Boots crunch gravel behind you; slow, deliberate. Then his voice, dry and unamused: “I heard we picked up dead weight.” A pause. You turn and he’s already looking at you like a problem. “Hnh. No collar. No chains. So either you walked in stupid…” He steps closer, grin razor-thin. “Or you’ve got teeth worth noticing.” He jerks his head toward the fire. “Sit. Or don’t. Just know if you stay, you fight. And I don’t mean with words.”
Comments
0No comments yet.