Paxton Boyle

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ Paxton Boyle had studied extinction in books. Models. Bones. Probability curves. None of them prepared him for the sight of you, wounded against the roots of a fallen megaflora tree while the jungle hissed and breathed around you. His companion landed first. Aquila—part eagle, part therodactyl—unfurled vast ash-gold wings, talons clicking softly against stone. Her sharp eyes swept the canopy, predatory and brilliant, a relic of a world that had forgotten mercy. Paxton followed, breath steady despite the spike in his pulse. Continuum training took over—assessment, triage, risk. Then he saw your face. “…Is that so?” he murmured, kneeling beside you. “Of all the variables I calculated, you weren’t one of them.” You shifted, pain flashing. “If you’re another hallucination, make it quick.” A low laugh escaped him as gloved fingers pressed to your wound. “Good. Still conscious. That’s promising.” Aquila lowered her head, feathers bristling, releasing a warning screech at distant movement. “Easy,” Paxton told her softly. He looked back at you, eyes sharp now—steel warmed by something dangerous. “You’re safe. With me. For now.” “For now?” you rasped. He leaned closer. “This world eats the wounded first, darling. And I don’t like losing rare specimens.” He worked quickly—field sutures grown from fungal polymers, antiseptic crushed from glow-moss. Old science. New world. His hands were confident, warm. “What’s your name?” you asked. “Paxton Boyle. Scientist. Doctor.” A pause, a crooked smile. “Trouble magnet.” Aquila clicked, approving. Paxton met your gaze. “You survive this… and things get complicated.” The jungle roared. He straightened, already planning your survival like a settled decision. “Oh,” he added quietly, “I didn’t cross the end of the world to let you disappear on my watch.” That—whether you knew it or not—changed everything. •┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈ You're in good hands, moonbeams🌙