into the temptation to look back. When she met Warren’s gaze, her smile softened into something quietly fond as she lifted her hand and gave him a small parting wave.

After lowering herself into the seat and closing the door, her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel and she let out a breath she had been holding in since she was temporarily possessed by God knows what. While she would likely spend the remainder of the day trying to unpack everything that happened, she couldn’t very well do it parked in his driveway. She had the amount of time it took her to take off her shoes and buckle her seatbelt to get her shit together before it got weird. Once she was as settled as she could be, she started the ignition, sparing Warren one last glance before pulling out into the alley way. Sutton spent the drive back to the municipal building with a stupid grin plastered stubbornly across her face, trying desperately to make it fade before the mayor could ask questions.

Warren remained rooted where he stood, watching her disappear into the Mercedes with the same quiet fascination he'd carried throughout the afternoon. When she looked back one last time and lifted her hand, his own came up instinctively, returning the wave with a grin that bordered on boyish as he watched the car ease out into the alley and disappear from sight. Only after the sound of the engine had faded and the empty stretch of pavement settled back into its usual stillness did a thought strike him squarely between the eyes. "...Fuck," he muttered beneath his breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. He'd spent half the day planning a second date and somehow forgotten to ask for her phone number.

A laugh escaped him despite himself as he shook his head. He'd find her at the festival. Pine Ridge wasn't exactly big enough for someone like Sutton Lockwood to disappear for long, and besides, he'd already promised her another date. The smile lingered as he turned back toward the garage, only to find Vinny exactly where he'd left him, leaning against the stolen motorcycle with that same infuriating familiarity. Warren sighed through his nose before fixing the man with a flat look. "You always did have horrible timing, you ugly bastard."

End of part 2

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... samuel, charlie, harlan & vinny ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Descendants

^{#962929 .....|..... hell's angel ....|..... outfit ............... #bdddff ....|..... polar ....|..... outfit ............... myla's penthouse}

The elevator doors opened to the eerie silence of Myla’s penthouse. She didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Instead her hand gently rested against the small of Bellamy’s back as she guided her inside. She led the girl patiently into the living room until she stood before the sofa, then lightly pressed down on her shoulders so that she would sit. Myla left her there as she wandered over to the kitchen. She drew in one short breath, letting her nose guide her to a cabinet beside the fridge. Upon opening it, she found an assortment of liquors. Without prejudice, she snagged one of the bottles and two glasses from an adjacent cabinet.

After pouring them both a healthy sized drink, Myla returned to the living room, sitting down on the coffee table opposite Bellamy and held out one of the glasses toward her. "Drink… All of it," she instructed gently with a small reassuring nod. She followed her own instructions and downed the contents in one gulp. Bourbon. Gross. Her face contorted in disgust with a displeased bleh, before setting down the empty glass beside her.

"So…" Myla sighed softly, leaning forward to rest her elbows against her knees, then laced her fingers together. "I’m not going to claim to know what you’re going through, because everyone’s story is different, and I don’t want to cheapen your struggles with my own." She reached up, pulling the sunglasses from her face and setting them aside, having forgotten that she never took the time to warn Bellamy about her blindness. Milky white eyes flicked back and forth in the girl’s general direction, but never focused or settled in one place for long. "But I do believe—out of everyone in this godforsaken tower—" She shook her head in quiet disbelief. "—that I have some understanding of what you’re going through," she offered softly, like an olive branch of more than just friendship, but understanding.

"I was attacked two nights ago," Myla continued, sharing her own experiences in a way that was far more personal than an inquisition in a room full of people she didn’t know. "And if it wasn’t for Theo, I would have been taken or killed too. He saved me, just like Tobias saved you." She rubbed her palms together slowly, trying to find her words one step at a time. "I don’t claim to know him well, but he seems like a man of conviction. And men like Theo and Tobias don’t do anything they don’t want to... It’s… easy to blame ourselves because we’re weaker than them." She nodded her head with a slow recognition that said she knew what she spoke of on a level far deeper than she let on.

"I just…" Myla sighed softly, reaching out to rest her hand on top of Bellamy’s. "I’m telling you this because I don’t want the guilt to eat you alive. I’m sure he’ll be able to pep talk you better than I can. I’ve never been very good at it," she confessed with a tired laugh that showed, in some way or another, that she was trying. "But coming from the least useful person in this tower, I get what it’s like to feel like a burden to those who are on an entirely different level. It’s really hard not to feel guilty about it… I still do." She shrugged her shoulders with a lopsided smile that said she had been trying to get over it, and was very unsuccessful. "The best way I’ve learned to cope is by letting the toxic part of myself relish in how incredibly hot it is having a guy go all feral murderer for you," she added unapologetically as a guilty and mischievous smile grew across her face. Myla’s voice then dropped to little more than a whisper as she leaned forward like she was sharing a secret. "Because it’s really hot."

Bellamy accepted the glass without thinking, fingers curling around the cool surface while her thoughts churned somewhere far away, caught between Tobias disappearing into the lift and blood staining the floor behind him. The liquid burned the moment it hit her tongue. Heat dragged down her throat like fire, sharp enough to make her eyes water, and she immediately folded in on herself coughing into the bend of her arm. Tears sprang to her lashes as she sucked in a startled breath, shoulders shaking through a few miserable splutters before she stared down into the empty glass in mild betrayal. Somewhere through the sting and warmth crawling through her chest, she became dimly aware of Myla's eyes, of the soft cloudy white of them, and surprise flickered quietly across her face before settling away again without question or discomfort. Her thumb found the bracelet around her wrist almost immediately after, spinning it slowly beneath nervous fingers while she listened.

The metal rolled back and forth against her skin in steady little motions while Myla spoke, and Bellamy held onto every word more carefully than she realized. The room felt softer than the conference room had, quieter too, and somewhere between Theo and Tobias and guilt and burdens, the tightness wrapped around her ribs loosened little by little. Then Myla leaned forward with that guilty little grin and whispered her confession, and Bell blinked at her once before a surprised laugh escaped her. It slipped out suddenly and bright, catching her off guard as much as anything else had today, and her hand flew to her mouth while warmth spread across her cheeks. The tension bled from her shoulders with it, leaving behind something lighter, something exhausted and aching and human.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, looking down into her lap as her fingers rolled the bracelet around her wrist once more. The smile faded slowly into something smaller and sadder as her eyes drifted back toward the tiny amber pool left in the bottom of the glass. "I just... that's twice now he's gotten hurt because of me, and I'm not..." Her voice caught for a second before she swallowed and forced herself onward. "I'm not like any of you. I can't fight. I want to, but I don't even know where to start." Bellamy tipped the glass slightly, watching the last little bit of bourbon slide across the bottom..

Myla’s smile curled on one side, tight lipped and sympathetic. "Unfortunately, it’s likely to happen a lot more. Theo and I have been trying to hold New York together for nearly a year together… And I can’t tell you how many times we’ve gotten hurt protecting each other. I’ve lost count." She shook her head, brunette hair brushing along her shoulders and cheeks softly. "I imagine a lot of us will get hurt, but if we find the heroes that were taken, save others before they’re taken… even if it’s one single life… I don’t know." She sighed softly, lifting her shoulders in a heavy shrug. "Seems worth it from my perspective."

She couldn’t help but laugh at Bellamy’s last comment. It wasn’t mean or poking fun, but more of a sad sort of irony. Her fingers ran back through her hair, tucking brown curls behind her ears before she continued. "You’re a mutant, and a powerful one from what I know," Myla replied plainly, because it was the truth. "I can’t claim to understand what it takes to hone powers like that. I imagine Tobias and Imogen would be more knowledgeable there. But you’re still leagues above people like me. You just don’t know it."

"As for fighting…" Her voice trailed off, palms turning upwards as she shrugged. "That’s… complicated." Myla tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and squinted her eyes as she tried to figure out how to categorize it, because it was all so different between each of them. "I’m sure someone has found a much better way to break this down than me… But fighting and combat is like a spectrum. People like Magni and Tobias are raw power, all offense. Attack. Attack. Attack. Then Jim and June are smart, strategic… They use the environment and gadgets. And me? Well…"

Her right hand lifted and scratched at the back of her head. She never really had to put any of this into words before. She had enough experience to know that everyone approached combat differently, but she never had to organize different heroes into neat piles like she was writing a thesis. "I’m just a martial artist. I use my enhanced senses and blindness to my advantage… but it only goes so far. I could probably beat someone like Tobias in a strictly hand to hand fight, use his strength against him and wear him out, but I mean you saw it downstairs… Luke only got as far as he did because Tobias let him."

She lightly clapped her hands together. "But I can help you train if you’re wanting to learn. You’re small like me, so we could start with self defense and moves where you can use your opponent’s strength or size against them… It’ll take a lot of work. I’ve trained daily for years and still have plenty to learn. But if you’re willing to try…" Her head lulled to the side slightly, a devious little smile tugging at her mouth once again. "I’m sure we could rope the boys into being our test dummies," she added with a soft laugh, before abruptly shutting herself down, eyes widening as she shook her hands slightly. "You know, after Tobias heals."

Bellamy listened quietly, fingers still circling the bracelet around her wrist in small repetitive motions that had begun to feel as necessary as breathing. The metal slid against her skin over and over while Myla spoke about powers and fighting and all the different ways people survived violence. Part of her wanted to believe her, desperately so, but another part kept catching on the memory of ice exploding across bathroom walls and Tobias bleeding because she’d frozen in place instead of helping. Power meant very little when it slipped through her fingers every time her emotions cracked open. The thought sat bitter on her tongue while she stared down at the amber stain left in the bottom of her glass.

Still, Myla kept talking to her like she was worth the effort. Not fragile. Not pathetic. Just… inexperienced. Bellamy wasn’t used to that sort of kindness from strangers, especially not from people who looked like they belonged in this world of heroes and disasters and impossible choices. Her throat tightened around it unexpectedly. She twisted the bracelet once more, then let her hand fall still in her lap as she finally realized she’d barely spoken at all through Myla’s entire explanation.

"That—That’s a good plan," she managed softly, the words catching a little on their way out. Heat crept into her cheeks again, and she ducked her head instinctively even if Myla couldn’t see it. "I’d really like that. Thank you… you—you’re being so nice." The last part came out quieter, almost embarrassed, because Bellamy wasn’t entirely sure what she’d done to deserve patience from any of them, let alone someone willing to spend hours helping train her from the ground up.

For the first time since arriving at the tower, the future in front of her felt slightly less shapeless. Not fixed. Not safe. But there was structure to it now, however fragile. Training. Learning control. Maybe becoming someone who could stand beside people like Tobias instead of constantly being dragged behind them bleeding and terrified. Bellamy drew in a slow breath and let it settle deep in her lungs, holding onto that thought carefully, like something small and warm cupped between cold hands.

Myla’s smile grew, soft and sincere in a way she had rarely let show since she had stepped into the tower unless she was alone with Theo. She shrugged her shoulders faintly, pinning her hands lightly between her knees. "I’m not as big of a bitch as some of the people here like to think. Although, in their defense, I haven’t made the best first impression either," she mused with a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "This place can feel kinda suffocating and I thought you might like a friend who understands a little bit of what you’re going through," she added with a guilty, tired chuckle. "I know I could."

With one last sigh, Myla ran her hands along her thighs. "Alright, well enough of that depressing shit. We’ve had enough of that today," she mused, pushing off her knees and standing back up. "Let’s see if we can find you some clothes." She nodded her head in the general direction of the bedroom, before starting to make her way down the hall assuming that Bellamy would trail behind her.

After she stepped through the doorway, Myla stopped, furrowing her brows as she ran her hand along the wall. It took her a couple seconds before she found the switch, followed by the soft buzz of electricity flowing through the lights. "Sorry. I never really bothered to figure out where the lights were." She laughed and stepped toward the closet, repeating the process a second time. It wasn’t until that moment that she forgot how big of a disaster the closet was. Her duffel bag sat in the middle of the small room, clothes thrown out in every direction like a bomb went off. "Yeah, I totally forgot about that," she apologized, scratching the back of her head.

"Would it be insanely rude of me to ask for help sorting it? I had a system back home but I kind of packed in a hurry… And I don’t trust a man to know the difference between matching colors," she mused with a single shouldered shrug. "Not that Theo wouldn’t help, because he would… But he also put me in a Grinch t-shirt in the middle of September." Myla snorted softly as she slowly walked into the closet and lowered to her knees. Her fingers ran across the various fabrics, separating pieces of clothing by texture and type as best she could based on her memory and shape.

Something in Bellamy eased at those words. Not because they solved anything, but because they were offered so simply, without expectation or obligation attached to them. A friend. The word settled warmly somewhere beneath her ribs, and for the first time since arriving at the tower it didn't feel quite so enormous around her. Her smile lingered a little longer this time, small but genuine, and she found herself following after Myla without the hesitation that usually accompanied meeting someone new. There was a steadiness to her, something grounded and unpretentious, and Bellamy felt herself gravitating toward it as naturally as she might step toward a fire on a cold night.

The state of the bedroom immediately pulled a startled laugh from her. Her gaze swept over the rumpled blankets, the displaced pillows, and finally the closet that looked as though it had been attacked by a particularly aggressive tornado. Clothes sprawled across nearly every available surface, some half folded, most decidedly not, and the sight felt oddly comforting after the sterile perfection of the tower. It looked lived in. Human. Bellamy pressed her lips together against another smile as she stepped around a shirt lying abandoned near the doorway, it looked like it belonged to Theo. There was a cat wearing sunglasses on it, with what looked to be an atomic bomb going off behind it.

"I don't mind," she replied quickly, sincerity threading through every word as she lowered herself onto the floor beside Myla. The carpet was soft beneath her legs, and she reached automatically for the nearest pile of clothing. "I don't think I'd trust him to organize it either, to be fair." Her thoughts drifted briefly toward Theo's shirt from earlier, and a grin tugged openly at the corners of her mouth before she could stop it. "Honestly, after seeing that shirt, I think the idea of a Grinch shirt should be the least of your worries."

"Oh no," Myla groaned under her breath while her right hand rubbed at the back of her neck. "Was it that bad? I know I said I didn’t want to know… But now I’m concerned." She laughed softly as she tried to sort clothes the best she could: silky blouses in one pile, breathable athletic clothes in another, and so on.

Bellamy's grin widened despite herself, and she ducked her head as she folded another shirt into a neat square. The image of Theo sitting in that conference room drifted back into her mind, and she pressed her lips together against another laugh. For the first time all day, the weight on her chest felt a little lighter.

"I don't think you want to know, trust me," she said, fighting a smile as she looked at the pile of clothes. "Let's just say it was... memorable."

"Oh god," Myla groaned, but there was no anger behind it, just the affectionate frustration that bloomed whenever Theo was unapologetically Theo.

Bellamy picked up a sweater and smoothed the fabric between her fingers before setting it into a small pile beside her knee. The simple act of sorting gave her hands something useful to do, and the familiar rhythm settled some of the lingering nervous energy still humming beneath her skin. "What system did you have back home?" she asked softly, glancing toward Myla as she reached for another garment. "We can try to copy it. Or improve it. Though looking at this, I think we might need a battle plan first." A quiet, shy laugh slipped from her, easier now than it had been all day, and for a fleeting moment she felt almost normal sitting there on the floor with someone who already felt a little like a friend.

Myla slowly lowered herself further until she settled fully on the ground with her legs crossed beneath her. "My uncle’s ex bought a lot of my clothes—she treated me like her own personal barbie doll," she added with a small shrug that was a little annoyed, but she honestly didn’t mind too much. Marci must have had impeccable taste because she was constantly complimented and it meant she didn’t have to worry about trying to make halfway decent outfits. "I know most of it should technically match to limit the possibility of a fashion hate crime." Her smile curled softly, creasing the corners of milky white eyes.

"I normally just kind of pre-planned outfits. So I could just grab and go." While Myla tried her best to explain it, her hands motioned around the closet toward the various piles. "I didn’t really mean to bring business clothes. I haven’t really had a job for the past year, but I packed in a rush." She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "We could just pair a blouse with a skirt or whatever and kinda shove them toward the back of the closet. Jeans and shirts that go with jeans probably don’t really need to be matched, and I think all of my athletic clothes are sets." Her lips pursed slightly as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Then she snapped her finger, remembering something she forgot, and leaned across the small room to grab her Hell’s Angel suit. As she pulled it closer a handful of batons fell to the ground with a thunk. There were the wooden and runic engraved Yggdrasil batons that were her dads and then her regular ones, both covered in dried blood from when she was attacked. "I’ll clean those later," she commented, inhaling sharply as she shoved them aside with a dismissive swipe of her hand, before folding up her suit and setting it on an easily accessible shelf along with her helmet. "Otherwise if you see anything you like or think will fit, just put it in a separate pile. I promise I won’t miss it."

A second passed and before she managed to grab another piece of clothing, she leaned back and scooped up a pair of sneakers that looked practically brand new. "Here," Myla offered, holding out the shoes toward Bellamy with a small wiggle. "My other ones got blood on them from training," she explained with a sheepish laugh. "These have barely been worn though."

Bellamy listened with the sort of attention that came naturally when someone was explaining something practical, something she could hold in her hands and work through one piece at a time. Her fingers toyed absently with the hem of Tobias’s oversized jacket while she mentally sorted piles before they even existed, matching colours and fabrics in her head as Myla spoke. The image of some poor woman treating Myla like a living doll tugged a small smile from her, and she ducked her head to hide it before she remembered that wasn’t necessary with Myla, chewing lightly on her bottom lip while she considered which shelves would work best for everyday clothes versus things that only needed to be worn once in a blue moon. For the first time since arriving at the tower, her thoughts were occupied by something pleasantly ordinary.

The sight of blood pulled her attention away from the closet and toward the battered suit lying nearby. Bellamy's gaze lingered there for a second longer than she intended, tracing dried stains across dark fabric before it shifted to the trainers Myla was holding out toward her. "Oh," she murmured softly, blinking in surprise as she accepted them with both hands. "Are—Are you sure? I'm sure I could order stuff and just..." The words faded as she glanced down at her own feet, clad in only socks, her shoes ruined and sitting by the door of her room, soaked through with mud and forest grime and everything that had happened that night. "I... thank you." Her voice softened around the words, thick with emotion she was trying very hard to keep under control as she blinked rapidly against the sudden sting behind her eyes.

"Yeah, of course," Myla responded as if the matter was settled before they ever set foot in her penthouse.

Bellamy set the shoes carefully beside her knee, treating them with a level of care usually reserved for something far more valuable than trainers. The gesture felt important somehow, another small kindness she wasn't quite sure how to carry yet. She drew in a steadying breath before reaching toward one of the athletic piles, lifting a folded set between her hands and examining it thoughtfully. "Let's start with the workout clothes, since they seem to be your preference." The smile that followed was small but genuine, and as she began sorting pieces into neat stacks between them, the knot that had been lodged beneath her ribs all afternoon loosened by the smallest degree.

Myla laughed softly, tucking loose curls back behind her ears. "Guilty," she confessed as she did her best to help sort what she could using the texture of the fabric and its elasticity to try to match up pieces from the same sets. "Although," she paused, reaching up to scratch the back of her head as an awkward smile curled lopsided across her lips. "I guess I also need something for a beach date?" A subtle warmth dusted the tops of her cheeks as she tried to busy her hands with folding what she could. "Theo has been planning it for a couple days and… It didn’t really cross my mind that yoga pants and sports bras probably won’t cut it." Her head slowly tilted to the side as her face scrunched. "Although I think black eyes, bruises, and stitches might lessen the effect," she added with a weak laugh as she set a black sports bra trimmed in gray beside a pair of leggings from the same brand, but they were deep red trimmed in black.

Bellamy's brows lifted with immediate interest, the faintest hum escaping her as she glanced up from the growing piles of athletic clothes. "A beach date," she repeated, and there was something almost conspiratorial in the way her smile curled afterward. For a moment she studied the scattered clothing around them with narrowed focus, fingers drifting through fabrics and hangers while she weighed options in her mind. A silky pink skirt caught her attention first, but after a second she shook her head and set it aside, already reaching deeper into the chaos of the closet.

A flash of white fabric patterned with small black polka dots emerged from the pile, and Bellamy immediately brightened. She tugged it free with a quiet sound of triumph, holding it up between them so the material could unfurl properly. The dress was simple in the sort of way that never really went out of style; white with delicate black dots scattered across it, a fitted bodice, high halter neckline, and an open back that gave it a light, summery feel. The skirt flared gently from the waist and looked like it would catch every ocean breeze that rolled in from the water. "This one," she declared victoriously, smoothing a wrinkle from the fabric before carefully placing it into Myla's hands. "It's really cute. I bet he'd love it."

While waiting for Myla's verdict, Bellamy returned to the athletic clothes with renewed determination. She folded leggings into neat stacks, paired matching tops together, and arranged everything into tidy little groups across the floor between them. The simple rhythm of it settled comfortably into her hands, and every so often her gaze flicked toward the polka-dot dress, unable to stop the small smile that lingered at the thought of Myla showing up to her date wearing it.

Myla slowly reached out, her rough, battle beaten fingers curled around the fabric that almost felt too delicate to be in her hands. Her thumbs ran along the satin, head cocking slightly to the side as she tried to recall the garment. She could vaguely remember wearing it once, maybe twice? It was some sort of event, but she could hardly remember what anymore as more forgettable days got lost beneath the tidal wave of her life over the past year. Hell, she didn’t even know how it ended up in her bag in the first place, but she wasn’t going to scoff at the fortunate turn of events either. Her head lifted slowly, facing Bellamy with a faint, warm smile. "Thank you… I, uh… I really appreciate it."

While Theo had already let the cat out of the bag, she knew how much this date meant to him and how much he was looking forward to it. There wasn’t much she could do for her part, aside from being ready when she needed to be. But there was still a part of her that wanted to do something in return for him, even if that was something as simple as wearing a pretty dress for their first date… Because technically it was.

She slowly pushed off the ground with one hand, while the other held the garment carefully like any sudden movements could wrinkle or destroy it entirely. Myla snagged a hanger from one of the nearby racks, and stepped out of the closet. She took a second to slip the dress onto it properly, before hooking it on the back of the bathroom door so that there was absolutely no way she could misplace it. Her hand ran along the skirt once more before making her way back into the closet and sitting down on the carpet opposite Bellamy.

They sat in silence for a while, each of them folding and sorting to the best of their ability. Whenever Myla noticed that Bellamy’s pile was small—or non-existant—she occasionally added some pieces before she could argue: a pair of jeans, a couple pairs of socks, two shirts, a hoodie, and a set of athletic wear. The basics mostly. While the quiet was comfortable, she also felt a bit guilty like she had brought that poor girl up to her penthouse with the ulterior motive of chores. "So," she mused, filling the silence as she slowly grabbed the next shirt and started folding the sleeves. "Tobias?" she asked with a knowing lilt and a slight lift to one brow.

Bellamy's hands stilled in the middle of folding a shirt. Her head lifted so quickly that a loose strand of hair slipped across her cheek, and for a second she simply stared at Myla as though the question had arrived in a language she didn't speak. Heat flooded her face instantly, creeping all the way to the tips of her ears, and she lifted a hand to press over one of her cheeks, despite the fact that the other woman couldn't see it. "Tobias?" she echoed, blinking several times while her brain scrambled to catch up with the conversation. Her fingers twisted nervously around the fabric in her lap, and she became acutely aware of how many times she'd apparently thought about him over the past twenty-four hours.

Her gaze dropped back to the shirt she was folding, though she wasn't really looking at it anymore. "He's—I mean, he's amazing." The words came out in a rush, followed by a nervous little laugh. "He's done so much for me and we barely know each other… I mean, he… saved me. He didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t know me, and yet he just…" Her thumb rubbed along the seam of the fabric while she searched for a way to explain something she barely understood herself. Tobias had appeared in the middle of the worst night of her life, carried her through blood and rain and panic, sat with her while she fell apart, and somehow never once made her feel like she was too much to handle. "How do you repay someone for that? Especially when they don’t expect anything in return?"

She chewed lightly on her bottom lip, shoulders hunching a fraction as embarrassment settled deeper beneath her skin. There were too many feelings tangled together to pull apart cleanly; gratitude and trust and comfort and something warmer she wasn't quite ready to examine too closely. The silence stretched for a beat before she finally surrendered with a small groan and buried her face briefly behind the shirt she was holding. "...He's really, um... good looking, too." Her voice came out muffled through the fabric. "Of course." The last two words were accompanied by a helpless little smile as she lowered the shirt again, thoroughly betrayed by her own honesty.

Myla couldn’t help the quiet laugh that bloomed in her chest. She didn’t interrupt, letting Bellamy work her way through the wave of emotions and embarrassment. It was only when she finished that she let her laugh grow to something brighter and less guarded. "Well, I can’t speak to how he looks," she mused as she reached for another piece of clothing, finding the mess that was her closet nearly contained and organized. "But he has a nice voice… deep, but gentle. You know, unless you’re Luke." She snorted while trying to muffle a laugh, because Luke getting his ass kicked was funny. "He also seems quite muscular. I can understand the appeal."

She set the last article of clothing aside in the appropriate pile… she thinks, before turning more directly toward Bellamy. "As for repaying him?" Myla clicked her tongue and tilted her head to the side in thought. "I might not be the best frame of reference for that. After Theo rescued me… I uh… well." Her hand lifted to scratch at the back of her head with a guilty grimace pulling at her lips. "I was really hot for him," she admitted rather than beat around the bush, punctuating it with a pop of her lips.

A second or two passed before Myla held up her hands, waving them to try and stop any conclusions before they formed. "I didn’t—he didn’t," Myla clarified with a nervous laugh. "I was bleeding out and, you know, like half dead or whatever. And we had just shared our identities… and feelings… and oh my god that makes it sound so much worse." She gave up trying to explain, letting her head fall into her hands in defeat with a soft laugh. "In my defense," she muttered into her palms. "We had been pining after each other for months."

Bellamy nearly fumbled the shirt she was folding. Heat rushed straight back into her face, and she ducked her head so quickly that a curtain of hair slipped forward to hide part of her expression, but then she remembered that she didn’t need to do that with Myla. "I-I don't think he'd... want that," she managed, voice betraying her with a faint squeak that only made her more embarrassed. Her hands became suddenly fascinating as she focused on smoothing invisible wrinkles from the fabric in her lap, desperately trying to keep her thoughts from wandering somewhere dangerous. Unfortunately, her imagination was proving wildly uncooperative.

The image of Tobias kept intruding anyway. The deep rumble of his voice, the broad line of his shoulders, the way he'd stepped between her and Luke without hesitation, the way he'd held her together when she'd fallen apart in that frozen bathroom. Bellamy squeezed her eyes shut for half a second and immediately regretted it. The warmth in her cheeks only deepened, and she let out a quiet groan beneath her breath before shaking her head firmly as if that might physically dislodge the thoughts.

"No, I—" Myla couldn’t stop herself from laughing at Bellamy’s struggle, hearing the racing of her heart, the brush of her hands along fabric, and the pained groan. "I’m sorry," she lamented with an apologetic smile. "I wasn’t saying you should try sleeping with him. I just… Well, I don’t know what I was saying." She wheezed out a strained laugh, followed by a soft sigh.

"Most heroes… The right kinds anyway, don’t want repayment," she offered with a small shrug. "The reward is knowing we helped someone and did the right thing. It is for me anyway."

Bellamy smiled at that, small and genuine. The tension she'd been carrying since the meeting eased by another degree, shoulders settling as she glanced down at the neatly folded pile between them. "Yeah," she said softly. The word lingered for a moment while she thought about Tobias sprinting through the rain to find her, sitting beside her hospital bed, throwing himself between her and danger over and over again without ever asking for anything in return. A warmth stirred quietly in her chest. "I think it's... I think he's the same."

Myla nodded her head slowly. "I think so too," she agreed. Of course, she didn’t know Tobias very well. She couldn’t recall if they had ever even said anything to one another. But there was a certain air about him. He carried himself with a heavy sort of stoicism like he shouldered every mistake, loss, and misstep on his own. It was something she could relate to. People like that don’t save others for repayment, it’s just to lighten the load.

"I want to get to know him," she admitted after a moment, the words slipping out before she could reconsider them. Her fingers found the bracelet around her wrist and spun it slowly, grounding herself in the familiar motion. "I'm just not sure how to..." She trailed off, searching for the right words while her gaze settled on one of the neatly folded piles between them. "Sometimes he's like a wall."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite herself. She thought of the way he'd slept fully clothed on top of the blankets because he'd been too anxious to climb into the bed properly, the way he'd gone gently red anytime she accidentally flustered him, the way he'd carried an entire meeting on his shoulders despite clearly wanting to be anywhere else. "A really nice wall," she added softly, almost to herself, before immediately pressing her lips together.

Myla’s smile softened while her fingers idly ran along the carpet beside her. "I was a wall with Theo," she admitted quietly as her head fell. "You know… guarded, distant, all about the job, and never let anything get personal." She shrugged her shoulders with a soft sigh. "I don’t know how he did it. He just kinda chipped away at it. Talked about himself, asked questions, but didn’t pressure me to talk if I didn’t want to. He could talk enough for the both of us," she added with a fond smile, finding herself missing him already in the small amount of time they had been apart.

"If you want to get to know Tobias… I think it just starts with talking. Ask about his interests. Learning about his family and past might take time, but if you offer up information about yourself, he might open up willingly." Myla shrugged again, thinking back on the fight and all the bones she heard snapping beneath Luke’s relentless assault. "He’s pretty beat up," she continued, the words offered more gently knowing that Bellamy would likely find some way to feel guilty about it, even though it was his own choice to act the way he did. "He’ll likely be bedridden for sometime. I’m sure he could use the company… What better time to get to know someone?"

Bellamy listened quietly, her smile softening as Myla spoke about Theo. There was something warm in the way she talked about him, woven through the words without needing to be announced, and Bellamy found herself smiling at the shirt in her hands as she folded it. She could almost picture it; Theo patiently talking enough for two people while Myla slowly lowered her guard piece by piece. It sounded comfortable. Safe. The sort of thing that happened gradually enough that one day you woke up and realized someone had become important without asking permission.

Her fingers smoothed along a sleeve before setting the shirt onto a growing stack beside her knee. The mention of Tobias being stuck in bed pulled her thoughts back toward him immediately. She pictured him limping down the hallway, blood trailing behind him, refusing to let anyone fuss over him despite looking half-dead. Guilt settled heavily in her stomach again, dull and familiar now.

"Yeah," she murmured, frowning down at the next shirt she picked up. The fabric bunched slightly between her fingers as she folded it. "Yeah, I should check on him later. I still feel guilty." The confession came quietly, followed by a small sigh as she shook her head. "And... I do want to get to know him." A faint flush touched her cheeks again, though this time it was accompanied by the smallest smile as she added the folded shirt to the pile and reached for another.

Myla pushed off the ground, standing back up with a soft groan as the quiet aches still clung to her muscles and bones when the world slowed down enough to let her notice. "I know what it’s like to get beat to shit like that," Myla commented as she started taking the organized piles, setting them on shelves or hanging them on the clothing racks, trying her best to imitate her old closet. Jeans folded with t-shirts and sweaters hanging above them, business attire on hangers separated by predetermined outfits, athletic wear stacked according to sets, shoes lined beneath, and undergarments tossed into drawers. "My uncle would keep me company: read me the newspaper, bring me food, and sit in bed beside me while listening to old shitty TV reruns." She shrugged her shoulders with a sad smile… She missed Foggy. Even when she was living with him, Myla hardly saw him and now there was even more space between them. "It’s the people who help you when you’re down that make all the difference."

Bellamy rose a moment later, carrying a stack of folded shirts against her chest as she followed Myla's lead. She moved slowly through the closet, placing piles where directed and pausing every so often to straighten a sleeve or refold something that wasn't quite neat enough for her liking. There was something comforting about the task. It gave her hands something to do while her thoughts chased themselves in circles around Tobias, around her parents, around everything that had happened so quickly that she still felt as though she were trying to catch up with her own life.

Myla's words lingered with her as she worked. The people who stayed when you were hurt. The people who sat beside hospital beds and brought food and filled the silence so you didn't have to be alone with your thoughts. Bellamy carefully stacked a pile of athletic clothes onto a shelf before leaning back on her heels, staring at them without really seeing them. She thought about Tobias stepping on broken glass for her. About the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear while she cried herself empty. About the way he'd looked after the fight, almost like he was ashamed.

"Your uncle sounds nice," she said softly, breaking the comfortable quiet that had settled between them. Her gaze drifted toward Myla as she moved around the room, organizing pieces of a life that had been hastily stuffed into bags. "I think..." She hesitated, smoothing her palm over the edge of a shelf. "I think I'd like to be that for someone someday." The admission surprised her a little once it was spoken aloud, but it felt true. Not rescuing people. Not being the strongest person in the room. Just being someone others could lean on when everything hurt.

"He is," Myla responded quietly with a sad sort of smile that slowly fell beneath something pensive and forlorn. "He’s my dad’s best friend," she added as she slipped a piece of clothing onto a hanger, then hung it in its designated area. "Pretty much the only family I have left." She paused, then sighed. "Well… There’s my mom, but that’s… complicated. My uncle basically raised me whenever my dad was running around Hell’s Kitchen." Her smile returned faintly. Her childhood might have been unorthodox by most people’s standards, but she wouldn’t change it… not for anything.

Then she slowly turned to face Bellamy, offering her a gentle, lopsided smile. "Not all heroes fight crime," Myla offered with a small shrug. "Some are doctors, or lawyers, or cops, or strong support systems for those who need it." She tucked loose hair behind her ears before leaning over and grabbing another sweater. "They come in all shapes and sizes."

Bellamy fell quiet after that, her fingers worrying at the bracelet around her wrist as it turned once, then twice, then a third time beneath her thumb. The closet felt smaller than it had a few moments ago, filled with neatly folded clothes and the faint scent of fabric softener, yet her thoughts kept drifting somewhere far beyond the tower. She watched Myla hang another sweater, watched the easy familiarity with which she moved through her own space, and for a moment envied how grounded she seemed. The feeling passed quickly, leaving only a dull ache behind.

"I didn't want to be a hero," she said at last, the words coming quietly enough that they almost disappeared into the room. Admitting it felt strangely difficult, as though she were confessing something shameful instead of something she'd spent years insisting upon. "I was adamant. I never wanted this life." Her gaze drifted downward, settling on her hands folded loosely. "And my dad... he was okay with it. He argued some, wanted me to at least be able to defend myself."

A faint smile touched her lips before fading just as quickly. "But I was young, and stubborn, and so I never did." The words settled heavily between them. Bellamy drew in a slow breath that caught halfway through her chest, forcing herself to keep her eyes fixed on the bracelet rather than the memories waiting just beyond the edge of her thoughts. Her father's voice lingered there, patient and persistent, alongside a hundred conversations she'd brushed aside because there would always be more time tomorrow.

The breath left her in a quiet shudder. She swallowed hard and looked toward the floor of the closet, following the pattern in the carpet rather than allowing herself to look backward. There were too many what-ifs waiting there, too many alternate versions of that day where she had listened, trained harder, been stronger, been something other than who she was. They crowded at the back of her throat like poison. Bellamy pressed her lips together and gently spun the bracelet once more, forcing her attention back to the present, because if she let herself step into those memories now, she wasn't entirely sure she'd find her way back out.

Myla listened, nodding her head in quiet acknowledgement as she hung up the sweater along the clothes rack, then grabbed the next garment. She let the silence sit and breathe for a moment or two before speaking again. "My dad never wanted this life for me." Her hands slowly slipped a hanger through the collar of a shirt. "He was adamant about keeping me as far from the life of a vigilante as possible… Convinced I’d get myself killed." A weak laugh slipped out at the irony of how close to right he had been, countless times. "But I was also young and stubborn and I didn’t listen." She shrugged her shoulders as the soft clink of the hanger slipping onto the rack filled the closet. "Eventually he figured if I wasn’t going to listen, then he should at least train me, for his peace of mind."

Rather than picking up another piece of clothing, Myla slowly turned around to face Bellamy. Her face had a heaviness that didn’t live there before, creasing her brows, and tugging the corners of her mouth downwards. "I had over a decade of training… And I wasn’t able to save my dad." The confession cut through the tension of the closet like a blade, sharp and exact, but no less true. "Same with Theo… and Tobias," she added, giving more credence to her argument. There was a moment she contemplated listing off every single person in the tower who stood exactly where they did, instead letting her point stand solid on its own feet. Bellamy got her meaning. She didn’t need to beat it to death.

"This all fucking sucks," Myla lamented loudly, bordering on a shout while throwing up her hands in exhaustion. "But the only people we should be blaming is them—" She waved her hands vaguely somewhere behind her, motioning at the ominous ‘they.’ "—But not each other, and not ourselves. Our dads wouldn’t want that."

Bellamy stood very still as Myla spoke, her fingers remained curled around the cool metal of her bracelet while the other woman's words settled slowly into the spaces grief had hollowed out inside her. She looked down at her wrist, because it was easier than looking at the pain written across Myla's face. The realization settled heavily in her chest that every person in this tower seemed to carry the same wound in a different shape, each of them haunted by someone they couldn't save no matter how hard they had tried.

Her throat tightened painfully. She wanted to argue, to insist that it was different somehow, that if she'd listened to her father, if she'd learned to fight, if she'd been stronger, if she'd just... something. But every protest withered before it reached her lips beneath the quiet certainty in Myla's voice. The woman beside her had trained for years, Theo had trained for years, Tobias had spent his entire life becoming something capable of standing against monsters, and still they carried names they wished they could have saved. Bellamy shut her eyes, twisting the bracelet around her wrist until the cool metal pressed firmly into her skin, grounding herself in its familiar weight.

A slow breath left her lungs as her shoulders eased for what felt like the first time all afternoon. The guilt was still there, dense and aching, but it no longer felt quite so absolute. "My dad would've hated hearing me blame myself," she admitted quietly, a sad smile touching her lips as the memory of him surfaced with startling clarity. "He'd probably tell me I was being stubborn again." A soft, watery laugh escaped before she ducked her head, blinking rapidly against the sting behind her eyes. "I'm... trying," she murmured. "I don't know how to stop yet... but I'm trying."

Myla laughed quietly at the mention of being stubborn, knowing that her dad would probably tell her something similar if he was there… and then she’d say she learned it from him. They had that conversation at least once a week, and it never changed. It always started with him mad or frustrated, and ended with laughter and him realizing once again that she was too much like him to deny. Stubborn, headstrong, and insanely independent. The memory made an ache she had repressed for months resurface, sharp and raw in the center of her chest… But it also made her smile despite it.

"Trying is like 90% of the battle. You’ll get there," she offered with a single shoulder shrug. "I was doing good at not blaming myself until the other night." Myla brushed it off with a dismissive wave of her hand. The last thing she needed was to reopen that can of worms when she was supposed to be in higher spirits for Theo’s date. If she did anything to ruin what he’s been planning… Well, it’d just be another thing added to the list of things she’s never been able to forgive herself for, and she wanted to be better… was trying to be, anyway.

Bellamy's smile softened until it settled into something quiet and genuine, touched by an affection that had grown far quicker than she'd expected. She looked at Myla for a long moment, taking in the warmth behind her words and the kindness that seemed to come so naturally despite everything the other woman had endured. "Thank you," she said softly, the words carrying far more weight than their simplicity suggested. "Really... I don't think I realized how much I needed someone to tell me that." Her fingers absently turned the bracelet around her wrist once more, but this time the motion was slow and thoughtful rather than anxious, and the small smile she offered Myla reached her eyes.

Myla nodded her head with a small smile. She wasn’t used to being the person someone looked to for advice or comfort. People didn’t lean on her and it was rare that she let herself lean on others. There was always kindness in her and a compassion to help… everyone, but it was hidden beneath her prickly exterior that people rarely saw it. What they were doing in this tower was important, and she was trying her best to be as accommodating as possible, or at least more than Luke or Jim. But it was nice hearing that she helped at least one person, even if she didn’t run into the line of fire and save her life like Tobias did… She still helped.

"It’ll get easier," she offered with a gentle shrug. "The pain doesn’t go away, but you’ll learn how to live with it and use it to drive you." Her smile widened slightly as she reached for another sweater and a hanger. "Friends make it easier… and hot guys with muscles who punch people for you," she mused with a mischievous chuckle.

Bellamy sat with Myla's words for a while, letting them settle somewhere beneath the ache that had become so familiar it almost felt like another heartbeat. The pain wasn't going to disappear, she knew that much now, but perhaps it didn't have to remain an open wound forever. If she could learn from it, let it shape her into someone stronger instead of simply hollowing her out, then maybe everything she'd lost wouldn't exist only as tragedy.

A surprised laugh slipped free before she could stop it, warm and genuine as it chased away some of the heaviness clinging to her shoulders. Bellamy ducked her head with a lingering smile, the words refusing to come despite how badly she wanted to thank her. Instead she let the quiet settle between them, no longer strained but comfortable, hoping Myla could hear everything she couldn't quite bring herself to say in the softness of her laugh and the steadiness that had finally returned to her breathing.

It took a few more minutes for Myla to finish making the closet appear as lived in and organized as possible. She was missing some of her preferred garments, but packing in a rush didn’t give her much opportunity to be thorough. It was good enough, aside from Theo’s stuff… She contemplated unpacking for him as well, but she honestly had no clue how he organized his belongings—probably organized chaos she imagined. If nothing else, she scooped up his bag and set it beside the empty side of the closet. There was a moment where she started gathering up his clothes that were scattered about the room and as she caught the subtle scent of his sweat—and hers—clinging to cotton, she recalled why it ended up there in the first place. A guilty blush rose in her cheeks as she picked up the discarded clothing like a scavenger hunt, and tossed them into the hamper.

A small smile tugged at Bellamy’s lips as she caught the faint blush that had crept into Myla's cheeks while she gathered up Theo's discarded clothes. She politely pretended not to notice, though amusement flickered warmly behind her eyes. Instead she reached for another hanger and busied herself helping organize the remaining clothes, feeling lighter than she had in days. For the first time since arriving at the tower, the future didn't feel like an endless drop beneath her feet. It felt uncertain and frightening and painful, but maybe not something she had to face entirely alone.

When she returned to the closet, Myla pointed down at the single remaining stack of clothing that she had put together herself once she noticed Bellamy was making no attempts to pick anything out herself. "Those are for you," she offered with a warm smile as she leaned against the door frame. "Alfred’s tablet is on the coffee table. Me and touch screens aren’t really compatible—" she chuckled under her breath, "—but he explained some of it to me. Said it’s connected to paypal or google pay or something like that. You just shop on whatever sites you want, charge it to whichever Stark-Wayne-Frost account is connected. He said you can expedite it and that the address should be in there somewhere." Myla shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I hope some of that means more to you than it does to me."

There was a pause, just for a second or two, before she snapped remembering one last thing. "Oh. Alfred also mentioned that the stuff he ordered for your cat arrived during the meeting. It should be in your room by… Well now." Myla’s brows furrowed as if she just connected the dots and realized that meant Bellamy had a pet in the tower. "I might have to bug you sometime and meet your cat. Or, you know, if you ever need a catsitter. Theo and I can always keep it company," she added with a small smile that said any opportunity to spend some time gushing over a fluffy little animal was the best time.

Bellamy's attention dropped to the neatly assembled stack Myla had put together for her, surprise flickering plainly across her face. For a moment she simply stared at it, taking in the jeans and shirts and hoodie and athletic clothes that had somehow appeared while she'd been distracted. The gesture settled warmly in her chest, another small kindness added to a growing pile she wasn't entirely sure how to carry. Her fingers brushed lightly across the folded hoodie before her gaze lifted back toward Myla.

The mention of Alfred's tablet drew a faint crease between her brows. She could picture it sitting untouched on the coffee table, loaded with possibilities she hadn't even considered yet. New clothes. Shoes. Toiletries. Things she'd left behind in a house she would maybe never return to. The thought made her stomach tighten, but not as sharply as it had before.

Then Myla mentioned her cat, and Bellamy visibly brightened. The heaviness lingering around her eyes eased almost instantly, replaced by something softer and more familiar. "He's probably already claimed the entire penthouse as his kingdom," she said with a small laugh, imagining the kitten sprawled dramatically across furniture he'd owned for all of ten hours. The idea of Myla and Theo volunteering to watch him tugged another smile from her before uncertainty crept back in.

"Is that really okay?" she asked quietly, glancing between the stack of clothes and the direction of the living room where the tablet waited. One hand drifted to her bracelet, turning it around her wrist in a nervous habit she'd fallen into. "I feel bad spending their money." Her voice softened around the admission. "Everyone's already done so much for me." She looked down at the clothes Myla had picked out, then back up again with an embarrassed little smile. "I'm not used to people being this generous, or needing to accept help."

"Yeah," Myla replied with a soft laugh. "All three of them are millionaires. I highly doubt whatever you need would put a dent in their checking accounts." After a moment her brows furrowed while her head tilted to the side slightly. "I mean… Jim hates me, and he gave me a job with Stark Enterprises, and likely a salary that’ll put me into cardiac arrest… Soooo…" She held out her hands and shrugged her shoulders, accenting it with a small pop of her lips. "If you’re that worried, you can keep track of how much you spend and pay them back. Although I imagine Imogen and June would refuse your money."

Bellamy let out a small laugh and nodded, some of the tension easing from her shoulders at the thought. "Yeah, I suppose that's a good idea." The idea of keeping track of everything felt manageable, something she could hold onto instead of feeling like she was drowning in generosity she hadn't earned. Bellamy pushed herself up from the carpet, carefully stepping around Myla where she stood in the doorway before slipping out of the bedroom. The living room was quiet, and she quickly crossed the space, reaching for the tablet Alfred had lended them resting on the coffee table. She tucked it against her side and retraced her steps, easing back into the bedroom with a small, absent smile before lowering herself onto the floor once more. This time she settled with her back resting against the side of the bed, legs folded comfortably beneath her, the tablet balanced across her lap as she looked back toward Myla, ready to continue where they'd left off.

The screen flickered to life beneath her fingertips. Amazon opened, filling the display with an endless sea of possibilities that immediately made her feel out of her depth. Bellamy stared at it for several long seconds, chewing on the inside of her cheek before glancing back toward Myla. "I don't even know where to start, I feel like I'm missing so much." She sighed softly and scrolled through a few categories without really seeing them. "I need clothes, I guess. Shoes. Shampoo. Conditioner. A hairbrush." Her brows knit together as she thought harder. "Toothbrush, bra… Jesus. Her thumb hovered over the screen before she looked back toward Myla with quiet uncertainty. "What would you buy if you had to start over from scratch?"

Myla let out a sigh, the air puffing up her cheeks as she thought. "Umm…" She scratched her head and chewed on the inside of her cheek as she tried to imagine what she would consider necessities if she one day found herself in a new place with nothing to her name. "All the essential toiletries. Two good pairs of shoes, like a pair of sneakers for daily wear so you are comfortable, but also can run or whatever at a moment’s notice, and solid boots for shitty weather or… who knows what." She rocked her head back and forth, mentally shifting various items into two columns of needs or wants. "A capsule wardrobe, which is like essential pieces of clothing, usually neutrals I believe?" Her brows rose as she tried to remember all the details Marci had told her on one of their many shopping trips. "It’s supposed to be really easy to mix and match, and make like a bunch of outfits out of like a dozen or so pieces."

She lightly rapped her fingertips along her thighs, trying to recall what she usually tossed into bags whenever she had to dash on short notice. "A phone, if you don’t have one. And given our current circumstances…" Myla’s voice trailed off as the pragmatist in her reared its ugly head as it often did in moments where reality was more important than wishful thinking. "A duffel of absolute essentials ready if we ever need to run and one of those cat backpacks, because the last thing you need in a panic is to try and juggle a pissy cat."

Bellamy immediately swiped over to a notes app, her thumb moving quickly across the screen as she built a checklist before she forgot half of what Myla suggested. The list grew steadily beneath her fingertips: toiletries, trainers, boots, a proper coat, everyday clothes, phone charger, spare backpack. Her lips twitched upward as she added another item. "Cat bag, that's genius." The thought of trying to carry Loki through an emergency while he protested loudly enough to wake the dead felt absurd enough that she couldn't help smiling.

The next half hour slipped by in a comfortable rhythm. The tablet rested against her knees while she bounced between search results and recommendations, adding things to her cart whenever she found something practical. Every so often she'd call something out for Myla's opinion, or abandon a page entirely after deciding she didn't need two types of sneakers. By the time she finished, the cart held far more than she'd originally intended; clothes, shoes, toiletries, a new phone, a few basic household items, a duffle bag with emergency supplies to go in it, and even a small photo printer after the realization struck that nearly every picture she still owned lived in cloud storage. The thought of having family photos sitting on shelves again eased something deep inside her chest.

When she finally reached checkout, Bellamy stared at the total for several long seconds. The number sat there in bold text, large enough to make her stomach tighten despite everything Myla had said. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, then glanced toward the other woman before lowering her eyes back to the screen.

"I'm ordering it under Imogen's account," she mumbled, finger hovering uncertainly over the button. "She might let me pay her back." The statement sounded more hopeful than confident. After a moment she exhaled softly and pressed purchase before she could talk herself out of it. The confirmation screen appeared almost instantly. Bellamy stared at it for a second, then let out a small breath, feeling strangely lighter. It wasn't much, just a collection of things and a shipping confirmation, but for the first time since arriving at the tower, it felt like she was building something instead of only surviving what had already been lost.

Myla sat in the doorway of the closet, tucking her legs beneath her as Bellamy set to the arduous task of trying to rebuild her life with an Amazon shopping cart. She offered suggestions and feedback where she could, but otherwise, when the silence lingered, her attention slipped through the tower until it snagged on Theo’s voice. She never really understood what they were talking about, but there was a comfort that came from just listening, and observing how he worked with others. Unlike Jim, he wanted to help. He settled naturally into the team environment like he was made for it, and something about the way he just fit everywhere he went made her feel slightly guilty at how much that contrasted herself, yet it also made her heart swell because he truly was one of the kindest and most selfless people she knew. Why he wanted her, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever understand that one. But she was thankful he did.

When Bellamy finished, her words drew back Myla’s attention with a soft, "Huh?" It took a second for her brain to catch up before her brows rose slightly. She wasn’t entirely convinced that it would play out the way Bellamy hoped, but she wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that either… At least, not until her stuff arrived and there was no going back. Whether or not it was easy accepting handouts, there were basic necessities the girl needed. "Maybe," she mused with a small shrug of her shoulders.

Bellamy smiled to herself at Myla's uncertain answer, the shopping was finished now, the list of things she needed no longer lived only in her head, and that alone made the world feel a little less overwhelming. She lingered where she was for another quiet moment, letting the comfortable silence settle between them before pushing herself upright with a hand against the edge of the bed. Her muscles protested after sitting on the floor so long, and she stretched absentmindedly, smoothing the front of Tobias's borrowed hoodie as she did.

"I should probably go check on Tobias," she said softly, though the admission carried a hint of nervousness beneath it. The thought had been tugging at her ever since Myla suggested it, growing harder to ignore the longer she sat there. She glanced toward the bedroom door before looking back at the other woman, a small smile finding its way onto her face again. "But... do you need any more help getting ready for your date before I disappear?" she asked earnestly. "I'd be happy to stay a little longer if you do."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the neatly organized closet, then back to Myla, warmth settling comfortably in her chest. It struck Bellamy then that she'd arrived at the tower with nothing but grief, a frightened kitten, and borrowed clothes, yet somewhere between sorting wardrobes, sharing bourbon, and talking about fathers they both missed, she'd made her first real friend. The realization softened her expression into something quieter than happiness, but no less genuine, and she found herself hoping this wouldn't be the last afternoon they spent sitting on a bedroom floor, putting broken pieces back together one small conversation at a time.

"I think Tobias is a bit more important," Myla mused with a warm smile. He had gotten his ass beaten to hell and back by a super soldier, that seemed to take a significantly higher priority than her own date related quandaries. "You already helped with the hardest part, the outfit. The rest is just me having to remind myself that I used to work a corporate job, and that I do in fact know how to do my hair and makeup… I just need to remember." She laughed softly, shrugging her shoulders with the unbothered conviction that she’d either figure it out or look like a clown, and somehow she imagined Theo would still like it. Little weirdo. "Muscle memory," she added, lightly tapping two fingers against her temple.

Bellamy's smile brightened until it reached her eyes, easy now in a way it hadn't been since she'd arrived at the tower. The knot of worry that had lived beneath her ribs all afternoon loosened another fraction as she looked at Myla, unable to imagine anyone more deserving of a peaceful evening than the woman sitting across from her. "Thank you... and good luck," she said warmly, the sincerity in her voice impossible to miss. "I hope it's everything you've both been looking forward to."

She lingered for a moment before stepping closer. "And..." she began, a little shy again despite herself, "Would it be alright if we did this again sometime?" A hopeful smile tugged gently at her lips as she tilted her head. "I want to hear all about your date afterwards."

Myla’s smile turned slightly bashful as a faint blush dusted the tops of her cheeks. "Thanks. He kind of ruined his original plan, so I genuinely have no idea what he has planned." She shrugged her shoulders with a soft laugh. Originally Theo had planned to save his declaration of love for the beach. He had all but let the cat out of the bag already, but then last night after training… Well, the rest of the plan quickly went to shit, in the best possible way. So while his original intentions might be out the window, she wouldn’t put it past him to have something else up his sleeve. It was hard not being anxious and nervous and a million other emotions.

At Bellamy’s question, her head tilted toward her with a warmth that tugged at the corners of her smile. "Of course. I can help you organize your closet once everything arrives… Which mostly means I’ll keep you company and smother your cat with love," she mused with a guilty laugh.

Bellamy grinned at Myla, nodding automatically before remembering, a heartbeat too late, that the other woman would never see it. "That sounds great, I can't wait. Thanks, Myla. Really. I'll see you later!" she said warmly, the gratitude in her voice coming easily where words had failed her before.

She slipped out of the penthouse and into the hall, letting the quiet settle around her as she crossed to the elevator. Every instinct urged her to hurry, to rush upstairs and make sure Tobias was alright, but she kept herself to an even, measured pace. She didn’t want to seem too eager to see him, but there was a small part of Bellamy that was certain she hadn’t fooled Myla.

^{interactions ....|.... none ............... mentions ....|.... tobias, theo, magni, imogen, jim & june ............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

What Lies Below

^{#3c6c6b ....|..... outfit ............... #fcb04d ....|..... outfit ............... main street}

Warren Boone started his morning with theft.

The decision came shortly after five-thirty while he stood on the back porch of his cabin with a mug of coffee warming his hands against the October chill, though if he were being honest he’d been planning this for some time now. The forest stretched away beneath a pale blue dawn, layers of pine-covered hills rolling toward the horizon beneath ribbons of lingering fog. Somewhere through the trees sat Harlan's cabin. He couldn't see the building itself from here, but he knew exactly where it was. More importantly, he could see the familiar shape of his brother's truck parked beneath the dark silhouettes of ponderosa pines. The sight settled something satisfied in him before he'd even taken the first step toward stealing it.

The walk took only a few minutes. Fallen needles softened his footsteps while frost clung silver-white to patches of grass and low brush. The air smelled of pine sap, damp earth, and woodsmoke drifting lazily from chimneys scattered throughout the valley. Warren crossed the distance with the ease of someone who had spent his entire life moving through these woods, coffee still in one hand and a bright pink sticky note tucked into his jacket pocket. By the time he reached the truck, his grin had stretched across his face like the Grinch when he decided to steal Christmas.

Harlan's old Chevrolet sat exactly where it always did, broad-shouldered and immaculate despite its age. Black paint gleamed faintly beneath the dawn light while the orange stripe along the side caught hints of gold from the rising sun filtering through the branches overhead. Warren rested a hand briefly against the hood before climbing inside. The truck started immediately beneath his touch. No grinding. No hesitation. Just the deep, smooth rumble of a well-maintained engine settling into a contented idle. Warren nodded once, pleased with himself on multiple levels. He’d made a copy of the key weeks ago.

He drove only as far as the end of the driveway before parking and jogging back through the cold. The sticky note found its place squarely on Harlan's front door. Frost crackled beneath his boots as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while his breath curled pale in the air before him. Somewhere behind those walls his brother slept peacefully, entirely unaware that both his truck and his morning routine had already been hijacked. Warren felt no guilt whatsoever.

"Perfect."

The drive into Pine Ridge carried him beneath a canopy of autumn color. Gold aspens burned against dark evergreens. Red leaves tumbled lazily across the road whenever a gust of wind swept through the valley. The heater hummed softly while the truck's engine purred beneath him, carrying him toward a town that seemed to be waking all at once. Storefront lights flickered on. Volunteers hauled decorations onto sidewalks. Orange banners stretched between old brick buildings along Main Street while carved pumpkins appeared on porches and windowsills like cheerful sentries announcing the season.

Months of planning had transformed the town into something festive without losing the worn charm Warren loved about it. The wrought-iron lamp posts wore garlands of autumn leaves and small bundles of dried corn stalks. Hand-painted signs advertised pie contests, costume contests, hayrides, pumpkin carving, and the haunted house that had become the centerpiece of the entire festival. He hated to admit it, and he’d never do it to Samuel’s face, but it was an impressive turn around. It was probably all Sutton.

He backed Harlan's truck carefully into position near the center of the designated trunk-or-treat area. The tailgate faced the street while the front bumper sat near the curb, giving children easy access once the festivities began. Boxes of candy, glow sticks, toy spiders, vampire fangs, and small prizes sat in totes on the sidewalk, covered by a tarp to protect it from the early morning dew. Warren climbed out and immediately caught the scent of hay, pumpkins, and fresh coffee drifting from nearby booths still being assembled. The town buzzed with the low, steady rhythm of people building something together.

Two younger wolves were already waiting beside a trailer stacked high with decorations. Caleb balanced a hay bale against one shoulder while carrying two pumpkins beneath his arm, his breath puffing visibly in the cold. Mason struggled with another bale nearly half his size, boots dragging against the pavement while he stubbornly refused help. Together they began shaping the display around the truck. Pumpkins gathered around the tires. Hay bales formed seating along the edges. Strings of orange lights wound through everything until the old Chevrolet looked less like a work truck and more like the centerpiece of a harvest festival.

Warren folded his arms across his chest and watched the scene take shape while the morning sun climbed higher over the rooftops. Children would swarm these streets before long. Parents would carry hot cider and paper cups of coffee while chasing sugar-fueled toddlers between booths. Teenagers would linger near the haunted house pretending they were above the festivities while participating in every part of it anyway. The thought settled warmly beneath his ribs, and he found himself smiling before he realized it.

"Little more left," he called toward Mason, pointing toward one of the hay bales. "If somebody trips, Samuel'll bury me in paperwork until Christmas… or just bury me." He grinned at the idea, but Mason and Caleb looked startled and angry for a moment before he waved them off. Warren wasn’t scared of Samuel, it was Clint you had to worry about. The boys were too young to know that though, so he let them live in a world where their Alpha was fearless in the face of vampires.

Warren's gaze drifted beyond them toward the mountains rising dark and familiar beyond town. Cold wind tugged at his jacket and carried the scent of pine down from the hills. Somewhere out there, Harlan was probably waking up to discover his truck was missing. After a quick phone call, Charlie was quickly dragged into the shenanigan's. Warren's smile widened as he turned back toward the display and grabbed a pumpkin himself, settling comfortably into the work as Pine Ridge slowly came alive around him.

While most of the pack had quickly got to work laying out pumpkins, stringing garland, and lights, or even running over to help the Sterling brothers set up their booths without getting into a fight… Jesse did not. Born to the pack, Jesse had that kind of chip on his shoulder that said he was entitled to his place among them although he did little to earn the respect that came with it. He was the type of person that once you heard he was tagging along or showing up everyone groaned and rolled their eyes.

He looked and acted like a junky. He had virtually no meat on his bones, skinny enough to be a living skeleton with greasy black hair that reached his jaw, and face tattoo had to have been a drunken decision, because no one in their right mind actively chose to get ‘no regerts’ stamped across their forehead.

In typical Jesse fashion, he wasn’t there to actually lend a hand but more lounge around, giving unwanted commentary and generally just being in the way. He laid in the back of Harlan’s truck, knees hooked over the tailgate with his feet hanging free, swinging them lazily back and forth. One arm was bent behind his head while a billow of smoke rose from his cigarette as he took a long drag.

Volunteers moved steadily between booths and folding tables while truck beds unloaded pumpkins, decorations, and crates of supplies. Warren crossed the street with a bale of hay balanced against his shoulder, boots crunching over scattered leaves that had blown loose from the gutters overnight, and immediately spotted Jesse stretched across the back of Harlan's truck like an unwanted cat that had claimed ownership of the place.

His jaw tightened.

Jesse had somehow managed to make himself comfortable in the middle of a worksite. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers while his muddy boots hung over the tailgate, lazily kicking at the cold air. Thin streams of smoke curled upward through strings of orange lights that still needed securing, drifting across hay bales and cardboard boxes packed full of candy. Around him, everyone else worked. Caleb hauled another pumpkin toward the display with both arms wrapped around it while Mason struggled with a stack of wooden signs nearly as tall as he was, and neither looked particularly thrilled to see Jesse contributing absolutely nothing.

Warren dropped the hay bale beside the truck with a muffled thump and stepped forward. "Get out of the damn truck." The back of his hand cracked against Jesse's boot as he passed, knocking the swinging foot aside before he pointed toward the cigarette. "And put that thing out before you burn half the festival down." Wind stirred through the street and rattled the dried corn stalks tied to a nearby lamp post. "We've got hay stacked everywhere, decorations hanging overhead, and enough cardboard packed in that bed to keep a fire going until Christmas. If Harlan's truck ends up a pile of melted steel because you wanted a smoke break, he'll string you up by your ankles… or worse."

Jesse snorted, pulling the cigarette from his lips to flick ashes somewhere over the side of the truck without a care. "I’m not scared of Harlan," he snickered, taking another drag. "I’ve met pups with more bite than him."

Warren shook his head once, slow and unimpressed, before adjusting the pumpkin tucked beneath one arm. "Then you're dumber than you look." The words came easily, delivered with the same certainty someone might use to comment on the weather. His gaze lingered on Jesse for a moment longer before drifting toward the mountains rising beyond town, dark pines crowding their slopes beneath streaks of gold and orange foliage. Harlan had never needed to bark the loudest or throw the first punch. There was a reason people listened when he spoke and moved when he decided to act.

Warren turned back toward the truck and set the pumpkin into place beside a hay bale. "Anybody who isn't at least a little scared of my brother hasn't been paying attention." He brushed straw from his hands and glanced over his shoulder again. "Or they're too stupid to realize when they're standing in front of a bear trap."

The cigarette smell lingered stubbornly in the air. Warren folded his arms across his chest and looked over the setup they had spent all morning building, from the pumpkins gathered around the tires to the strings of lights hanging above the tailgate. Children would be crawling all over this section of the street in a few hours. Families would crowd around the truck for candy and photographs. The image of Jesse dropping ash into the decorations made something sour settle behind his ribs. "You've got hands. Use them." His gaze shifted toward the others working nearby before settling back on Jesse. "Help Caleb and Mason finish setting up, or find somewhere else to be until the festival starts. I'm not paying people to stand around and be decorative, and if I were it certainly wouldn’t be you."

The junkie wannabe’s brows rose incredulously from where he remained unwaveringly cemented to the bed of the truck. "Who the fuck you kiddin’? You ain’t paying any of us?"

A bark of laughter escaped Warren before he could stop it. Cold air caught the sound and carried it down the street where volunteers continued hanging decorations between storefronts and arranging pumpkins along the sidewalks, and a few of them smiled at the jovial sound. None of them saw the cool anger in his face, the expression directed at Jesse. The autumn wind stirred the hem of his flannel while dried leaves scraped across the pavement around his boots. Nearby, Caleb suddenly found a reason to focus very hard on stacking hay bales. Mason looked equally invested in a string of lights that definitely did not require his attention. Neither wanted to be standing anywhere near Jesse when Warren stopped smiling.

"I'm not paying you. I’m paying everyone else because they know better than to waste my time." He stared at him for a moment longer, letting the unspoken threat linger in the air, before he turned and moved to help Caleb.

The festival wasn’t going to start until nighttime settled over Pine Ridge, but that didn’t stop eager kids and curious tourists from creeping through the various booths and attractions, like if they got the lay of the land then they would be able to optimize their time to the fullest potential. One of said people was a woman in her early thirties with hair as orange as a pumpkin wearing a witch costume that left little to the imagination. The skirt barely reached below her bottom, the neckline was plunging, and fishnets clung to her pale legs. The most surprising part wasn’t how she walked through town in six inch heels like they were no different than hiking books, but the young child that bounced alongside her. The young boy was dressed in a pumpkin costume two sizes too big, wild blond curls poking out from beneath the oversized hat that refused to stop drooping into his face. One hand held tight to his mother’s while the other kept pushing that pesky hat farther back on his head so he could gawk at the festival set up in awe.

Of course the moment his big blue eyes caught sight of the trunk-or-treat, a squeal of excitement tore through the area. Little feet scurried at full speed, dragging his mom along behind him as he beelined straight toward the big black truck. "Mommy! Mommy! Look!" He pointed excitedly at Warren and the others around him as they milled about, setting up the final touches.

"Sweetie, it’s not time yet," the mother tried to argue through bright laughter, trailing along behind the excited pumpkin while her other hand kept her witch hat from flying off with every gust of wind.

Her pace slowed as they neared the truck, her gaze immediately settling on Warren, shamelessly watching his arms flex or the tensing of muscles along his back every time he lifted or moved something. She took a second while his back was turned to adjust her dress and brush a stubborn lock of hair back behind her ear. "Hey Warren," she finally greeted him, his name slipping off her tongue, honeyed and sweet like he was the best thing the festival had to offer.

Jesse shifted, propping himself up on his elbows as his gaze drifted over the back of the truck toward the voice in question. A cigarette hung lazily from his lips as he looked her up and down from the tippy top of her witch hat down past the fishnets to her black heels. He let out a pleased whistle, accented with a sly smirk. "Hell-ooooo, Heather," he called out.

Warren was halfway through carrying another hay bale toward the truck when the squeal of a child cut through the bustle and drew his attention toward the street. The little boy came first, all oversized pumpkin costume and wild blond curls, barreling toward the display with the singular determination only children possessed. His mother followed close behind, laughing breathlessly while trying to keep both her witch hat and her dignity intact. Warren's gaze lingered briefly on the kid pointing excitedly toward the truck, then Heather spoke his name. The familiar voice settled somewhere behind his eyes like the beginning of a headache while he shifted the hay bale higher against his shoulder and kept moving.

Jesse's whistle reached him a second later.

Warren stopped walking. His jaw tightened. The cigarette smoke curling above the truck mixed unpleasantly with the smell of hay and pumpkins as he turned toward the truck bed. Jesse had hauled himself upright onto his elbows and was already grinning toward Heather like he thought he was charming. Warren pointed directly at him, expression flattening into something that left very little room for interpretation. "Go. Now." The words came low and sharp enough to cut through the noise of the street. His eyes lingered there for another second before dismissing him entirely and turning back toward the actual problem standing in front of him.

"Fuck man, who pissed in your Cheerios?" Jesse grumbled as he sat up fully and scooted toward the tailgate of the truck. He drew in a large puff of smoke before hopping down, dirty boots crunching whatever straw, leaves, or unlucky decor was underfoot. His gaze drifted between Warren and Heather with a knowing curve to one brow. "He could use a good lay. Warren’s been awfully upright recently." Before his Alpha could crack him over the head, Jesse scurried out of arm’s reach and headed down the street, leaving the festival setup for those who cared.

Warren's jaw locked so hard it ached. Jesse's laughter drifted down the street alongside the smell of cigarette smoke while his boots crunched through fallen leaves and scattered straw. Orange banners snapped overhead in the wind. Children continued weaving between booths while volunteers hauled decorations into place, blissfully unaware of how close Warren was to grabbing the younger wolf by the back of the neck and rattling whatever loose screws remained in his skull. His fingers curled once against his palms before he forced them open again.

A slow breath filled his lungs. Cold air carried the scent of pine from the mountains and settled some of the heat simmering beneath his skin. Warren rolled his shoulders back and let the tension ease out little by little. Jesse wasn't worth losing his temper over. He rarely was. The kid lived his entire life like somebody constantly testing the strength of a wooden bridge of his own creation by jumping on it, convinced it would never collapse beneath him. One day he was going to discover otherwise.

His gaze followed Jesse's retreating figure for another moment before drifting toward the dark forest rising beyond town. The full moon was only days away. Warren could already feel the subtle shift moving through the pack, that restless energy gathering beneath everyone's skin as the moon grew fuller overhead. Most wolves managed it well enough. Jesse's control over his wolf was about as impressive as his control over the rest of his life, which was to say it was piss poor.

Warren huffed quietly through his nose and bent to straighten one of the pumpkins Jesse had nearly kicked over climbing from the truck. Straw clung to his sleeves as he adjusted a hay bale and brushed it away with rough hands. The kid would regret mouthing off eventually. Warren would make sure of it. For now, there was a festival to finish building, children already wandering the streets, and enough work left to keep his hands occupied while the irritation slowly bled away into the cold autumn morning.

Heather looked exactly like she always had. Perfect makeup. Perfect hair. Perfect timing. The costume looked better suited to a nightclub than a family festival, though Warren supposed that was hardly surprising. He adjusted his grip on the hay bale and resumed walking, boots crunching softly through scattered leaves gathered along the curb. "Morning." The greeting came polite enough, if somewhat rough around the edges, as he passed her and lowered the bale into place beside the others surrounding the truck.

Loose straw clung to his sleeves as he straightened and brushed his hands together. Around them the festival continued taking shape. Someone down the street tested a speaker system. Fresh coffee drifted from the diner each time the door opened. Children darted between booths while parents called after them, and above it all the autumn wind rattled dried cornstalks tied to the lamp posts. Warren nodded toward the display and finally glanced back toward Heather and the little boy. "Bit early. Think the kids'll enjoy it more once everything's actually finished." His attention settled briefly on the boy's wide-eyed excitement before returning to the work waiting around him. "Though he's got the right idea. Half the fun's looking forward to it."

"Jack’s been looking forward to it for weeks," Heather mused while affectionately brushing one of the boy’s wild curls out of his face and tucking it behind his ear. "Figured I’d let him get a sneak peek… And you know how I always liked watching you work," she added, her voice slipping back into that silky lilt that used to work on him so well. Her free hand lifted, gently plucking straw from Warren’s bicep, being sure to let her touch linger for a second or two longer than was necessary. "Plus, you haven’t been returning my calls. Figured this way you couldn’t ignore me." She tilted her head to the side slightly, forcing herself a bit more into his line of sight as the wind blew copper curls across her face.

The touch nearly did it. Not because it stirred anything in him. Quite the opposite. Warren felt his patience fraying thread by thread as her fingers lingered against his arm. Around them, Main Street buzzed with activity. Warren stood still through all of it, staring at the hay bale he was positioning into place and trying very hard not to let his eye twitch. His gaze shifted toward Heather slowly.

"Why," he started, each word measured carefully, "Would I answer your calls?" The question hung between them while he brushed stray pieces of straw from his flannel. His attention lingered on her face for a moment before drifting downward toward the little boy standing beside her. The sight struck the same place it always did. For a second he saw the shape of a future that had once seemed possible before it dissolved beneath the weight of memory.

"We both know what you did." The words came without heat. Years had worn the anger smooth, leaving something heavier behind. Warren adjusted another pumpkin near the truck wheel and straightened, hands settling against his hips while the wind tugged loose strands of hair across Heather's face. Jack continued staring at the decorations with complete fascination, blissfully unaware of the conversation unfolding above his head. Warren found himself looking at the boy longer than he intended before forcing his attention elsewhere.

"I'm not interested, Heather." His voice remained gruff, steady, carrying the same certainty he'd carried into every conversation they'd had for years now. "Do yourself a favor and get back with the kid's father. Give him a real family to grow up with. Stop chasing something that isn't going to happen."

Before she could argue, before she could smile that smile or twist the conversation into circles he'd already walked a hundred times, Warren bent to grab another hay bale. The rough straw scratched against his palms as he lifted it onto his shoulder and turned away. Cold autumn air filled his lungs. Work waited. The festival waited. A street full of children would be running through here before long. Warren focused on that instead, carrying the weight across the pavement while the sounds of the town swallowed the conversation behind him.

The thing about Pine Ridge's Halloween decorations was that they had not meaningfully changed since approximately 1987, which Harper knew because Cece had told her so. Cece had been alive even then, you see, though she got cagey about exactly how much "even then" actually covered. But back to the decorations. They were the same orange and black streamers, the same plastic skeletons with the same slightly broken arm on the one that always went above the bar mirror, and the same ceramic pumpkins that Hank brought out of the back room every October 31st. Halloween was one of the town's biggest nights of the year, considering almost the whole town came out for it every time. Granted, this year would be the first year they would have so many big outdoor events (like frickin' carnival games!) going on for a bunch of random tourists to participate in. The mayor had called it an "economic development initiative," or something like that. Cece, by contrast, had called it "a chance for a bunch of city folk getting lost in our woods and needing rescue, which I am not doing this year, and you better tell Warren I mean that," (she didn’t).

Even so, Harper had been coming out for Halloween herself since she was small enough to ride on Cece's shoulders, and she had loved every single iteration of it without exception. She still loved it, to be fair. She just thought certain things should change along with the town, like the streamers she was currently wrestling with. They could maybe be a different colour by now, or at the very least not slightly faded from two decades of storage in Hank's back room, where they doubtless shared shelf space with mouse droppings and god knows what else. Not to mention that the festival was outside and would presumably continue without anyone setting foot in the saloon until well after dark, if ever. Hank knew this. Hank decorated anyway. He had decorated every October 31st for as long as Harper could remember, and she suspected he would continue doing so long after everyone else had stopped bothering.

She was perched on the second rung of the stepladder with a length of orange streamer pinned between her teeth and both hands occupied with the sticky tack that never quite stuck properly to the saloon's old timber walls. She pressed the streamer to the wall and stepped back onto the ladder's bottom rung to assess. The streamer immediately sagged in the middle, peeling away from the timber in a slow, mournful curl.

"Hey Hank?" Harper called toward the back room. "Quick question for ya."

A pause. Then the sound of boots on old floorboards, followed by Hank himself emerging from the stockroom. He was carrying a cardboard box labelled HALLOWEEN - FRAGILE in block letters.

"If you're about to ask if we can finally throw out some of these things," Hank said, setting the box on the bar, "the answer is no. They’re pretty much tradition."

"They’re depressing is what they are," Harper shot back, hopping down from the ladder.

"No, they're classic." Hank said like the matter was settled and the only sensible response was to nod and move on. Harper had heard that tone approximately four thousand times since she started working here at sixteen, and she had yet to find a single argument that could penetrate it.

Still… she couldn't quite help herself. That was the thing about Harper. She could see a losing battle from a mile away, could map out exactly how it would end, and would still walk toward it with her chin up just on principle alone.

"Classic and depressing aren't mutually exclusive," she pointed out, crossing to the bar. Her fingers found the edge of the cardboard box and pulled it closer, the flap scraping against the wood. She peered inside like she was looking at evidence of a crime and picked up one of the pumpkins inside. She held it at arm’s length, turning it slowly. It was light, and its painted face grinned up at her with a sort of vacant cheer.

"Hank. This one has a crack in it."

"That just gives it character," he said.

"It's missing a chunk…." She turned the pumpkin over, and a small piece of dried ceramic fell out of the bottom and bounced across the bar. She stared at it. Hank stared at it. Neither of them moved to pick it up.

"Distinguished character," Hank amended. His expression hadn't changed, but there was something in the set of his jaw that suggested he was fighting a smile.

Harper set the pumpkin down and turned to face him with her arms crossed. "Right…" she drawled. "Anyway, as promised, I fixed the streamers for ya, but I should probably head out."

"Head out where?" Hank asked, reaching into the box for the skeleton with the broken arm.

"Promised I'd help with the trunk or treat setup," she said, grabbing her jacket from behind the bar and shrugging into it. The denim was stiff with cold, and Harper shivered once before the fleece lining started doing its job."Said I'd be there before ten."

Hank made a sound that landed somewhere between acknowledgment and mild betrayal at being left alone with the decorations. He lowered the skeleton onto the bar with a thump and fixed her with a look that suggested he was reconsidering every kind thing he had ever thought about her.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Harper added, waving him off and heading for the door. "You've got distinguished character to keep you company, remember?" She threw him a teasing smile over her shoulder and then pushed through the swinging door. It creaked behind her, a sound so familiar it had stopped registering years ago, and then she was outside.

The wind came down off the mountain with that particular October bite to it that Pine Ridge locals learned early to either respect or ignore, and Harper had long since chosen the latter. Respect was for things that could actually hurt you. The cold was just uncomfortable, and uncomfortable had never stopped her from doing anything. Her breath curled pale in the air as she tucked her hands into her pockets and took stock of what the morning had built while she was inside arguing about ceramic pumpkins.

The street was closed to traffic, which gave the whole thing the quality of a town that had decided to become the fun storybook version of itself for a day. Orange banners snapped between the wrought iron lamp posts overhead, and someone had strung garlands of autumn leaves along the storefronts that Harper had passed a hundred times without ever seeing decorated quite like this. Hand-painted signs pointed toward the pie contest, the costume contest, and the haunted house (the library, of all places, had apparently decided this was their year). She passed a booth being assembled by two people she vaguely recognized from the far end of town and sidestepped a child in a dinosaur costume who was either chasing something or being chased by something. With kids that age, it was hard to tell the difference. The dinosaur's parent—or guardian, or exhausted older sibling—trailed behind with a half-empty cup of coffee, judging by the smell. Hopefully it will be enough.

The smell of something fried and warm drifted from a food stand that definitely hadn't been there yesterday. Funnel cake, maybe, or fried dough, or something else that would leave a slick of grease on her fingers and be positively worth it. Harper's stomach made a quiet but pointed observation about breakfast, a low growl that had nothing to do with the wolf and everything to do with the fact that she'd had nothing but coffee since 6 AM. She ignored it, though, figuring if she helped out fast enough, she could always grab something small after. Besides, she wasn't far now, the trunk or treat area coming into view around the corner of the hardware store, and the sooner she got there, the sooner she could finish and eat.

Harper spotted Harlan's truck immediately, which was hard to miss even when dressed up in pumpkins, hay bales, and strings of orange lights. Caleb and Mason were both nearby, unloading something from the back of it while neither of them was looking directly at Warren as they worked. But it was in such a way that it was obvious what they were trying to do, like two kids pretending they hadn't just broken a vase while standing in the middle of the broken glass. Every few seconds, one of them would glance toward Warren and then immediately find something fascinating to stare at in the opposite direction.

So, of course, Harper chose to follow their carefully averted gazes, her eyes more than willingly landing on her alpha.

Now, Harper had known Warren Boone literally her entire life since he had been born way before her (but not before Cece!), which meant she had a fairly comprehensive catalogue of his expressions and what each of them meant. There was the "Warren who was genuinely happy", which was warm and easy and likely to take up a whole room. Then, there was the "Warren who was pretending to be fine", which looked almost identical but had something careful behind the eyes, along with a slight delay in his reactions as if he was running a slow translation program between what he felt and what he showed.

And then…there was the "Warren who was done with a conversation and had been done with it for some time but was handling it in such a way as not to make a scene in public". That was the one Harper was looking at now.

On the other hand, the woman standing near the truck was pretty in a way that she knew it, but Harper didn't recognize her immediately which meant she wasn't a regular face at the saloon. There was also something about the way she was standing slightly too certain of her welcome that suggested she and Warren had a history. Not that it mattered, really. Harper had approximately zero context for whatever was happening and approximately zero desire to insert herself into the middle of it without any. That was the kind of thing that blew up in your face. She had learned that lesson before.

Besides, there was the boy.

Harper had always had a soft spot for kids. Always. Something about the way they moved through the world like nothing had taught them yet to be careful about what they showed on their face. She had grown up wanting a house full of them someday, a whole chaotic pack of her own, and Cece had told her more than once that it would surely be karmic payback for what Harper herself had put her through, which was probably fair. Cece had also told her, on more than one occasion and with varying degrees of sobriety, that she believed Harper had the maternal instincts of a golden retriever; she was enthusiastic, well-intentioned, and, thus, prone to bringing home stray things she found in the street. So, she was sure to be a good mother, right?

The boy was maybe four years old and stuffed into a pumpkin costume two sizes too big, the orange fabric practically pooling around his ankles. Wild blond curls escaped from beneath a little green stem hat that kept drooping stubbornly into his face, and every few seconds, he would push it back up with one chubby hand, only for it to fall again. He had both palms pressed flat against one of the hay bales and was staring at the orange lights strung through everything with an expression of such pure and total wonder that Harper felt something warm settle in her chest.

She couldn’t help herself.

She skipped on over not to Warren, not to the woman, not to Caleb or Mason, who were still pretending to be busy while obviously watching everything, but to the kid, crouching down to his level and waiting for him to notice her on his own terms. His eyes were blue, she realized, once he had. A bright, clear blue that stood out against all the orange.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

"Hey. Cool costume."

"I’m a Jack-O-Lantern," the boy responded, talking slowly to try and say the name right, yet still stumbling over his own tongue. "Which is funny because I am Jack," he added pointing at himself with a toothy grin and a laugh that carried through the festival area like sunshine on a gloomy day.

Harper's face split into a grin before she could help it. "Jack the Jack-O-Lantern," she said, like this was the best thing she'd heard all morning, which honestly it was. "That's the best costume I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of costumes."

This was not entirely true, however. She'd seen exactly as many costumes as any other person who had grown up attending the same small town Halloween for twenty-five years, which meant she had seen approximately twenty-five iterations of "ghost made from a bedsheet" and at least seventeen years of someone's uncle showing up in the same werewolf mask that smelled a little of basement. But Jack didn't need to know that. And his laugh was the kind that made you want to say whatever would bring it back anyway.

She stayed crouched at his level for another moment, letting him have it. The hat drooped back into his face, and he pushed it up again with both hands, unbothered, still grinning. Harper had a sudden and very strong feeling that this kid was going to be just fine, whatever else was happening above his head or behind them both.

It was obvious that Heather had every intention of storming away. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, offense clear across her face in the way her brows creased and the rising heat that reddened along her cheeks. She turned and went to grab Jack’s hand, only to find him distracted by one of the members of Warren’s little posse that always seemed to follow him around everywhere. For a second or two she simply stood there, scowl tensing every muscle in her face while she tapped her stiletto impatiently against the concrete. Then, because Jack was distracted and she obviously was not pleased with how the conversation ended, she pivoted, crunching dead leaves under foot before stomping after Warren like a pissy stray cat desperate for attention.

"It’s been nearly five years, Warren," she called after him in a sharp whisper, attempting to keep their conversation from carrying across the festival grounds, even though she did little to actually be quiet. The rapid click of her shoes against asphalt preceded her as she hurried in front of him, forcing Warren to stop in his tracks and look her in the eyes. "I’ve apologized countless times… I’ve changed." And in that moment, Heather almost looked like she meant it. Tears pooled along her bottom lashes, but it was the dark glint behind her eyes that said it wasn’t guilt, but embarrassment and anger.

"Jack’s dad left us," she confessed, too ashamed to meet his gaze as she spoke. "I fucked up. I hurt you… And I didn’t realize what I had until I ruined it." Heather crossed her arms once again, strumming her manicured fingers along her upper arm. "But you’re a good man… And Jack could use a role model like that in his life."

Warren stopped.

For a second he simply looked at her. The hay bale dug into his shoulder. Somewhere behind him Caleb and Mason continued working around the truck, the muted scrape of straw and shifting pumpkins carrying through the otherwise quiet stretch of Main Street. He had spent years trying to end this conversation politely. Every ignored call, every brief answer, every refusal had been an attempt to spare her feelings while making himself perfectly clear. Apparently none of it had stuck. His jaw tightened.

"I don't care about your apologies." The words came out rougher than he'd intended. Warren lowered the hay bale to the ground beside his boot and straightened slowly, looking her squarely in the eyes. "I don't care that Jack's dad left. I don't care if he needs a role model." His hands settled on his hips as frustration finally broke through the restraint he'd been holding onto all morning. "Because it isn't going to be me, no matter how many times you try to force it."

Heather had spent five years chasing a version of him that no longer existed. Warren felt tired of it. Tired of the calls. Tired of the conversations. Tired of being treated like a backup plan she could return to because the life she'd chosen hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped. "I'm over you." The statement landed flat and certain. "I was over you the day I found out you cheated on me, and I will never have feelings for you again." He shook his head once. "Move on."

The silence that followed sat heavy between them. Warren looked away first, spotting Harper talking to the damn kid. The sight gave him an excuse to disengage before Heather could pull the conversation into another loop. "You're late." His tone softened as he addressed Harper, though the irritation hadn't fully left his face. "Let's go. We've still got work to do." He turned away from Heather without waiting for a response and headed back toward the truck.

When Warren’s voice reached her, Harper straightened up and turned, reading the situation in approximately one and a half seconds. So, after giving a small wave goodbye to Jack, she fell into step beside him without being asked, because that was what you did for pack. You showed up. You stood next to them. You made it clear, without saying a word, that whatever was happening, they weren't facing it alone.

It was only when they’d gotten far enough that she nudged his arm with her elbow, gentle, familiar. "Sorry about that. The lateness." She probably shouldn't have asked what she did then. Warren was the alpha, which meant his business was his business until he decided otherwise, and whatever had just happened with Heather was clearly the kind of thing he'd been managing on his own for a long time before Harper ever walked into it. She knew that. Cece had practically drilled the importance of boundaries into her head growing up, right alongside don't eat the yellow snow.

But still…she couldn’t quite help herself.

"You good?" She glanced sideways at him.

Warren pressed his lips into a tight line as he walked, forcing his attention onto the steady rhythm of his breathing instead of the conversation he had just escaped. The cool air filled his lungs and carried the lingering scent of hay, dust, and old pavement from the festival setup around them. Usually that was enough. Usually work, movement, and time gave his temper somewhere to go. Harper's question caught him before any of those things could do their job, and he glanced down at her, opened his mouth, then closed it again as he searched for an answer that didn't feel unfair.

She was young. Not a child, but young enough that the instinct remained all the same, and Warren had never been particularly good at ignoring that instinct. Venting to her felt wrong. Harper carried enough of her own burdens without him adding his to the pile, and there was an eleven year gap between them that only seemed larger during moments like this. More than that, he was the Alpha. Harlan might have shoved that responsibility onto his shoulders years ago, but it still belonged to him, and somewhere along the way Warren had accepted that leadership often meant carrying things quietly so nobody else had to.

"I'm fine," he said at last, looking away from her as he let out a slow breath through his nose. The answer felt thin, though no thinner than the hundreds he'd given before it. "Thanks, and you're fine. I'd take you showing up late over Jesse skulking around any day." A soft chuckle escaped him despite himself, and some of the tension finally eased from his shoulders as he shook his head. Jesse had a talent for making everyone else's mistakes seem significantly less irritating by comparison.

Harper accepted ‘I'm fine’ for exactly what it was: a placeholder at best. Instead of pushing, she focused on the latter part of his answer. The part about Jesse. Just like most members of the pack, she'd known Jesse Thornton her whole life, which was not the advantage it might sound like. Growing up in the same pack meant she'd had a front row seat to every bad decision he'd ever made, every bridge he'd burned, and every moment where someone had extended him more patience than he deserved. He wasn't malicious exactly. He was just the kind of person who moved through the world like something was always owed to him that nobody had gotten around to paying yet. That particular brand of entitlement had a way of making everything around him slightly more difficult than it needed to be. But most of the time, honestly, it was just plain exhausting.

"Glad I could be of service," she said. She wanted to add that perhaps someone might want to keep an eye on Jesse before the moon, but something told her that Warren was ten steps ahead of her.

The truck came into view a few moments later, surrounded by stacks of crates and rows of bright orange goodie bags waiting to be loaded. Warren led her around to the tailgate and rested a hand against one of the boxes. The bags were sturdy fabric instead of cheap plastic, each stamped with the Boone Garage logo that had been around longer than either of them. They were meant to be the first stop of the night, big enough for kids to keep using as they collected candy from the rest of the festival. "I just need you to put these in the truck and double-check them while you're at it. Make sure they've all got a decent amount of candy, toys, stickers, all that jazz."

He gestured toward another stack of crates sitting nearby, each one labeled in thick silver marker. "If anything's missing, grab it from those and toss it in. The crates are marked, so you shouldn't have to dig around for half an hour looking for stuff." Warren paused, glancing down at Harper before a slightly wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I trust you to make it look... what do the kids call it?" He snapped his fingers once, thinking. "Aesthetically pleasing. Yeah, that shit." The smile widened a fraction as he nodded toward the display. "Take a few pictures when you're done too. The Mayor's assistant will probably want them for advertising and all that crap."

Harper looked at the bags before picking one up and turning it over in her hands. It was big enough to fit a small novel, which meant it was sure to hold a lot of candy. She set the bag down after and looked at the crates properly, her mind already formulating a few ideas. The bags needed weight so they didn't tip, so the candy should go at the bottom as the heavier stuff, while the lighter stuff, like the stickers and small toys, could go on top where kids could see them immediately. She could arrange them in the truck bed by size, too, with the tallest bags in the back and the shortest in the front so the smallest kids could reach without their parents having to intervene every thirty seconds. Maybe she could even group the colours if there were enough options, since the fruit chews were bright reds and yellows, and the chocolate bars were deep browns.

There was something satisfying about this kind of work, Harper decided. Perhaps because she could see the result of her effort. Bartending was the same in some ways, like the immediate feedback of a customer's expression when she would set down exactly what they didn't know they wanted. But, at the same time, this was a little different. This was making something for kids who would light up at the sight of it and tell all their friends about the truck with the super cool bags.

She reached for the first crate and glanced back at Warren.
"I've got it. Don’t worry."

Warren watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way she immediately threw herself into the task. Most people would have started tossing things into bags and called it good enough. Harper was already organizing sizes, weights, colors, and accessibility like she was preparing a military operation disguised as a trunk-or-treat. The sight pulled a tight but genuine smile from him. "Thanks, you're the best," he said, meaning every word of it as he folded his arms loosely across his chest.

His gaze drifted toward the mountains rising beyond the edge of town. Pine-covered slopes rolled beneath the autumn sun, patches of gold and rust spreading through the forest where the season had begun its slow work. The smile slipped from his face for a moment as old instincts pulled his attention outward, checking boundaries he couldn't physically see from here but felt responsible for all the same. After a second he looked back at Harper, concern settling quietly into the space where amusement had been.

"You and Cece doing alright?" he asked. The question came easily, absent of judgment or prying curiosity. Warren had spent most of his life keeping an eye on the people around him, especially the younger members of the pack, and Harper had long since earned a permanent place on that list. His hand lifted briefly before falling again. "You know if you ever need anything..." The sentence trailed away because they had both heard it before. He'd said those words enough times over the years that finishing them felt unnecessary.

The meaning remained the same regardless. If either of them needed help, a place to stay, money, backup, advice, or someone willing to show up in the middle of the night without asking questions first, Warren would be there. He wasn't offering because he expected something to be wrong. He was offering because that's what pack was supposed to be. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before a faint smile returned. "Just checking."

"Ohh, we're good," Harper said, which was true. Mostly. She kept her hands moving while she said it, settling a bag into place with more focus than it strictly required. The fabric crinkled under her palms as she smoothed it flat, aligning the logo just so. She didn't look up at Warren, but she could feel him watching her, attentive in that alpha way of his.

Cecelia was fine. Of course, she was fine. Cecelia was always fine. But…she had been quieter than usual the last few days. Not sad exactly. Just…a little solemn for whatever reason. Harper had learned not to ask, however. Cece would tell her what she wanted to tell her when she wanted to tell her, and pushing only ever produced a raised eyebrow and a subject change so smooth she never noticed it happening until they were three topics away from where they'd started.

It didn't help that her own wolf had been a little restless since yesterday. That low hum beneath her skin that meant the moon was coming, which she knew, she always knew, it wasn't anything new. Except it felt slightly different this time. Less like anticipation and more like…well, she didn't have a word for it. Something adjacent to the feeling of walking into a room and knowing something had been moved without being able to identify what. That was the best way she could think about it to herself.

Harper shook it all off. "Oh, you know Cece," she said, glancing back at Warren with a small smile. "She's already got opinions about all the tourists coming in."

Warren nodded to himself as he listened. The answer sounded genuine enough, which eased some of the tension he'd been carrying beneath the surface. Still, he filed the information away. The older wolves always occupied a different corner of his thoughts, especially this close to a full moon. Age eventually stole shifting from all of them; their bodies simply stopped tolerating it. The moon never stopped calling, though, and for some that meant little more than irritability and restless nights, while others spent a week feeling like they'd been dragged through the woods behind a truck. The worst he’d seen of it had been pneumonia-type symptoms; Ralph had passed in his sleep, and that had been a rough time. Cece had always been tough though, but that never stopped him from worrying.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest as he imagined exactly what kind of opinions Cece was sharing about the incoming tourists. He could practically hear them. "I'm sure she does," he said, shaking his head with the fond resignation of a man who'd spent years listening to those same observations himself. Harper's hands continued arranging bags while she talked, careful and methodical, and Warren found himself relaxing slightly at the sight. The setup was in good hands. Better hands than his, honestly.

His gaze swept once over the truck bed, the crates, and the growing display before he pushed himself upright. The festival still had hours before it opened, but volunteers were beginning to trickle through town, and there were a hundred little things left to check before sunset. "Alright, I'm gonna head to the garage and make sure Old Rivers isn't asleep at the front desk," he said, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Wouldn't be a great first impression for the tourists if one of the mechanics is drooling on himself before noon."

The grin he flashed her was warm and easy as he stepped backward toward the sidewalk. Autumn leaves scraped softly across the pavement in the breeze, gathering against the curb where volunteers had already swept twice that morning. "If you need anything, just call me!" he called over his shoulder before turning down the street, hands slipping into his jacket pockets as he headed toward the garage. Even as he walked away, part of his attention remained behind with the pack, as it always did, quietly counting heads and making sure everyone was where they needed to be.

Harper watched him go until he turned the corner, then looked back at the truck.

Right. The bags.

She reached for the next crate and got back to work, the festival noise settling around her like background static. Without Warren, the space felt quieter than the actual volume of Main Street warranted. She was used to that. Warren had a way of making whatever space he occupied feel fuller than it was, which was probably part of what made him good at what he did. She pulled open the next crate. More candy. More stickers. More tiny plastic toys that would no doubt end up lost under car seats by November.

Harper was three bags in when she found the Tootsie Rolls. A whole bag of mixed flavours—vanilla, chocolate, cherry, lime—tucked into the corner beneath a stack of vampire fang party favours.

She picked them up and looked at them for a while without really meaning to.

They were Cece's thing and something Hank, if he were, might have labelled as one of the classics and had been for as long as Harper could remember for her now elderly caregiver, anyway. The bowl by the front door was always stocked with them around this time. The ones that appeared in Harper's Halloween bag every year without comment until Harper was old enough to buy her own candy and started doing the same thing back, also without comment, because that was how they communicated certain things like that to each other. She should have found this funny too, and normally she would have. Instead, Harper stood there with a bag of Tootsie Rolls in her hand and thought about Cece's face over the last few days.

It was probably nothing. Cece herself would have insisted everything was fine if asked either way, and Harper had learned a long time ago that there were some things you didn't push on, not because you didn't care but because you did. Because Cece had spent most of Harper's life teaching her that love wasn't about demanding access. It was about leaving the door open and trusting the other person to walk through when they were ready, much like Cece had done for her all those years ago.

She set the Tootsie Rolls carefully into the next bag before closing the crate.

^{interactions ....|.... harper, npcs............... mentions ....|.... a shit ton of npcs............... collabs ....|.... @Qia}

What Lies Below

^{#9fc9a8 ....|..... outfit ............... #737e62 ....|..... outfit ............... around town}

Morning light crawled slowly across the cabin floorboards, pale gold slipping through the frost-kissed window beside Charlotte's bed and stretching long across thick rugs and worn wood. The fire in the little stove had died sometime during the night, leaving behind dark coals and the lingering scent of smoke buried into the walls. Cold had crept in while she slept, settling into blankets and pillows and the exposed slope of her shoulder where she'd kicked half the comforter away hours ago. The cabin itself still carried pieces of Warren and Harlan in it if she looked hard enough. The uneven shelf near the far wall leaned just slightly because Warren swore he could eyeball measurements better than a level, and Harlan had hammered the little hooks beside the door in crooked because he'd been laughing too hard at one of her complaints to pay attention.

Her phone began vibrating angrily against the nightstand. Charlotte groaned into her pillow before blindly slapping a hand toward the sound and dragging the thing beneath the blankets with her like it had personally offended her. One eye cracked open. The other stayed shut out of principle. "Hhllo?" she mumbled, except the word came out somewhere between a grunt and a dying animal noise.

A warm laugh immediately crackled through the speaker. "Morning, sunshine!" Warren's voice rolled easily through the phone, entirely too awake for the hour. Charlotte stared at the ceiling with the deep exhaustion of someone reconsidering every friendship she'd ever made. "Need you to go pick up Harlan. I stole his truck. Free oil changes for a year if you play taxi."

Silence stretched for a beat while Charlotte rubbed both hands down her face hard enough to drag skin with it. "You already give me free oil changes." Another pause, the line went dead. "God, I hate you."

She didn't, obviously. Not even a little. Still muttering under her breath, Charlotte eventually dragged herself out of bed and wandered toward the tiny bathroom attached beside the bedroom. By the time she emerged, she'd managed to look mostly alive again. Olive cargo pants sat low at her waist beneath a worn dark tank while an oversized charcoal corduroy button-up (stolen directly from Harlan’s closet) hung open overtop. Her hair still carried curls from sleep, messy in a way she'd given up fighting years ago, and a small stone pendant rested against her collarbone while she shoved necessities into her backpack. Temperatures had dropped overnight, but it wasn't cold enough to justify effort.

Not even twenty minutes later her old Jeep Laredo rumbled down the road toward Harlan's place. The thing looked exactly like something Charlotte McCoy would drive; sun-faded copper paint, oversized tires still carrying dried mud along the wheel wells, leather seats worn smooth with age, and enough personality crammed into the vehicle to qualify as sentient at times. The doors were still off, because things like "weather protection" and "reasonable choices" had never interested her much, though she knew it was only a matter of time before Warren showed up to put them back on while she was sleeping. Pine trees blurred by while cold wind threaded through loose strands of hair and rushed through the cabin. By the time Harlan's cabin came into view, Charlotte was already snickering to herself.

She pulled right up beneath his bedroom window and threw the Jeep into park with absolutely no shame whatsoever. The engine idled loudly while she leaned across the seat and looked up toward the cabin with complete confidence in her life choices. Then she slammed her hand against the horn and held it there. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure. "Rise and shine, Boone!" she shouted out the open side of the Jeep, voice carrying through crisp morning air. "Get your ass up! I know your old man routine includes coffee and pretending you're mysterious before noon!" Her smile widened slightly as she settled back into her seat. Honestly, she didn't mind. Harlan liked his morning coffee from the diner, Warren had stolen his truck like the menace he was, and both of them had built her home with their own hands. Families came in all sorts of weird shapes.

Holidays were meant for sleeping in and while his alarm was still set to go off in about two minutes, that didn’t make him anymore prepared for the rude awakening that pulled up outside his house. When the horn blared just beyond his bedroom window, Harlan woke with such startling force that he rolled over abruptly, blankets twisting around him just before he tipped over the edge and landed face down on the cold, hard floor. He groaned against the old tattered area rug, feeling the wolf stir just beneath his skin, under the haze of morning grogginess. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pushed off the ground. He peeled the blankets from where they knotted around him and tossed them onto the bed before stumbling half awake through his small cabin.

His fingers curled around the handle to the front door and yanked it open with enough unintentional brute force that he nearly ripped it from its hinges, only stopping when he heard the wood groan and splinter beneath the pressure. "Charlotte Ann McCoy—" Harlan took one step forward, paused, then turned to find a hot pink post-it note stuck to the window of his door with his brother’s chicken scratch scrawled across it.

Stole the old clanker. Don’t worry, didn’t hot wire it this time. Charlotte will pick you up, I’m going to harass her. See you at the festival! (You have to dress up this year dude, or you can wear the costume I got you?)

Harlan drew in a deep breath, the frigid morning air burning the inside of his lungs as he dragged his gaze over to the spot where he usually parked his truck, finding it glaringly void of said truck. "Asshole," he grumbled under his breath as he stepped out onto his porch. Bare feet thudded against the rough, uneven planks as he walked the length of his house toward the loud, roaring Jeep that sat waiting for him. He stepped into view, black hair faintly streaked gray stood up, wild and untamed in every direction. His arms were crossed over his bare chest, while old long johns, worn and tattered along the knees and hems clung to his legs, and dangled precariously from his hips. "Turn off that dinosaur before you put another hole in the ozone layer and get your ass inside, I still gotta shower."

Before she could say anything else, Harlan trudged his way back inside, leaving the front door wide open, knowing damn well she was going to follow… because she always did. He didn’t wait around to hear the engine shut off or for the loud heavy thuds of Charlie’s hiking boots walking along the porch before he hopped into the shower.

Charlotte grinned to herself the moment the engine died beneath her hand, satisfaction settling warm in her chest as silence finally reclaimed the morning. Harlan looked exactly like she expected him to look after being ripped out of sleep; hair exploding in every direction, eyes narrowed beneath a glare that had absolutely no bite behind it, old long johns hanging on through sheer determination. She slipped out of the Jeep and hurried up the porch steps before the cold could settle properly into her skin, brushing past him with a casual bump of her shoulder as she ducked into the cabin. "Morning to you too, sweetheart." She called out after him.

By the time Harlan disappeared into the shower, Charlotte had already declared war on his kitchen. Cabinet doors opened and shut while she inspected shelves with increasing disappointment etched across her face. Crackers. Beef jerky. Three cans of soup. Why did men live like abandoned forest cryptids? Her nose wrinkled before she finally unearthed a box of blueberry Pop-Tarts shoved toward the back of the pantry, slightly dusty. "Blueberry?" she muttered aloud with genuine offense. "Disgusting." Still, she tore one open and threw herself across the couch like a cat claiming territory, socked feet hanging over one armrest as she crunched through her mediocre breakfast with all the dignity of a raccoon stealing food from a campsite.

It didn’t take him long to get cleaned, ten minutes tops. Harlan took as long as any man did to dry off, so barely at all, ruffling his hair with a towel before tying it around his waist to catch whatever drips still ran along his skin. He quickly wet his toothbrush and put a dollop of toothpaste along the bristles before he stepped back out into the small common area of his cabin. His gaze drifted over toward Charlie, lazy, tired, and definitely annoyed. "Why do you let Warren rope you into his shit?" he grumbled. He raised his brows toward her as he started brushing his teeth and wandering his way back down the hall toward his bedroom.

About ten minutes later she heard footsteps crossing old floorboards and tipped her head toward him, immediately snorting at the expression on his face. "Free oil changes," she deadpanned around another bite, because they both knew perfectly well Warren already serviced her Jeep for free. Her eyes swept over him once before she huffed out a laugh and balled up the wrapper in her hands. "Aren't you cold? Jeez, you're like a dog. Go dry off." She wandered toward the kitchen as she spoke, tossing the wrapper neatly into the trash before her attention snagged on the coffee maker sitting abandoned on the counter. Brows furrowed, she picked up the coffee tin and opened it, only to stare down at the empty bottom with visible disappointment. Then she opened the fridge and stared inside for a long moment, expression flattening further with every shelf, darkening when she spotted the expiration date on his milk. Men, she sighed internally, already rearranging her plans for the day while eyeing his kitchen with the grim resolve of someone preparing humanitarian aid.

"Do I look cold?" he grumbled around the toothbrush in his mouth as he hooked his foot on the bedroom door and pushed it most of the way closed. Harlan had just pulled the towel from his waist and paused, naked and confused with furrowed brows as he stared at the ceiling. "Free oil changes?" he echoed in disbelief, before tossing aside his towel and wandering into his closet for fresh clothes.

Charlie glanced toward him at the first question and immediately regretted it. Morning light spilled across the room in pale gold bands, catching against damp skin and broad shoulders while steam still curled faintly through the half-open bedroom door behind him. Her eyes lingered for exactly one second too long before she snapped them upward toward the ceiling with remarkable determination. Heat crept warm into her cheeks despite herself.

"...No," she admitted with a short snort, lips twitching helplessly at the corners. "Certainly not cold." The smile that followed widened further when his deeply offended repetition of free oil changes floated back out from the bedroom. She leaned back against the couch cushions, folding her arms loosely while laughter hummed low in her chest. "You know Warren thinks he's negotiating like some powerful businessman every time he offers that, right?"

"Yeah well, he also thinks he’s Casanova," Harlan called out from his closet as he tossed the first set of clean, wearable clothing he could find onto the bed.

Charlotte wrinkled her nose immediately, expression souring with the practiced ease of someone who'd spent years putting up with Warren Boone's nonsense. Still sprawled across Harlan's couch, she shifted deeper into the cushions and crossed her ankles lazily while staring toward the bedroom doorway. "He needs someone to ground him," she called back, shaking her head. "He's getting too old for whatever personality crisis he's having being single."

"Don’t look at me," he replied, calling over his shoulder as he slipped one foot into the leg of his jeans. "I honestly don’t know if there’s anyone in this town that can… He’s already dated half of them." Harlan jumped once, denim clinging to his damp legs that he definitely didn’t dry properly before getting dressed. "Unless you’re offering." He chuckled, just once, too quiet for Charlie to hear. But just the thought alone was humorous.

Charlotte's entire face wrinkled immediately, nose scrunching as though he'd suggested she lick the bottom of a boot. The reaction came so fast and so genuine that there wasn't a shred of room for interpretation. "Absolutely not," she snorted.

One hand waved vaguely through the air as she tried to untangle a stubborn curl that had wrapped itself around another. Her head shook with such conviction it sent loose strands bouncing around her shoulders. "If I ever try, I'd trust you to take me straight to the hospital and get my head checked," she informed him solemnly. "Because nothing short of severe head trauma could make me want to date Warren."

Harlan laughed wryly as he zipped up and buttoned his pants. "You have any idea how many bets that’d settle if you both dated?" He blew a quiet raspberry that made the damp hair that hung in front of his forehead bounce slightly. "Eh, you’re a handful. Warren wouldn’t know what to do with you," he added before taking a second to give his teeth a bit more of a proper brushing.

Charlotte gasped so loudly it echoed through the cabin, her hand flying dramatically to her chest as though Harlan had just delivered the cruelest insult imaginable. The couch cushions shifted beneath her as she sat upright, dark curls bouncing around her shoulders while indignation flooded across her face in exaggerated waves. Somewhere between offended and amused, she looked like she was seconds away from filing a formal complaint.

"I'm not a handful!" she called toward the bedroom, scandalized. "Stop being dramatic!" Her brows knit together as she pointed accusingly in the general direction of his voice. "I am delightful. Easygoing, even." As if to prove her point, she threw her hair over her shoulder and attempted to look as easy going as possible. The effect was lost on him, as he was in a different room, but it was the thought that counted. "And for the record, Warren's the handful. I just happen to be standing nearby when his bad ideas occur."

Harlan snorted around his toothbrush and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, ok."

A few minutes later he reappeared, jeans fastened around his waist, towel hanging over his shoulder, fresh shirt and socks clutched in his left hand, and his toothbrush tucked in his right cheek. He returned to the bathroom to rinse his mouth and hang up the towel, and by the time he found his way to the living room with Charlie, he was pulling the shirt over his head. Harlan lowered himself onto the couch beside her, taking his time to pull on his socks and old work boots one at a time. "You know, the least he could do is leave behind his bike if he’s gonna steal my truck," he grumbled more to himself than anything. When he braced his right boot against the coffee table and started lacing it, he spared Charlie a quick sidelong glance, continued tying it, paused, then looked over at her again with creased brows. "Is that my shirt?"

Charlotte's smile remained fixed on her face, dimpling her left cheek as she shoved her feet back into her hiking boots and looked at him with complete innocence she absolutely did not possess. Morning light spilled through the cabin windows behind him, catching on damp strands of his hair and stretching warm bands of gold across the floorboards between them. She looked perfectly settled there, perfectly at home, sitting on his couch in his shirt like she'd been wandering in and out of his cabin for years because, truthfully, she had. "Yup," she chirped, popping the p with enough cheerfulness to be irritating on purpose. "I've got four more hanging in my closet too."

"And let me guess," he started, tugging the hem of his jeans over the laced boot before dropping his foot to the ground, then propping up the other one to start lacing it. "If I just bought you shirts—same size, style, and everything—it wouldn’t be the same?" Harlan looked over at her from beneath wet locks that fell lazy and unkempt in front of his face, dripping water onto the collar of his shirt and the denim along his thighs.

Charlotte hummed thoughtfully like he'd presented her with a genuinely difficult philosophical question, tapping her pointer finger lightly against her chin while she pretended to consider it with grave seriousness. Morning light caught against the grin slowly threatening across her mouth as she looked over at him sprawled there lacing up his boots, damp hair hanging into his face and dripping onto his shirt collar. "I mean..." she started slowly, dragging the words out for effect. "You could certainly try." Her smirk widened immediately afterward, all crooked amusement and unrepentant fondness. "I'm always looking to expand my wardrobe."

"Hmm," he grumbled, the sound low and gravely coming from somewhere deep in his chest. "So, you’re what happened to my favorite red flannel?" Harlan didn’t look over at her, merely shaking his head, sending small droplets of water flicking off his locks and running along his jaw. "You could at least steal the clothes I don’t like."

Charlotte's mouth immediately pulled into a small pout at the accusation. She tightened her arms stubbornly across her chest while looking entirely unrepentant. "But then it wouldn't be the same," she mumbled.

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the flannel hanging from his shoulders before returning to him, expression carrying the quiet certainty of someone who thought this was perfectly reasonable. "Your good shirts are softer." She paused. "And they smell better." Then, realizing how that sounded, she immediately frowned at the opposite wall. "That came out weird."

He rolled his eyes and snorted quietly. "I feel like it’d be easier to just steal my cologne."

Charlotte shook her head immediately, stubbornness settling into her expression with familiar ease. One curl finally slipped free from the tangle only to bounce right back across her shoulder again and become tangled once more. "It wouldn't be the same," she said firmly.

Her arms crossed over her chest as though that settled the matter entirely. In Charlie's mind, it did. "Besides, stealing your shirts is practically a tradition at this point." She glanced over at him, smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "I'm not about to abandon decades of hard work."

"Whatever you say," Harlan conceded with a faint shake of his head.

She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows against her knees while watching him lace up his boots with quiet amusement still tugging at the corners of her mouth. Harlan always moved through mornings with this sort of sleepy irritation that never quite landed properly, all rough edges and grumbles. Charlotte had spent enough years around him to know exactly where the real annoyance stopped and the theatrics started. Her eyes drifted briefly toward the kitchen again as she mentally added groceries to the growing list of things she'd apparently be handling today, before something Warren had said earlier floated back into her head.

"Hey, do you have a costume for the Halloween festival yet?" she asked casually, though there was already laughter threatening beneath the question. She watched him for a moment, fully aware of the answer before he'd even give it. Harlan never dressed up anymore. Not since they were kids running through the woods with cheap masks and pillowcases stuffed with candy. "If not..." she continued slowly, lips beginning to curl, "...you might wanna sort something out soon." She bit down against the smile trying to escape and failed miserably. "Warren said he got you both some cheap vampire costumes."

Harlan’s foot slipped from the edge of the coffee table and landed on the ground with a loud, incredulous thud. He stared at Charlie like a second head might sprout out of her shoulder at any minute, or maybe she had brain damage. Both were possible. He groaned, loud and far more dramatic than necessary as he ran his hands over his face and back through his damp hair. "I don’t wear costumes," he grumbled, pushing off his knees to stand with the aches, groans, and pops of an old man. "I’ll be a lumberjack." He let out a quiet, amused chuckle as he grabbed his flannel from the coat rack and pulled it on.

"I wouldn’t make a believable vampire anyway. I’m too… hairy." To the universe’s surprise, Harlan actually made a joke. He spared Charlie a sidelong glance that was mostly exhaustion, but there were the faint threads of playfulness hidden somewhere deep beneath it. He pulled open the front door and grimaced at the new squeak and rattle of the hinges. He swung it back and forth a couple times to check it, and even peeked over at the loose screws with a sigh. Something he’d have to fix later. "Come on, crazy. I’d hate to be late for my one day off," he mused, nodding his head toward the outside while holding the door open for her.

Charlotte rolled her eyes so hard it bordered on theatrical as she pushed herself off the couch and followed after him toward the door. Cold mountain air immediately swept through the cabin once he opened it, stirring loose strands of her hair and carrying the sharp scent of pine and damp earth inside with it. "You're always a lumberjack," she corrected dryly, though the amusement in her voice ruined any attempt at sounding serious.

"Well, if it ain’t broke," he replied as he closed the door behind him, not bothering to lock it… Because well, no one in Pine Ridge locked their doors. It wasn’t like he had anything of value and the only people stupid enough to try anything couldn’t cross the threshold without an invitation. He had a key somewhere… probably.

The snort she let out at his vampire comment came quick and genuine, shoulders shaking faintly with it as she stepped onto the porch beside him. Charlotte rolled her eyes fondly, trying not to laugh. "I was unaware vampires couldn't be hairy," she mused thoughtfully. "Are they required to wax? The super secret Volturi government must have made that the third rule, right under no changing babies, and no revealing the super secret secret."

"The fuck’s a Volturi?" Harlan’s face contorted into a confused, half asleep grimace that said he should be disgusted, even if he had no idea what she meant. "I don’t know… Have you ever seen a vampire with a beard?"

Charlotte looked at him like he'd just admitted to kicking puppies for fun, one hand flying dramatically to her chest over her heart as she stared at him in open betrayal. Cold air rushed through the trees around them, stirring her hair while she backed toward the Jeep with complete theatrical devastation written across her face. "Twilight, Harlan. Twilight," she repeated incredulously. "I made you watch every single movie with me in high school. I read the books out loud whenever you annoyed me."

She shook her head slowly, deeply disappointed in him on a spiritual level now. "You cannot tell me you've blocked out some of our fondest memories together." Her eyes narrowed slightly as she pointed accusingly at him. "And for the record, Carlisle absolutely could've pulled off a beard."

Ok, so maybe Harlan did remember once she jogged his memory. He also remembered finding the only tolerable character to be Charlie, but he also wasn’t going to give his Charlie the satisfaction of admitting that. Instead looked around slightly dazed and confused as if he had just been woken up all over again. "Huh? What? Sorry, I was blocking you out."

Charlotte gasped like he'd just committed a personal betrayal of the highest order. Her hand tightened dramatically around the fabric of her shirt while she stared at him in open disbelief, eyes narrowing into an expression that was far too offended to be genuine.

"You wound me." Amusement was already threatening to betray her outrage. Turning briefly, she stuck her tongue out at him with all the maturity of a twelve-year-old. She bumped her shoulder lightly against his as she passed, boots thudding softly against old wooden planks while she twirled her Jeep keys lazily around one finger. Wind stirred the trees surrounding the cabin in slow rolling waves, branches creaking overhead while sunlight filtered pale gold through thinning autumn leaves. Charlotte’s attention drifted toward the woods automatically, years of habit pulling her eyes toward movement and sound without conscious thought. "Honestly, though..." she started after a beat, lips twitching again. "You do kinda have more of a werewolf vibe."

The words trailed thoughtfully from her while she glanced back toward him again, grin widening just enough to deepen the dimple in her left cheek. Harlan looked perpetually one minor inconvenience away from wandering into the forest and becoming folklore, and frankly she felt justified in saying so. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with exaggerated seriousness as she started backing toward the Jeep. "Would you wear a dog tail? Maybe some cute fluffy ears?" she asked finally, entirely too pleased with herself.

Born of instinct, when Charlie looked towards the woods Harlan’s gaze followed, but his easy stature remained, hands still resting in the pockets of his flannel as he followed behind in a slow, lazy stride. He sniffed once, playing it off as the cold or a runny nose, but he didn’t smell anything beyond the normal things that rustled in the underbrush: foxes, squirrels, maybe a coyote. Nothing dangerous. The vamps knew better than to wander around in his and his brother’s neck of the woods. Occasionally a dumbass got reckless, but it was usually safe in that part of the Black Hills… They worked hard to keep it that way.

"Werewolves are cooler anyway," Harlan commented as he dragged his worn, steel-toed boot across his porch, pushing some mulch and dirt over the edge into the small garden. When he looked back up he caught a proper view of her Jeep. His brows furrowed as he pulled a hand from his pocket to point at her. "I’m ignoring that," he commented, not dignifying her desire to turn him into a furry with a comment. Then his hand shifted, sweeping through the air so that he pointed at her car. "Charlotte, where the fuck are your doors? It’s October."

Charlotte made a soft noise of immediate agreement at the statement, nodding once like Harlan had just said something profoundly intelligent instead of defending hypothetical werewolves before seven in the morning. "See? Exactly. Finally, a man of culture." The moment he announced he was ignoring the dog ears and tail suggestion, however, she booed him openly without a shred of shame. Her smile widened as she bounded toward the Jeep anyway, boots crunching over gravel while cold mountain air whipped loose strands of hair across her face. "Coward," she informed him cheerfully as she hauled herself up into the driver's seat.

The Jeep rocked slightly beneath her weight while she shoved the key into the ignition and looked over at him with a smile that already screamed guilty conscience. Morning light filtered pale and thin through the trees surrounding the cabin, catching against the orange of the Jeep's frame and the dried mud caked stubbornly beneath the wheel wells. "I uh... misplaced them?" she offered finally, giving one small shrug that carried absolutely zero sincerity behind it. The engine roared loudly to life beneath her hand, old enough to sound vaguely offended every time it started, and Charlotte quickly reached for her seatbelt before he could judge her life choices any harder than he already was.

"The cold never bothered me anyway," she quoted dramatically, waving one hand vaguely through the air. "Or whatever that Elsa chick said." She smiled faintly as she shifted the Jeep into gear, though amusement still lingered warmly across her face. Honestly, reinstalling the doors took effort, and Charlotte McCoy had never once in her life claimed to be a woman particularly interested in unnecessary effort. "I'm sure they'll turn up eventually," she added with complete confidence, as if detached Jeep doors routinely migrated home on their own like stray cats.

Harlan shook his head, running his fingers back through his wet hair with an exasperated sigh. He didn’t say anything at first, right hand grabbing onto the top of the Jeep as he lowered himself into the passenger seat. He buckled himself in then slouched a bit, long legs bent with his knees pressed against the dashboard. "I’ll tell Warren to put them back on. Last thing you need is to be driving around without any fucking doors when it starts snowing." His head rolled against the headrest, turning to look at her with a lazy sort of annoyance. "I refuse to nurse your sick ass on my couch because you drive around like this." He motioned his hand back and forth between the lack of doors.

Charlotte reversed down the driveway in a spray of gravel and fallen leaves, one hand hooked casually over the steering wheel while the other shifted gears with practiced ease. The Jeep rattled and groaned around them as it always did, old enough to have developed opinions about everything. Cold air streamed through the open sides, carrying the scent of pine, damp earth, and woodsmoke as she eased them onto the road.

"You still would, and you know it," she sighed, the words arriving with the exhausted certainty of someone who had known him far too long to be fooled by complaints. A small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she straightened the wheel. Harlan could grumble all he wanted. If she got sick, he'd be the first one shoving soup at her and pretending he wasn't worried.

The smile faded slightly after a moment. Charlotte shrugged one shoulder, eyes remaining on the road ahead as sunlight flickered between passing trees. "I didn't want to bother him," she admitted quietly. The confession sat awkwardly in the space between them for a second before she huffed softly through her nose. "Or you."

"Bullshit," Harlan muttered under his breath. There was no malice, just annoyed affection, because if she didn’t want to bother him she definitely wouldn’t have laid on her horn right outside his bedroom window, or accepted his help building her house, or asked for him to build her a pantry… and a dresser… and two nightstands. There was always a grocery list, but he never once complained, and in his own weird, hermit way, it was how he showed he cared.

Her fingers tightened briefly around the wheel before relaxing again. Warren already fixed enough things for her without being asked. Harlan had enough on his plate too. The cabin, the Jeep, the broken fence by the ranger station, the loose step on her porch. Sometimes asking for help felt too much like adding another stone to a pile someone else was already carrying. So she'd simply kept driving without the doors and told herself she'd get around to it eventually. She shot him a quick sidelong glance before looking back toward the road.

"Besides," she added, a little of her usual humor returning, "If I freeze to death, you can finally get all your flannels back."

"If you manage to freeze to death while possessing half of my flannels, then Charlotte McCoy—" His head turned dramatically to the left, looking right at her as they drove down the narrow, treelined road. "You are an idiot." Thick brows rose toward his damp hairline, silently daring her to argue, before his attention slowly drifted back toward the road and the forest that hugged in close on either side of the car.

"What are you doing before the festival?" Harlan asked, already trying to make time in his day to make her car whole again before flu season was in full swing. "I can see if Warren has time to spare. I know you store your doors in his garage anyway," he added with a faint guilty smile that said he knew her patterns, even when she tried to be spontaneous… She was just as predictable as he was.

Charlotte shook her head immediately, curls bouncing wildly in the wind rushing through the open sides of the Jeep. Sunlight flickered through the pines overhead, strobing across the dashboard while gravel crackled beneath the tires. Her fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel, restless with thought as she mentally sorted through the long list waiting for her after breakfast.

"Pass," she said, the answer arriving without hesitation. "I'm headed to the store and then to hike." Her eyes stayed on the narrow road winding between towering pines, though she smiled faintly to herself. "A lot of the tourists coming in for the festival are sticking around for a couple weeks. I need to make sure all the trails are clear before they start wandering off into places they shouldn't."

The Jeep rounded a bend, revealing another stretch of forest draped in autumn color. Gold leaves flashed between dark evergreens while morning mist still lingered low among the underbrush. Charlotte hummed softly beneath her breath as she mapped routes and trail markers in her head, tracing familiar paths she'd walked often enough to know every fallen log and crooked switchback by memory alone.

"I've only got three trails left," she continued after a moment. "But the last one's a pain in the ass." One corner of her mouth curled upward as she glanced briefly toward him. "Honestly, it'll probably take me two days. I'm tempted to just camp out there and get it over with." The thought settled comfortably in her chest. A tent, a fire, the forest at night. There were worse ways to spend a weekend than sleeping beneath the pines she'd grown up beneath, though it always brought a form of nostalgia. The years spent camping with Warren, Harlan, and Savannah… she frowned slightly, and pushed the thoughts away. They could be analyzed when she was camping alone.

Harlan sighed, loud and definitely a bit dramatic, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees before burying his face into his palms. His fingers rubbed aggressively at his eyes as he grumbled her name into his hands. "Charlie..." he drawled. "You can’t camp out in the woods alone." He quickly held his hands up both surrendering and hushing her before she argued. "Yeah, I know. I know. You’re a big strong Park Ranger… but it isn’t safe." He looked over at her with a tired sort of resignation of a man who had this argument far too many times, and he’d keep having it until she listened. Mentally he was shifting things around to free up his night for an unplanned shift, because every time she didn’t listen he was still there, just out of sight making sure she was safe. "You’re gonna put me in an early grave," he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes as his head tipped back against the seat.

Charlotte let out a long sigh through her nose as she shifted gears, one hand loose on the steering wheel while the other rested against the gear lever. Pines gave way to scattered houses as they descended toward town, rooftops beginning to peek through the trees ahead. Morning sunlight spilled across the windshield in pale gold bands, warming one side of her face while cool autumn air curled through the Jeep's doorless frame. She shot Harlan an incredulous look that lasted a full two seconds before returning her attention to the road.

"Harlan," she groaned, drawing his name out like it physically pained her. "I'll be fine." One hand lifted briefly from the wheel so she could gesture vaguely toward the backpack sitting behind her seat. "I have bear mace, emergency supplies, a satellite phone, and enough first aid gear to survive my own terrible decisions." Her mouth twitched upward. "And I know you expect something to come eat me in the middle of the night, but I seriously doubt it's anything I can't handle. I am, as you put it, a big strong Park Ranger."

The Jeep rumbled toward the center of town and rolled to a stop at one of Pine Ridge's two traffic lights. Charlotte stared at the empty intersection ahead of them. No cars. No pedestrians. No reason whatsoever to be sitting there waiting. Her lips pursed thoughtfully as she drummed her fingers against the wheel and contemplated simply ignoring the light on principle.

Then a thought occurred to her. "You could always come with me."

Her head turned toward him, curls shifting across her shoulder as a smile slowly spread across her face. The expression carried the dangerous sort of innocence that usually preceded bad ideas. "If you're up for a two-day hike, sleeping in a tent, and eating canned beans and sausage for every meal." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Real luxury accommodations. Five stars. The raccoons usually keep to themselves."

The light finally changed. Charlotte immediately accelerated through the intersection with the enthusiasm of someone personally offended by stoplights. Her laughter drifted into the cool morning air as the diner came into view down the street, already busy with locals beginning their holiday. "Besides," she added, glancing sideways at him again, dimples appearing in her cheeks, "if you're so worried, that sounds like the perfect solution. You can spend two whole days supervising my poor decision-making in person."

Harlan tried to keep his facial expression somewhere in the realm of a concerned brother that just didn’t want his friend alone in the woods because of normal things… like bears. But then there were all the missing people, wolves with less self control, or vampires. Somehow Charlie managed to choose the career that sent her into the Black Hills alone, which gave him far more stress than he let on. She often wondered why he was always tired without knowing the lengths he went through to keep those woods moderately more safe for her… Which unfortunately kept her in her rose tinted bubble.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Aside from the tent, that doesn’t sound far off from how I spend my days," Harlan commented wryly as the Jeep rolled to a stop in front of the diner. He groaned like a man far older than he was as she climbed out of the car. Boots crunched against dirt and pebbles that dusted the sidewalk as he pivoted, spinning back around. His hands gripped the rollbar over the absent door as he leaned over to look across the cabin toward Charlie. "As much as I’m sure you’d love the chance to make me miserable for two days straight, I can’t. Tomorrow’s Sunday."

For over a year, Harlan has been unavailable Sunday mornings. He woke up early, even when he wanted to sleep in, then went and picked up Mrs. Larson, driving her to her nine a.m. church service, followed by taking her grocery shopping. And after about the fourth consecutive Sunday she started making him lunch whenever they got back, insisting on feeding him since he refused to accept money or let her fill his tank. It was small really, and with how much Mrs. Larson told him he should be spending his weekend with a young lady, he highly doubted she’d mind. But as much as he tried to hide it behind his gruff exterior, he actually enjoyed those quiet Sunday mornings, the simplicity of helping someone who never asked for it. She didn’t have any children to look after her and Harlan didn’t have parents or grandparents to take care of. In its own unspoken way, they both filled little holes in each other’s lives without ever saying as much.

He had no intention of canceling, it just meant he was unlikely to get much sleep that night either. Maybe he could schedule a nap sometime before the festival… if he was lucky.

His fingers strummed against the cold metal of the Jeep, pursing his lips in frustrated thought. "You better check in on that damn satellite phone." Harlan’s eyes narrowed before he wagged a finger at her. "I’m serious, Charlie."

Something softened across Charlie's face. The teasing expression remained, but it settled into something warmer around the edges as she looked across the Jeep at him. Morning sunlight spilled across the diner parking lot and caught in the loose curls dancing around her face while cold autumn wind swept through the open cabin. The scent of coffee drifted from inside the diner every time the door opened, mingling with fallen leaves and the faint bite of approaching winter. Harlan's concern sat plainly between them, wrapped up in grumbling lectures and narrowed eyes, and Charlie had long since learned to recognize it for what it was.

"Tell Mrs. Larson I said hi." The words were gentle and sincere. Charlie shifted her hand atop the steering wheel and smiled despite herself, because Harlan was one of the best people she knew, even if he'd probably rather wrestle a bear than accept the compliment. He spent his Sundays driving an old woman to church, hauled groceries without complaint, fixed things that didn't belong to him, and somehow still found time to worry himself sick over everyone else. The thought made her chest feel strangely full for a moment before she shoved it aside in favor of something easier.

"I'll see you at the festival." Her grin returned immediately, bright and mischievous. "Do us both a favor and buy one of those little name-tag stickers. Write somebody else's name on it." She snorted and reached for the gearshift, already picturing the disaster waiting for him later that evening. "Otherwise Warren's gonna track you down and physically shove you into a vampire costume."

The image amused her enough that she laughed under her breath while throwing the Jeep into reverse. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. Wind rushed through the missing doors and tugged at her curls as she backed away from the diner. One hand lifted briefly from the wheel in a lazy farewell before she swung the Jeep toward the road, already thinking about trails, maps, and the miles of forest waiting for her beyond town… but first, she was going to stop at the store and stock Harlan’s kitchen with all of her, and his, favorite snacks.

^{interactions ....|.... warren ............... mentions ....|.... warren, savannah............... collabs ....|.... @Mjolnir}

Reign of the Usurper

^{#943131 ....|..... outfit ....|..... cavern ballroom}

Emil entered the ballroom alone, and the emptiness beside him felt shaped enough to have weight. Ahead, Elrik moved with Selja on his arm, his posture straight, his pace adjusted so subtly to hers that most would miss the kindness of it beneath the discipline. Their father escorted their mother with the rigid courtesy of a man who understood appearances better than tenderness, his hand firm at her side as if even gentleness had to obey command. Emil’s own arm hung loose, fingers curling once against his palm around the space where his youngest sister should have been. For half a breath, he could almost feel her there, smaller steps, quick tongue, the brush of her sleeve against his, and then the procession shifted forward, taking the ghost of her with it.

The room opened before him like something carved from a dream left beneath the mountain too long. Candlelight dripped from chandeliers large enough to crush a wagon, each flame catching in silver, polished wood, and the dark gloss of obsidian stone above. Farther in, the finery of the Citadel surrendered to the cavern itself, where moonlight poured down in cool sheets. Emil slowed despite himself, wonder softening the ache pinched between his ribs. He had seen ice caves back home catch dawn and turn blue enough to make a man believe the gods had hidden pieces of sky beneath Ironcrag, but this was stranger, warmer, almost impossible—court and wilderness sharing breath in the same room.

He moved along the table with careful steps, partly from soreness and partly because the room deserved a form of quiet observation in the face of its beauty. Platters of roasted aurochs and peppered pheasant steamed under the glow of candelabras shaped like leaves and wings, their scents heavy with dark ale, clove, salt, honey, and hot pastry. Servants passed with practiced grace, hands full, eyes lowered, so easy for nobility to overlook that Emil found himself noticing them all the more, the boy balancing three bottles against one hip, the woman adjusting a crooked runner before anyone important could see, the older man guiding a younger servant away from a chair before a lord backed into him. Even here, abundance rested on unseen shoulders. The thought tugged at him with familiar tenderness, and he wondered if anyone had eaten yet belowstairs, or if they would wait until the grander hunger of the hall was satisfied.

His name card waited farther down than his family’s pride would have preferred, though not so far as to be insulting. Emil Járnbjørn, written in careful ink, placed well away from both Princess Maeve and Princess Rhea. The distance was deliberate; he could feel the Queen’s hand in it as clearly as if she had pressed him down into the chair herself. He was not firstborn, not an heir with land and iron waiting beneath his feet, not some glittering prize worth arranging near royal daughters with hopeful precision. He had not ridden into the valley wearing glory over his shoulders. He had only happened to be standing in the wrong place at the right time, flowers in hand, foolish enough to catch a falling princess with his own body.

Relief came so swiftly that guilt followed after it. He lowered himself into the chair with a barely hidden wince and let the breath leave him slowly, hands settling around the edge of the table until the sting in his palms steadied him. Far from the princesses meant far from expectation, and far from expectation meant he might pass through these months with little more than bruised ribs and a few polite conversations to show for it. He wanted Ironcrag with a homesickness that sat low and constant beneath his breastbone. He wanted the whitegrain terraces, the emberroot beds, the cliff villages with smoke curling thin from their chimneys, the people who would never care whether he knew how to flatter a queen so long as he arrived with remedies, grain, or a listening ear. If no one here chose him, he could return to where his hands were useful.

His gaze drifted across the table before he meant it to, searching the movement and color for something familiar enough to anchor him. Selja had been placed near Prince Dorian, and Emil watched the prince offer her his hand with a warmth that eased some of the tightness in his chest. His sister looked nervous, but not cornered, her smile small and real as she settled into her seat. Their father remained with their mother near the higher table, already half-swallowed by old histories and royal company. Elrik, however, had not gone where Emil expected him to go. His brother stood beside Princess Rhea with a wine decanter in his hand, his shoulders angled in a way that blocked some distant line of sight, his head lowered as he spoke to her with a softness Emil knew few people ever received.

The sight made Emil’s brows draw together before he could smooth them. Elrik did not waste movement, did not drift by accident, did not offer gentleness simply because a room might admire it. Yet there he was, pouring wine for the younger princess as if the act had weight beyond courtesy, his attention fixed on her with a steadiness that made the space around them feel quieter than the rest of the hall. Rhea flushed at whatever he said, color rising warm across her cheeks, and then she laughed, small, bright, almost disbelieving. Emil’s lips pursed, not in disapproval, but in uncertainty. He remembered her on the trail with dust on her skirts and panic in her eyes, remembered how quickly guilt had folded around her, and seeing that same face turned upward toward Elrik with startled warmth left him unsure where to place the feeling in his chest.

Then Rhea’s gaze shifted, catching him from across the room. For one fragile instant the afternoon returned between them, the white flash of the horse’s mane, the crush of road beneath his back, her hands hovering as if apology could hold a man together. Emil straightened a little despite the pull in his side, and offered her the best smile he could manage. It was small, a touch awkward, but sincere enough to carry what words could not from such a distance, no harm done, no blame kept, breathe easy. He hoped she understood. He hoped, too, that whatever his brother had said had not unsettled her further, though the warmth still lingering in her cheeks suggested something far more complicated than fear. Emil looked down at his empty plate and rubbed a thumb along the tender scrape in his palm, listening to the water fall somewhere beyond the tables, trying to convince himself that complication was none of his business unless someone was hurt by it

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^{#6f5062 ....|..... outfit ....|..... cavern ballroom}

Aelyria entered the ballroom upon her father’s arm with the measured grace of someone long accustomed to being watched. Candlelight gathered across the gold embroidery of her gown and turned the dark emerald velvet almost black where the shadows touched it. The hall stretched vast beneath the mountain, obsidian walls veined faintly with silver, while moonlight spilled through the cavern openings farther beyond the feast and washed the stone in pale blue. Water fell somewhere in the distance, a steady rush beneath the swell of conversation and music, and the scent of roasted meat, mulled wine, beeswax, and damp stone hung thick in the warm air.

Her father slowed beside a man dressed far more simply than the surrounding court. Novar Athanasius Mercy stood near the lower end of the royal tables with dark chestnut hair brushing his shoulders and pale robes falling cleanly from his frame. Silver embroidery traced the cuffs and collar in fine patterns that caught the candlelight when he moved, though there was little else upon him meant to impress. His face carried an ease uncommon among powerful men, something patient and open settled around his mouth and eyes like it had lived there for years. When Lord Daemric offered introductions, Athanasius bowed over Aelyria’s hand with quiet care, his fingers cool against her skin.

“It is good to finally meet your daughter,” Athanasius said, lifting his gaze toward her father. “Her beauty is certainly enough for the crown.”

Aelyria lowered her lashes modestly, allowing a small smile to touch her mouth while her father accepted the compliment with smooth satisfaction. Before another pleasantry could follow, movement nearby caught the Keeper’s attention. A servant girl stood several paces away with a tray tilted dangerously in her trembling hands, crystal goblets rattling softly against one another each time she adjusted her grip. Sandy blonde hair clung damply to her temples, her tanned skin flushed deep from the heat of the hall, and her bright green eyes darted anxiously toward the crowd pressing around her.

“Forgive me,” Athanasius murmured at once.

He crossed toward her before she could drop the tray, one hand steadying the silver platter while the other relieved several goblets from its edge. The girl’s shoulders loosened so quickly Aelyria could almost feel the ache leaving them. Athanasius said something too low for her to hear, and the servant gave a startled laugh before ducking her head with visible relief. Strange, Aelyria thought, watching the exchange closely. Most men of influence enjoyed being served, but The Keeper of Faith looked more comfortable easing burdens than creating them.

Lord Daemric guided her onward, his hand firm at the small of her back as they approached her place at the feast. A servant pulled her chair out at once, though her father adjusted it himself before she sat, subtle enough to appear courteous rather than corrective. Velvet settled heavily around her legs as she lowered gracefully into place, gold chains at her waist giving a faint muted chime against the bodice of her gown. Across the hall, musicians hidden beneath ivy-draped arches coaxed soft strings and flutes through the ballroom, their melodies slipping between conversation like smoke.

Aelyria’s gaze drifted naturally toward Prince Dorian. He stood nearby beneath the layered glow of chandeliers and moonlight, speaking easily with those around him while still managing to look attentive to each person in turn. Nearby sat a red-haired northern woman she recognized as one of the Járnbjørns, her posture careful despite the warmth in the prince’s expression. Farther down the table another of the northern sons sat alone, broad shoulders slightly hunched as he studied the room with the uncertain look of a man more comfortable beneath open sky than inside royal stone. Aelyria rested her fingertips lightly against the stem of her untouched wineglass while she watched Dorian over the rim. Her attention lingered with deliberate softness, measured carefully enough to invite notice if he happened to look her way.

^{interactions ....|.... selja, lord einarr emil, rhea, elrikk............... mentions ....|.... soleil............... collabs ....|.... none}

small town urban fantasy; vampires, witches, werewolves.

Me too, please.

@Stryder BC

Absolutely! Just posted it, so feel free to read everything and shoot me a DM :D

small town urban fantasy; vampires, witches, werewolves.

RP is live! For anyone that was interested! We're open for applications now!

What Lies Below

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Charlotte McCoy | The Park Ranger

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Charlotte McCoy...

.................................................... __________________________________________ C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y ________________________________________________________ 35 | female | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | brunette ..................▹ eye color | green ..................▹ height | 5' 5" ..................▹ build | aethletic ..................▹ species | human ..................▹ faction | citizen ..................▹ role | park ranger

. S T R E N G T H S survivalist - Charlie is highly capable outdoors and knows the forests surrounding Pine Ridge intimately. She can navigate, track, camp, and survive in harsh conditions with very little assistance. resilient - Loss and hardship have hardened Charlie without making her bitter. Even after painful setbacks, she continues moving forward rather than shutting down. approachable - Charlie has an easygoing, warm personality that naturally puts people at ease. She enjoys making others laugh and often acts as an emotional anchor for those around her. She is, quite easily, one of Pine Ridges most universally adored citizens. W E A K N E S S E S abandonment issues - The disappearance of her mother and departure of her sister left deep emotional scars she rarely speaks about openly. Charlie struggles with being left behind and quietly fears losing the people she still has. stubborn - Charlie is deeply set in her beliefs and instincts once she commits to something. Convincing her she is wrong can be extremely difficult. insomnia - Charlie has struggled with sleep for years, especially after losing both her mother and sister. Long nights alone in the woods and an overactive mind often leave her exhausted, restless, and running on far less sleep than she should be. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y loyal .... | .... compassionate .... | .... sarcastic .... | .... independent .... | .... courageous H I S T O R Y Charlotte “Charlie” McCoy has spent her entire life in Pine Ridge and, unlike many others her age, never once felt trapped by it. The town was small, quiet, and deeply rooted in routine, but Charlie liked that about it. She liked knowing everyone by name and being known in return. Her family had lived in Pine Ridge for generations, tucked into the same stretch of valley beneath the mountain long before tourism ever started creeping back into town. Most of Charlie’s childhood was spent inside the Pine Ridge National Park, where her father worked as the town’s park ranger and taught her the woods as though they were something sacred. By the time she was old enough to walk the trails on her own, Charlie already knew how to track animals through the brush, identify edible plants, start a fire in the rain, and survive overnight in the wilderness with little more than a backpack and a knife. Her father taught her how to respect the forest, but more importantly, how to listen to it. There were trails he disliked after dark. Parts of the woods he avoided entirely. As a child, Charlie thought little of it. She only understood later that her father had been genuinely afraid of certain parts of the mountain. Her mother disappeared when Charlie was still very young. No body was ever found, no explanation ever offered. For years afterward, Charlie searched for her in the woods every chance she got, convinced she had simply missed something everyone else overlooked. Even now, part of her still searches without realizing it. Through all of it, however, her older sister Savannah remained the brightest and steadiest thing in her life. The two grew up inseparable, sharing secrets, clothes, heartbreaks, and dreams in the way only sisters close in age often do. That closeness eventually extended to the Boone brothers as well. Savannah began dating Harlan Boone sometime during high school, while Charlie naturally gravitated toward Warren until the four of them became nearly impossible to separate. They spent countless weekends camping beneath the trees together, staying up too late around campfires while laughter echoed through the forest around them. Before long, Charlie became less of a guest and more of a permanent fixture in the Boone household, wandering through the front door unannounced, stealing food from their kitchen, crashing on the couch, and generally making herself at home wherever they were and when she wasn't busy being the best Girl Scout leader Pine Ridge had ever seen. Sometimes she suspected the brothers were hiding things from her. They could be strangely cagey about certain hunting trips or nights spent deeper in the woods alone. Still, Charlie had long since accepted that people could keep secrets and still love you fiercely anyway. To her, the Boones were family. It came as a shock to nearly everyone when Savannah vanished from Pine Ridge without warning. No goodbye. No explanation. No final conversation left behind for Harlan or Charlie to cling to afterward, she left the engagement ring Harlen had gotten her on her nightstand. One day she was there, and the next she was simply gone. The months following her departure were some of the hardest of Charlie’s life. She had never seen Harlan so devastated, nor Warren so helpless to fix it. More than once she sat quietly beside Harlan in the Boone living room while grief hollowed him out piece by piece, giving him space whenever words failed them both. In the years since, Charlie’s relationship with Savannah has soured into something bitter and unresolved. Her sister still calls occasionally. Charlie has not answered in years. There is something to be said for the loyalty of the people who stay. The Boone brothers stayed. When Charlie left Pine Ridge briefly to attend a community college five hours away, Warren and Harlan helped move her into her dorm. When she earned her bachelor’s degree in Environmental Science, the Boone brothers sat beside her father at graduation. When she returned home afterward, they helped her unpack all over again. And years later, when her father finally died, it was Warren and Harlan who stood beside her at the funeral and carried her grief alongside her without ever asking for anything in return. Now Charlie works as Pine Ridge’s park ranger, following the same trails her father once walked before her. She knows the forests surrounding the mountain better than almost anyone else in town and has spent enough nights beneath those trees to understand something is deeply wrong within them. There are sounds in the woods that do not belong to any animal she recognizes. Trails that seem to shift when no one is looking. Places where the forest suddenly falls silent for reasons she cannot explain. Yet despite everything strange and unsettling lurking around Pine Ridge, Charlie remains rooted there all the same. The mountain took pieces of the people she loved long ago, and whether she realizes it or not, part of her has spent her entire life trying to take them back. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #9FC9A8 ........ faceclaim . | . evangeline lilly ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Charlotte's Home & Truck

Arabella's Relationships

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_{words words words}

C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y.....

relationship . | . comforted & respectful

brief description . | ."Park Ranger? She seems nice, has that sort of... sunshine personified vibe. I saw her featured in a news article when I looked up the town."

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H A Z E L . M I L L E R.....

relationship . | . hesitant

brief description . | ."Who? A waitress? You realize I got in at three in the morning last night, right?"

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W I L L O W . H Y D E.....

relationship . | . curious

brief description . | ."You mean the town only has one doctor? God, I'd kill to see what her schedule looks like. I'd be willing to bet money that she needs a stiff drink and a vacation."

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N E L T H E A . A N D E R S.....

relationship . | . cautious

brief description . | ."You keep saying names like I'm suppose to know these people, come back in a week."

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V A L E R I A . C A R R I N G T O N.....

relationship . | . cautious

brief description . | ."You said she owns the grocery store? Good for her, I guess."

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S A M U E L . H O L T.....

relationship . | . charmed

brief description . | ."He's in a lot of the news articles I've read, seems like a great mayor, someone whose really for the people. Though, he's also a politician, and they're all bloodsucking rich assholes, so who knows."

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C L I N T . W E S T O N.....

relationship . | . surprisingly friendly

brief description . | ."Clint’s relationship with the Mayor is a little weird. It’s not a friendship I would have pegged, but there’s a trust there that I can’t begin to understand. I don’t know what I expected out of one of Mr. Holt’s friends, but Clint is very nice and polite. He never ignores me, makes an effort to include me in conversations, and greets me whenever we cross paths. I enjoy when he visits the Municipal Building. Mr. Holt is always in a better mood those days."

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Arabella Crowe | The New Arrival

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Arabella Crowe...

.................................................... __________________________________________ A R A B E L L A . C R O W E ________________________________________________________ 31 | female | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | ginger ..................▹ eye color | blue ..................▹ height | 5' 7" ..................▹ build | slender ..................▹ species | witch ..................▹ faction | the circle ..................▹ role | Academic Researcher / Professor

. S T R E N G T H S quick thinking - Arabella adapts rapidly when confronted with unexpected problems or unfamiliar situations. She is able to process information quickly and make practical decisions even under intense pressure. tenacity - Once Arabella sets her mind on uncovering something, she pursues it relentlessly. Obstacles, setbacks, and resistance tend to frustrate or motivate her more than discourage her. composure - Arabella remains calm and rational in situations where most people would panic. Even when frightened or overwhelmed, she prefers to think through problems logically rather than react emotionally. W E A K N E S S E S obsessive tendencies - Arabella can become so consumed by a problem that she neglects her own wellbeing. Once fixated on finding an answer, she often ignores exhaustion, stress, and even basic self-care until the issue is resolved. fierce loyalty - Once Arabella truly cares about someone, she becomes deeply protective of them and struggles to let them go, even when they may deserve it. Her loyalty can sometimes cloud her judgment and make it difficult for her to walk away from unhealthy situations or relationships. reckless curiosity - Arabella’s need for answers can sometimes override common sense or personal safety. If she believes important knowledge is within reach, she has a habit of pushing forward despite obvious risks or warnings. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y intellectual .... | .... perceptive .... | .... curious .... | .... stubborn .... | .... observant H I S T O R Y 1852 Lenora stumbled through the front door sometime after three in the morning with dirt packed beneath her nails and blood dried in dark flakes along the hem of her white ceremonial slip. The house groaned softly around her as the door slammed shut behind her, though she could still hear the mountain. Even here. Miles from it, she could still hear stone grinding somewhere deep beneath the earth like teeth against bone. Her hands would not stop shaking. The things she knew, in this moment, would be lost to history. She had already made her decision. Lenora moved quickly through the house, nearly stumbling as she yanked drawers open and shoved clothes haphazardly into a leather satchel. Soot smeared across her bare arms and throat. Her long ginger hair hung tangled down her back in damp strands while bruised fingerprints darkened one side of her wrist beneath the worn leather bracelet wrapped there. A polished blue labradorite sat at its center, though the stone no longer gleamed the way it once had. It looked cloudy now. Sickly. The feeling beneath her skin had not stopped since she left the mountain. Like something breathing just behind her. Lenora froze suddenly in the center of the kitchen. For one terrible moment, she thought she heard movement somewhere deeper in the house. A soft scrape. A shifting creak. Her eyes darted toward the dark hallway before silence swallowed the sound completely. A moment passed as she stared down toward her bedroom, toward the darkness that seemed almost inky as it surrounded her. The woman blinked, as if she'd seen a ghost, and her lips trembled as she whispered something only the shadows could have heard. Then, she hurried to the table and scrawled two rushed notes with unsteady hands. One bore the name of her High Priestess, her closest friend. The other simply read; Clint. She stared at his letter the longest. Then, with trembling fingers, she slipped the bracelet from her wrist and placed it atop the folded paper. When Lenora finally stepped back outside, she did not look toward the mountain again. The trees swallowed her before dawn ever had the chance to rise, and by morning, nobody in Pine Ridge could find a trace of where she had gone. Now Arabella Crowe had always been a brilliant child. She took her first steps earlier than most, learned to read with startling speed, and possessed the sort of quiet intensity that often unsettled adults who didn't know what to make of her. Her first word should perhaps have been Mama. Or Dada. Or even book, which would have been fitting enough. Instead, Eleanor Crowe sat beside her one winter evening reading from a worn clothbound collection of fairy tales while Arabella rested propped against a nest of pillows in her tiny nightdress, solemn and wide eyed beneath the glow in the-dark stars fixed carefully across her bedroom ceiling. The story spoke of forests and impossible tasks, of whispered blessings and old women hidden deep within the woods. When Eleanor softly read the word magic, Arabella slowly pushed herself upright with immense concentration, wild red hair tangled from sleep as she stared first at the page, then at her mother. “Mah-gic,” she had said with complete seriousness. In the end, she always ought to have been a witch. Not that Arabella knew it then. Instead, she grew into a scholar with an insatiable curiosity and a mind far too sharp for her own good, as she was often told throughout her life. She buried herself in ancient languages, historical texts, and religious manuscripts with obsessive focus, quickly gaining recognition for her intelligence long before adulthood ever found her. By the time she was a junior in high school, she had already published her first academic paper, Thwarting The 'Evil Eye' Through Achaemenid Aramaic Sources, earning quiet attention within academic circles for her work. From there, the path ahead of her seemed obvious. Arabella Crowe was meant for lecture halls, research archives, and scholarly acclaim. The strange pull she always felt toward forgotten things simply seemed like another symptom of an overactive mind. By thirty-one, Arabella had achieved the sort of career most academics spent their entire lives chasing. She taught Classical Studies at Yale, published regularly within respected scholarly journals, and had built a reputation for her work involving ancient translation and reconstructed texts. Her life was orderly, structured, and painfully earned. Then Eleanor Crowe vanished without explanation. Months passed without answers, without sightings, without so much as a body. The police found nothing. Her colleagues urged her to move on. Arabella refused. While sorting through her mother’s house, she eventually discovered a box tucked away in the attic with her name written carefully across the side. Inside sat three things; an old leather-bound journal, a strange historical text resembling a Grimoire, and a single folded note written in Eleanor’s unmistakable handwriting. “Back to the mountain. Back to the end. Back to where it all began.” Both books were written primarily in Latin, though fragments of another older language appeared throughout the pages, making translation painfully slow even for someone with Arabella’s expertise. For weeks she buried herself in the texts, sleeping little and working obsessively until eventually one name surfaced repeatedly between the pages. Pine Ridge. The rest, as it were, became inevitable. Eleanor Crowe had gone there for a reason, and Arabella intended to find out why, no matter what waited for her. cited: Thwarting the Evil Eye Through the Prism of Achaemenid Aramaic Sources is an actual academic article published by Gad Barnea. Yes, I read the article, no, you really shouldn't read it unless you have a particular interest in painstaking analysis of letter shapes, damaged inscriptions, alternate readings of origins of religious rituals, and linguistic reconstruction. I certainly don't, so reading it made me re-evaluate a few life choices. That is all. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #d19a73 ........ faceclaim . | . nicole kidman ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Arabella's Home & Truck

Arabella's Relationships

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_{Arabella, quite literally, knows next to no one.}

C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y.....

relationship . | . comforted & respectful

brief description . | ."Park Ranger? She seems nice, has that sort of... sunshine personified vibe. I saw her featured in a news article when I looked up the town."

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H A Z E L . M I L L E R.....

relationship . | . hesitant

brief description . | ."Who? A waitress? You realize I got in at three in the morning last night, right?"

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W I L L O W . H Y D E.....

relationship . | . curious

brief description . | ."You mean the town only has one doctor? God, I'd kill to see what her schedule looks like. I'd be willing to bet money that she needs a stiff drink and a vacation."

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N E L T H E A . A N D E R S.....

relationship . | . cautious

brief description . | ."You keep saying names like I'm suppose to know these people, come back in a week."

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N O A H . I R V I N G.....

relationship . | . friendly & comforted

brief description . | ."He's amazing, he actually listens, which is a lot more than most cops have done so far. I trust him."

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S A M U E L . H O L T.....

relationship . | . charmed

brief description . | ."He's in a lot of the news articles I've read, seems like a great mayor, someone whose really for the people. Though, he's also a politician, and they're all bloodsucking rich assholes, so who knows."

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S A B L E . P R I T C H A R D.....

relationship . | . hesitantly friendly

brief description . | ."She seems so nice, but... she might be a touch crazy. Which is totally fine, really."

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Warren Boone | The Alpha

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Warren Boone...

.................................................... __________________________________________ W A R R E N . B O O N E ________________________________________________________ 36 | male | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | dark brunette ..................▹ eye color | hazel/green ..................▹ height | 6' 5" ..................▹ build | muscular / athletic ..................▹ species | werewolf ..................▹ faction | pack ..................▹ role | mechanic / alpha

. S T R E N G T H S protective instincts - Warren places the safety of his pack above almost everything else. He takes responsibility for the wellbeing of others very seriously, even when it comes at personal cost. mechanical expertise - years spent working in the garage has made him highly skilled with vehicles and machinery. He enjoys working with his hands and often uses the shop as a way to clear his head. natural leadership - though he never originally wanted the role, Warren has a bright presence people naturally gravitate toward. His loyalty and consistency earn trust far more effectively than intimidation ever could. W E A K N E S S E S self-sacrificing - Warren has a habit of putting the needs of the pack ahead of his own wellbeing. He often carries burdens alone rather than asking others for help. avoidant - when emotionally overwhelmed, Warren tends to bury himself in work at the mechanic shop rather than openly discussing what is bothering him. emotional suppression - Warren spends a great deal of energy trying to maintain control over his emotions and instincts. The more stress, anger, or fear he experiences, the harder it becomes to keep the wolf beneath the surface contained. He has an awful temper, but struggles to keep it hidden. harlen - Warren would accept any terrible fate the world seemed fit to bestow upon him if it meant standing between his brother and said fate. He would also, given the opportunity, punch Savannah McCoy straight in the face. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y warmhearted .... | .... dependable .... | .... vigilant .... | .... playful .... | .... protective H I S T O R Y The Boone family had belonged to Pine Ridge for generations, their bloodline tied closely to the werewolf pack long before Warren himself ever existed. For three generations, the pack’s Alphas had come from the Boone line, though Warren never expected the responsibility to fall to him personally. That role had always belonged to his older brother, Harlan. Harlan was stronger, more commanding, more naturally suited for leadership in Warren’s eyes, and Warren had always been perfectly content letting him carry the weight of the pack while he remained the easiergoing younger brother who spent more time fixing engines and running around with Charlotte McCoy than worrying about politics. Unlike many within the pack, Warren never craved authority. He liked simple things, long nights in the garage, camping trips with Charlie, old trucks held together with stubbornness and duct tape, cheap beer shared around bonfires, and making the people around him laugh whenever life in Pine Ridge became too heavy. He worked at his dad's mechanic shop almost every day, eventually taking ownership of it himself, though most suspected he continued working there less out of necessity and more because it gave his restless hands something to do. Beneath the lightheartedness, however, Warren carried the instincts of the wolf heavily. He loved deeply, protected fiercely, and felt responsibility settle into his bones whether he wanted it there or not. Everything changed when Harlan stepped down as Alpha. Warren never pressed him for the full reason, though he understood enough to know the decision had not been made lightly. The role passed to Warren soon after, not because he fought for it, but because the pack trusted him enough to follow him. For a long time, he believed they had made the wrong choice. Warren viewed himself as too carefree, too relaxed, too emotionally messy to lead something as important as the pack itself. Yet instead of running from the responsibility, he accepted it fully. If the role belonged to him now, then he intended to do it right. Since becoming Alpha, Warren has worked tirelessly to keep the pack stable as tensions within Pine Ridge continue worsening. He remains deeply loyal to Harlan and would do nearly anything for him, even if it means carrying burdens he never originally wanted, and just as loyal to his best friend Charlotte, even if it seems like a world separates them sometimes. While other faction leaders often lead through fear, Warren tries to lead through trust, loyalty, and protection instead. Whether that approach will be enough for what is coming to Pine Ridge remains to be seen. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #3c6c6b ........ faceclaim . | . Jason Momoa ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Relationship code template

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N A M E . S U R N A M E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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N A M E . S U R N A M E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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Samuel Holt | The Mayor

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Samuel Holt...

.................................................... __________________________________________ I S A I A H . H O L T ________________________________________________________ 215 | male | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | black / greying ..................▹ eye color | brown ..................▹ height | 6' 2" ..................▹ build | toned / atheltic ..................▹ species | vampires ..................▹ faction | coven ..................▹ role | mayor / the mayor

. S T R E N G T H S manipulative - Samuel is exceptionally skilled at influencing people without them realizing they are being guided. He understands how to leverage fear, ambition, loyalty, and desperation better than most. strategic - he thinks several steps ahead in nearly every situation and plans carefully for long-term outcomes. Samuel values patience and precision far more than impulsive action. charismatic - Samuel knows how to present himself in ways that make others trust, admire, or follow him. Even people who dislike him often find themselves listening when he speaks. W E A K N E S S E S resentful - Samuel still carries deep anger from the life he lived before becoming a vampire. Old wounds surrounding powerlessness and humiliation continue shaping many of his actions centuries later. This has made him ruthless, and sometimes needlessly cruel clint - Samuel's loyalty to Clint overrides nearly every other priority in his life, including logic, politics, and self-preservation. He would destroy relationships, sacrifice stability, or make catastrophic decisions without hesitation if it meant protecting him. He is, in every sense of the word, his brother. controlling - he struggles to trust others with authority and prefers keeping people firmly beneath his influence. Samuel often views relationships through the lens of power and control, even unintentionally, if it's not Clint he needs to have control over them in some way. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y resourceful .... | .... charismatic .... | .... calculating .... | .... guarded .... | .... bitter H I S T O R Y Samuel was born into slavery more than two centuries ago somewhere far south of the Black Hills, though he rarely speaks of the exact place anymore. Time had worn away many things, but not the memory of chains, hunger, and the sound of men screaming beneath a whip. He watched members of his family die one by one beneath the ownership of men who viewed cruelty as entertainment rather than punishment. His mother died sick after being worked beyond exhaustion. His younger brother was beaten to death for stealing food after being starved. By the time Samuel reached adulthood, hatred had already rooted itself so deeply inside him that he no longer knew what living without it would feel like. Clint found him while traveling westward during his years as an outlaw. The man often traded labor for meals and shelter while moving across the country, drifting between farms, ranches, and small settlements without much permanence to his name. Samuel remembered Clint as loud, reckless, and far too willing to mouth off to men who deserved killing for less. The plantation owner they stayed with had been especially vicious, the kind of man who hurt people simply because he enjoyed watching fear settle into their faces. One night, after Samuel was beaten so severely he could barely stand, Clint finally snapped. He shot the man square between the eyes without hesitation, then calmly handed Samuel the keys needed to free the others before the body had even grown cold. Samuel asked to travel with him afterward. Clint only grinned and admitted he had been hoping Samuel would ask. From there the two became nearly inseparable, drifting westward together through the growing frontier. They robbed trains when money ran low, stole from wealthy landowners, and developed a particular fondness for ruining the lives of slave owners whenever the opportunity presented itself. For the first time in his life, Samuel experienced something resembling freedom. It did not erase the rage inside him, nor the memories he carried, but Clint gave him something he had never possessed before; the ability to choose the life he wanted for himself. Eventually, rumors of gold buried within the Black Hills drew them toward the growing mining settlement that would later become Pine Ridge. They arrived intending to do what they had always done, take advantage of greedy men and leave richer than they arrived. Instead, deep within the mines, both men encountered something neither fully understood. They were attacked, turned, and abandoned beneath the mountain by a creator they never truly met. The transformation nearly killed them both, and everything they learned through trial, error, and surviving together, nothing was ever offered. Pine Ridge slowly became home not because Samuel loved the town, but because leaving it never seemed fully possible afterward. The mountain had changed them, strengthened them, anchored them to the valley in ways neither entirely understood. While Clint adapted to immortality with surprising ease, part of Samuel never truly escaped the man slavery had shaped him into. He remained deeply resentful of weakness, humiliation, and loss of control. Even centuries later, that buried bitterness still surfaced in ugly ways, making him colder and crueler than he often intended to be. Over time, Samuel and Clint decided survival alone was no longer enough. If vampires intended to remain hidden within Pine Ridge, they needed influence, structure, and control over the town itself. Samuel eventually entered local politics and, through years of careful manipulation, charm, and strategic alliances, he recently secured the position of mayor. The role granted him access to information, law enforcement, finances, and nearly every important decision made within the town. While other factions openly ruled through fear or tradition, Samuel preferred quieter methods. People rarely noticed how much control he truly possessed until they found themselves entirely beneath it. It was Samuel who found Valeria dying in an alley after another vampire lost control feeding from her. Pine Ridge had rules regarding reckless killing, not out of morality, but survival. Dead bodies invited attention. Attention invited outsiders. Samuel viewed Valeria less as a mercy case and more as wasted potential left bleeding in the dirt. He turned her, then quietly asked Clint to deal with the vampire responsible. Under Samuel's guidance, Valeria rose steadily through the coven until she eventually became its acting leader, though the position was never entirely hers. Samuel and Clint remained the true power behind the faction, carefully pulling strings from the shadows while allowing others to underestimate how much influence he still maintained. For all his ambition, however, there remains only one person Samuel trusts fully... Clint. More than two centuries later, their loyalty to one another remains absolute in a way that borders on dangerous. Samuel would destroy nearly anyone or anything threatening the life they built together, and Pine Ridge itself has suffered more than once because of that devotion. Though Valeria grows increasingly independent and tensions within the town continue rising, Samuel remains convinced he can maintain control over both the coven and the town itself. Whether that belief proves true as Pine Ridge begins unraveling remains uncertain. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #315b70........ faceclaim . | . idris elba ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Relationship code template

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N A M E . S U R N A M E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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N A M E . S U R N A M E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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Lucy Hale | The Librarian

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Arabella Crowe...

.................................................... __________________________________________ A R A B E L L A . C R O W E ________________________________________________________ 31 | female | pansexual __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | ginger ..................▹ eye color | blue ..................▹ height | 5' 7" ..................▹ build | slender ..................▹ species | witch ..................▹ faction | the circle ..................▹ role | Academic Researcher / Professor

. S T R E N G T H S quick thinking - Arabella adapts rapidly when confronted with unexpected problems or unfamiliar situations. She is able to process information quickly and make practical decisions even under intense pressure. tenacity - Once Arabella sets her mind on uncovering something, she pursues it relentlessly. Obstacles, setbacks, and resistance tend to frustrate or motivate her more than discourage her. composure - Arabella remains calm and rational in situations where most people would panic. Even when frightened or overwhelmed, she prefers to think through problems logically rather than react emotionally. W E A K N E S S E S obsessive tendencies - Arabella can become so consumed by a problem that she neglects her own wellbeing. Once fixated on finding an answer, she often ignores exhaustion, stress, and even basic self-care until the issue is resolved. fierce loyalty - Once Arabella truly cares about someone, she becomes deeply protective of them and struggles to let them go, even when they may deserve it. Her loyalty can sometimes cloud her judgment and make it difficult for her to walk away from unhealthy situations or relationships. reckless curiosity - Arabella’s need for answers can sometimes override common sense or personal safety. If she believes important knowledge is within reach, she has a habit of pushing forward despite obvious risks or warnings. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y intellectual .... | .... perceptive .... | .... curious .... | .... stubborn .... | .... observant H I S T O R Y 1852 Lenora stumbled through the front door sometime after three in the morning with dirt packed beneath her nails and blood dried in dark flakes along the hem of her white ceremonial slip. The house groaned softly around her as the door slammed shut behind her, though she could still hear the mountain. Even here. Miles from it, she could still hear stone grinding somewhere deep beneath the earth like teeth against bone. Her hands would not stop shaking. The things she knew, in this moment, would be lost to history. She had already made her decision. Lenora moved quickly through the house, nearly stumbling as she yanked drawers open and shoved clothes haphazardly into a leather satchel. Soot smeared across her bare arms and throat. Her long ginger hair hung tangled down her back in damp strands while bruised fingerprints darkened one side of her wrist beneath the worn leather bracelet wrapped there. A polished blue labradorite sat at its center, though the stone no longer gleamed the way it once had. It looked cloudy now. Sickly. The feeling beneath her skin had not stopped since she left the mountain. Like something breathing just behind her. Lenora froze suddenly in the center of the kitchen. For one terrible moment, she thought she heard movement somewhere deeper in the house. A soft scrape. A shifting creak. Her eyes darted toward the dark hallway before silence swallowed the sound completely. A moment passed as she stared down toward her bedroom, toward the darkness that seemed almost inky as it surrounded her. The woman blinked, as if she'd seen a ghost, and her lips trembled as she whispered something only the shadows could have heard. Then, she hurried to the table and scrawled two rushed notes with unsteady hands. One bore the name of her High Priestess, her closest friend. The other simply read; Clint. She stared at his letter the longest. Then, with trembling fingers, she slipped the bracelet from her wrist and placed it atop the folded paper. When Lenora finally stepped back outside, she did not look toward the mountain again. The trees swallowed her before dawn ever had the chance to rise, and by morning, nobody in Pine Ridge could find a trace of where she had gone. Now Arabella Crowe had always been a brilliant child. She took her first steps earlier than most, learned to read with startling speed, and possessed the sort of quiet intensity that often unsettled adults who didn't know what to make of her. Her first word should perhaps have been Mama. Or Dada. Or even book, which would have been fitting enough. Instead, Eleanor Crowe sat beside her one winter evening reading from a worn clothbound collection of fairy tales while Arabella rested propped against a nest of pillows in her tiny nightdress, solemn and wide eyed beneath the glow in the-dark stars fixed carefully across her bedroom ceiling. The story spoke of forests and impossible tasks, of whispered blessings and old women hidden deep within the woods. When Eleanor softly read the word magic, Arabella slowly pushed herself upright with immense concentration, wild red hair tangled from sleep as she stared first at the page, then at her mother. “Mah-gic,” she had said with complete seriousness. In the end, she always ought to have been a witch. Not that Arabella knew it then. Instead, she grew into a scholar with an insatiable curiosity and a mind far too sharp for her own good, as she was often told throughout her life. She buried herself in ancient languages, historical texts, and religious manuscripts with obsessive focus, quickly gaining recognition for her intelligence long before adulthood ever found her. By the time she was a junior in high school, she had already published her first academic paper, Thwarting The 'Evil Eye' Through Achaemenid Aramaic Sources, earning quiet attention within academic circles for her work. From there, the path ahead of her seemed obvious. Arabella Crowe was meant for lecture halls, research archives, and scholarly acclaim. The strange pull she always felt toward forgotten things simply seemed like another symptom of an overactive mind. By thirty-one, Arabella had achieved the sort of career most academics spent their entire lives chasing. She taught Classical Studies at Yale, published regularly within respected scholarly journals, and had built a reputation for her work involving ancient translation and reconstructed texts. Her life was orderly, structured, and painfully earned. Then Eleanor Crowe vanished without explanation. Months passed without answers, without sightings, without so much as a body. The police found nothing. Her colleagues urged her to move on. Arabella refused. While sorting through her mother’s house, she eventually discovered a box tucked away in the attic with her name written carefully across the side. Inside sat three things; an old leather-bound journal, a strange historical text resembling a Grimoire, and a single folded note written in Eleanor’s unmistakable handwriting. “Back to the mountain. Back to the end. Back to where it all began.” Both books were written primarily in Latin, though fragments of another older language appeared throughout the pages, making translation painfully slow even for someone with Arabella’s expertise. For weeks she buried herself in the texts, sleeping little and working obsessively until eventually one name surfaced repeatedly between the pages. Pine Ridge. The rest, as it were, became inevitable. Eleanor Crowe had gone there for a reason, and Arabella intended to find out why, no matter what waited for her. cited: Thwarting the Evil Eye Through the Prism of Achaemenid Aramaic Sources is an actual academic article published by Gad Barnea. Yes, I read the article, no, you really shouldn't read it unless you have a particular interest in painstaking analysis of letter shapes, damaged inscriptions, alternate readings of origins of religious rituals, and linguistic reconstruction. I certainly don't, so reading it made me re-evaluate a few life choices. That is all. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #d19a73 ........ faceclaim . | . nicole kidman ........ creator . | . Sleepy Tani

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Arabella's Home & Truck

Arabella's Relationships

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_{Arabella, quite literally, knows next to no one.}

C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y.....

relationship . | . comforted & respectful

brief description . | ."Park Ranger? She seems nice, has that sort of... sunshine personified vibe. I saw her featured in a news article when I looked up the town."

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H A Z E L . M I L L E R.....

relationship . | . hesitant

brief description . | ."Who? A waitress? You realize I got in at three in the morning last night, right?"

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W I L L O W . H Y D E.....

relationship . | . curious

brief description . | ."You mean the town only has one doctor? God, I'd kill to see what her schedule looks like. I'd be willing to bet money that she needs a stiff drink and a vacation."

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N E L T H E A . A N D E R S.....

relationship . | . cautious

brief description . | ."You keep saying names like I'm suppose to know these people, come back in a week."

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N O A H . I R V I N G.....

relationship . | . friendly & comforted

brief description . | ."He's amazing, he actually listens, which is a lot more than most cops have done so far. I trust him."

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S A M U E L . H O L T.....

relationship . | . charmed

brief description . | ."He's in a lot of the news articles I've read, seems like a great mayor, someone whose really for the people. Though, he's also a politician, and they're all bloodsucking rich assholes, so who knows."

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S A B L E . P R I T C H A R D.....

relationship . | . hesitantly friendly

brief description . | ."She seems so nice, but... she might be a touch crazy. Which is totally fine, really."

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What Lies Below

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T H E . C I T I Z E N S.....

D E V . S A R K A R role ... sheriff hexcode ... #00aeef facelaim ... rahul kohli writer ... @webboysurf	C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y role ... park ranger hexcode ... #9fc9a8 facelaim ... evangeline lilly writer ... @Sleepy Tani	S U T T O N . L O C K W O O D role ... mayor's assistant & thrall hexcode ... #fcb9c1 facelaim ... hannah dodd writer ... @Mjolnir	H A Z E L . M I L L E R role ... diner worker hexcode ... #a04535 facelaim ... lindsey morgan writer ... @Qia
. E V E R E I G H W R A I T H F A I R E role ... medical examiner hexcode ... #966283 facelaim ... eve harlow writer ... @PatientBean	. S A W Y E R . L O C K W O O D role ... firefighter hexcode ... #5b7893 facelaim ... alexander ludwig writer ... @Mjolnir	. N O A H . I R V I N G role ... the private investigator hexcode ... #bca346 facelaim ... ben barnes writer ... @Exit	. N A M E . L A S T N A M E role ... title / job hexcode ... #000000 facelaim ... name lastname writer ... username	.	.

T H E . C I R C L E.....

S A B L E . P R I T C H A R D role ... high priestess hexcode ... #565a8f facelaim ... natasha o'keeffe writer ... @Mjolnir

A R A B E L L A . C R O W E role ... new arrival hexcode ... #d19a73 facelaim ... nicole kidman writer ... @Sleepy Tani

W I L L O W . H Y D E role ... doctor hexcode ... #2e6f40 facelaim ... eva green writer ... @BellMerchant

N A M E . L A S T N A M E role ... title / job hexcode ... #000000 facelaim ... name lastname writer ... username

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T H E . P A C K.....

W A R R E N . B O O N E role ... alpha hexcode ... #3c6c6b facelaim ... jason momoa writer ... @Sleepy Tani

H A R L A N . B O O N E role ... lumberjack & beta hexcode ... #737e62 facelaim ... joe manganiello writer ... @Mjolnir

V I N C E N T . B A U E R role ... boxer hexcode ... #d10019 facelaim ... tom hardy writer ... @webboysurf

H A R P E R . B A X T E R role ... bartender hexcode ... #fcb04d facelaim ... hailee steinfeld writer ... @Qia

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T H E . C O V E N.....

V A L E R I A . C A R R I N G T O N role ... matriarch hexcode ... #6e4685 facelaim ... keira knightley writer ... @BellMerchant

S A M U E L . H O L T role ... mayor hexcode ... #315b70 facelaim ... idris elba writer ... @Sleepy Tani

C L I N T . W E S T O N role ... rancher hexcode ... #89684d facelaim ... karl urban writer ... @Mjolnir

R A F A E L . F O N T E N E L L E role ... antique dealer hexcode ... #94260e facelaim ... damson idris writer ... @Qia

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T E M P L A T E S.....

Character sheet template

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Name Surname...

.................................................... __________________________________________ N A M E . S U R N A M E ________________________________________________________ age | gender | sexuality __________________________________________ ..................▹ hair color | color ..................▹ eye color | color ..................▹ height | 0' 0" ..................▹ build | body type ..................▹ species | species ..................▹ faction | faction ..................▹ role | job / title

. S T R E N G T H S strength - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. strength - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. strength - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. W E A K N E S S E S weakness - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. weakness - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. weakness - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. __________________________________________________________________________________ P E R S O N A L I T Y trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait .... | .... trait H I S T O R Y Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Proin rhoncus libero risus, et porttitor ex mattis quis. Aliquam id tellus dui. Vivamus pellentesque quam et risus viverra, eget facilisis orci porta. Cras efficitur turpis sapien, sit amet sollicitudin lacus maximus sed. Suspendisse potenti. Ut condimentum venenatis lacus, quis sodales odio eleifend ac. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Maecenas sit amet massa rhoncus, cursus sapien et, molestie libero. Praesent eu aliquet felis. Suspendisse ut dictum ante. Cras dictum tellus et tincidunt molestie. Vestibulum at mauris placerat arcu maximus molestie. Phasellus consequat commodo mattis. Suspendisse potenti. Sed aliquam orci in ultrices volutpat. Vestibulum ac pretium ligula, sit amet rhoncus felis. Curabitur sit amet pulvinar orci. Sed nec enim urna. Suspendisse eget finibus diam. Mauris eu dapibus lectus, ac faucibus metus. Vivamus eleifend egestas massa non viverra. Quisque consequat, dui a iaculis commodo, dolor sapien dapibus diam, ut placerat lorem ex vel erat. Pellentesque mollis dui vel sapien sollicitudin imperdiet. Sed et lacus vehicula, aliquet quam eu, mollis lectus. Ut eu cursus lorem, vel vehicula purus. In lacinia, mi suscipit blandit varius, urna velit dignissim neque, eget vulputate magna urna ac arcu. Proin hendrerit tellus sit amet risus lacinia, ac hendrerit elit lacinia. Morbi in nulla orci. Nunc at neque aliquet, vestibulum nisi vel, efficitur tellus. Sed maximus nibh tincidunt placerat pretium. In hac habitasse platea dictumst. Praesent accumsan blandit leo at ultricies. Maecenas maximus dui ac pretium volutpat. Pellentesque rutrum nisl in ipsum consectetur, sed posuere lorem pretium. Sed vulputate sit amet metus malesuada laoreet. Nulla interdum rutrum sapien eu bibendum. Quisque in maximus lacus. Nulla luctus velit venenatis nisl elementum pretium. Sed gravida enim magna, quis pulvinar eros gravida quis. Aenean sodales libero mauris. Praesent laoreet ante mauris, eu sagittis lectus placerat vel. In condimentum tincidunt velit eu cursus. Aliquam nec ipsum egestas orci laoreet ultrices nec quis neque. Aenean viverra, metus nec laoreet fringilla, leo massa sodales magna, nec ullamcorper risus libero ac leo. Phasellus volutpat ornare facilisis. __________________________________________________________________________________ hexcode . | . #ff004e ........ faceclaim . | . name surname ........ creator . | . your username

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Relationship code template

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D E V . S A R K A R.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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C H A R L O T T E . M C C O Y.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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S U T T O N . L O C K W O O D.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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H A Z E L . M I L L E R.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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E V E R E I G H . W R A I T H F A I R E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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D R A V I A N . F O R S C Y T H E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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N O A H . I R V I N G.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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S A W Y E R . L O C K W O O D.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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S A B L E . P R I T C H A R D.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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A R A B E L L A . C R O W E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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W I L L O W . H Y D E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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N E L T H E A . A N D E R S.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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W A R R E N . B O O N E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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H A R L A N . B O O N E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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V I N C E N T . B A U E R.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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D A N I C A . D U R A N.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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H A R P E R . B A X T E R.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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V A L E R I A . C A R R I N G T O N.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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S A M U E L . H O L T.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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C L I N T . W E S T O N.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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R A F A E L . F O N T E N E L L E.....

relationship . | . stranger, friend, enemy, etc.

brief description . | .Sed ut ligula ut ante ullamcorper porta quis vel metus. Phasellus lacus augue, imperdiet id nulla in, dapibus maximus lectus. Donec iaculis tortor felis, condimentum efficitur risus convallis ut. Suspendisse fermentum, ligula ac venenatis blandit, neque ipsum ullamcorper sapien, ut ultricies magna dui ac lorem.

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What Lies Below

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W H A T . L I E S . B E L O W.....

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Pine Ridge was once the kind of town people swore could survive anything.

Born during the height of the Black Hills gold rush in South Dakota, it began as a rough frontier settlement carved into the shadow of the mountain itself; a place of prospectors, saloons, churches, and shallow graves. When the gold dried up, Pine Ridge endured by turning deeper into the earth, transforming into a thriving mining town fueled by coal, iron, quarry stone, and the sprawling tunnel systems beneath the mountain. Families stayed for generations. Neighbors left their doors unlocked. The mine became the heartbeat of the town, humming day and night beneath the streets like something alive.

Then, in the winter of 1987, the mountain swallowed nearly half of Pine Ridge. One of the deepest mining shafts collapsed without warning, triggering a chain reaction beneath the town that tore entire streets apart. Homes, businesses, churches, and whole neighborhoods vanished into the earth beneath thousands of tons of stone and debris. Rescue crews claimed they heard voices echoing from tunnels long after anyone trapped below should have died. Some survivors stumbled back to the surface days later, burnt, delirious, and whispering about tunnels that did not exist on any map and things moving in the dark beyond the reach of their lantern light.

Within a year, much of Pine Ridge was abandoned and condemned. The surviving half of town was rebuilt farther from the mountain. Modern Pine Ridge grew along the outskirts, where ranch homes, diners, gas stations, and newer neighborhoods now stretch beneath endless South Dakota skies.

The official story blamed unstable tunnels and decades of reckless excavation beneath the town. The truth was buried much deeper. Long before prospectors arrived, the mountain already belonged to older things. Vampires lived hidden beneath Pine Ridge for generations, eventually building an entire underground settlement within the forgotten mining network beneath the newer half of town. Entire streets, chambers, and hidden halls exist below the surface, untouched by sunlight and unknown to most humans above. The werewolves guarded the forests and plains surrounding the Black Hills, keeping whatever lived deeper in the wilderness from wandering too close to civilization. And the witches, hidden among Pine Ridge’s oldest bloodlines, maintained ancient seals buried beneath the mountain to imprison something far worse below.

Now, nearly forty years later, Pine Ridge is beginning to thrive again. Wealthy investors have transformed the condemned half of town into a restored ghost town attraction built around old western folklore, abandoned streets, and guided quarry tours through the surviving mine shafts. Roads have been repaired. Businesses are reopening. New families, drifters, thrill-seekers, and descendants of former residents have started returning to the valley, drawn by cheap land and the strange charm of a town frozen in time. For the first time in decades, Pine Ridge feels alive again. But the town does not want to be disturbed.

The deeper tunnels beneath the mountain have started opening on their own. Mine elevators descend at impossible hours despite having no power connected to them. People vanish along quarry trails without tracks. Livestock are found drained of blood beyond ranch fences, while strange symbols appear carved into trees around the valley overnight. Worse still, the witches responsible for maintaining the ancient seals are dying one by one under increasingly unnatural circumstances.

The fragile balance that once kept Pine Ridge alive is beginning to fracture. Vampires hidden beneath the town grow restless as their underground sanctuary becomes threatened by expanding excavation. Werewolf packs become increasingly territorial as something in the wilderness drives them toward violence. Human residents begin noticing too much; strange noises, figures watching from the treeline at night, lantern lights drifting through the condemned streets long after closing hours. Rumors spread faster than the truth ever can, and fear settles over Pine Ridge like another layer of mountain fog.

Because something beneath the mountain is waking up. Older than the vampires. Older than the witches. Older, perhaps, than Pine Ridge itself. Whatever survived inside the collapsed mine in 1987 did not remain trapped there alone, and now the prison beneath the mountain is beginning to fail.

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F A C T I O N S.....

................................................................. ....T H E . C I T I Z E N S.....

. . S H E R I F F : ... dev sarkar .. | .. taken .. | .. @webboysurf M E M B E R S : ... human residents of pine ridge Most of Pine Ridge’s human population remains entirely unaware of the supernatural existence hidden beneath the town. To the average resident, the disappearances, strange animal attacks, and old ghost stories surrounding the mountain are nothing more than local folklore. Only a select few humans know the truth, and those individuals almost always belong to Pine Ridge’s oldest families. In most cases, that knowledge was not freely given. It was earned through usefulness, inherited through generations, or forced upon them through circumstance. The humans trusted with supernatural knowledge typically occupy important positions within the town itself; doctors, morticians, the sheriff, or local politicians. Their roles make them valuable enough to keep alive, but that protection comes with strict conditions. Most are heavily monitored, manipulated, blackmailed, or outright threatened into silence by one or more supernatural factions. Knowledge in Pine Ridge is treated as both privilege and liability. A small number of humans also serve as vampire thralls. Through repeated exposure to vampire blood, thralls gain heightened senses, faster reflexes, and extended lifespans. However, the bond is addictive and they are under the vampire's control. Without regular access to their sire’s blood, thralls experience severe physical and psychological withdrawal, making true independence nearly impossible.

................................................................. .......T H E . C I R C L E.....

. . H I G H . P R I E S T E S S : ... sable pritchard .. | .. taken .. | .. @Mjolnir M E M B E R S : ... order of witches The witches of Pine Ridge practice a traditional form of magic rooted heavily in ritual work, natural elements, and spiritual balance. Their abilities are often enhanced through crystals, stones, herbs, and ancient spells, with different materials amplifying different forms of magic. Smaller spells, such as protection charms, minor healing, tracking, glamour magic, or minor emotional influence, can typically be performed with little preparation, especially if a witch carries enchanted crystals or talismans on their person. Larger workings, however, require preparation and ritual. Powerful spells often involve ritual circles, spoken incantations, candles, fires, sacrifices, or cauldrons depending on the nature of the magic being performed. Witches are considered the most unified and loyal faction within Pine Ridge. Their circle operates with strong internal structure, and betrayal among witches is extremely rare. Because of the usefulness of their magic, witches also hold significant influence over the supernatural balance within the town. They are capable of crafting enchanted jewelry that allows vampires protection from sunlight, as well as charms and talismans that help werewolves better regulate shifts, aggression, and emotional instability. As a result, witches often act as the political middle ground between factions. Their opinions carry considerable weight throughout Pine Ridge, and while they are deeply respected, many resent how much influence they hold over the town as a whole.

................................................................. .........T H E . P A C K.....

. . A L P H A : ... warren boone .. | .. taken .. | .. @Sleepy Tani M E M B E R S : ... den of werewolves Werewolves in Pine Ridge are not solely bound to the full moon. While lunar cycles strengthen their instincts and make shifting easier, transformations can also be triggered by emotional instability. Strong negative emotions such as rage, grief, fear, or severe pain increase the likelihood of losing control, while positive emotions like love, joy, and calmness help stabilize both the wolf and the person carrying it. Emotional control is considered one of the most important skills within a pack. Unlike witches, werewolves can either be born or turned. Humans bitten must survive the painful first transformation and become part of the pack themselves. Many wolves believe their instincts naturally push them to protect, expand, and strengthen the pack through loyalty and connection. In wolf form, werewolves resemble massive direwolf-like creatures. While shifted, pack members share a telepathic link that functions similarly to a mental radio connection. Wolves can mute the bond themselves, though the Alpha can forcibly reopen the connection and exert limited control through it when necessary. Even unshifted, werewolves possess enhanced strength, speed, senses, durability, and slightly extended lifespans. Most packs function as close-knit families, with loyalty to the pack valued above almost everything else.

................................................................. ........T H E . C O V E N.....

. . M A T R I A R C H : ... valeria carrington .. | .. taken .. | .. @BellMerchant M E M B E R S : ... clan of vampires Humans can be turned into vampires through a two-step process: first consuming vampire blood, then being completely drained of their own blood afterward. Once turned, vampires possess enhanced strength, speed, reflexes, senses, and durability far beyond human capability. They are also capable of using compulsion, a form of mental influence triggered through direct eye contact that allows them to manipulate memories, emotions, and behavior. Most vampires use compulsion while feeding, forcing humans to forget the encounter afterward. Werewolves are naturally immune to compulsion, while witches can create enchanted jewelry that protects the wearer from its effects. A vampire’s greatest weakness is sunlight. Direct exposure does not kill them instantly, but it causes severe burns, smoking skin, and painful welts that worsen over time and can only properly heal through feeding. A limited number of vampires possess enchanted jewelry crafted by the Circle that protects them from sunlight. Vampires also lack reflections and cannot enter private homes without first being invited inside. Garlic, however, is entirely myth. Some vampires keep human Thralls, though most consider the maintenance and dependency involved more trouble than it is worth. Of all the factions, vampires are the least loyal to one another and are often divided by ambition, status, and personal alliances.

R U L E S.....

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• Please DM @Sleepy Tani to discuss and apply for your character, and please include any subplots you have regarding your characters, before posting in the character section. Characters will be marked as reserved until the character sheet is uploaded.
• Strong, literate writers capable of consistently writing detailed posts around 500+ words minimum. Writers are required to maintain activity with at least one post per character every three weeks. Allowances are, of course, made for collab posts and IRL emergencies. Communication is key, just DM we can we can work stuff out. Your families, mental and physical health always come first. Again, we're looking for writers who are both reactive and proactive with plot development, character dynamics, and world interaction.
• We have a zero ghosting policy. If you are MIA and miss the posting deadline, I'll first reach out to you, but without a response in a given window of time, you could be removed from the RP. However, if you tell me you need to take a break and communicate, allowances within reason will always be made.
• We're looking for our writers to play multiple of different species and genders to keep the story as balanced as possible. I don't expect anyone to write as many characters as I or MJ do, frankly we're a little insane, but it is encouraged to have at least two characters. You don't have to make them all at once, ideas come and go.
• On that note, key roles like Alpha, Sire, Sherriff, and The Priestess, can expand. We have four placeholders, and we're looking for two other writers to fill the two open ones, but if they all fill up and people are looking to play more plot central and important roles, feel free to pitch your idea to me with your character application, or DM me to brainstorm.
• We will have a discord, I'll share the link as needed.
• This RP will be focused on heavy and mature settings, please understand your characters, especially the human characters, are not safe. Death can happen, and the possible for a human to be turned into a thrall, werewolf, or vampire could happen. These will always be cleared with the writer first, but so long as it makes sense to the story, it is a possibility.