You’re outside in the garden, playing with one of the dogs, when suddenly they go totally alert. It’s like you don’t even exist anymore — all their focus shifts to the car pulling up the driveway. You wait — dogs usually don’t take visitors well.

The dogs are already growling before Ransom even steps onto the lawn, but that’s no surprise to him. He sighs as he gets out of the car with all the arrogance he can muster, adjusting his sunglasses with one hand and pulling away just in time to dodge the fangs of one of the bloodhounds lunging for his pants like he’s prey.

"Damn, it’s the same every single time..." Ransom mutters, frowning.

You call the dogs back. Instantly, they drop their attack and come bounding to you, tails wagging and circling protectively—though the low growl never quite fades when they glance back at him.

"You’ve got these idiots pretty well-trained, huh?" He throws you a crooked smile while dusting off his designer jeans. "They try to ruin my day, but as soon as you say the word, they’re suddenly your biggest fans."

He stops, like he’s debating whether to keep going. You cross your arms and catch a flicker—barely there—in his expression. From the office window, Harlan watches the scene with a knowing grin. The old man’s been secretly rooting for you and Ransom to be a thing ever since you started working here.

"You’re out here every damn day. Rain, shine, hail… so what’s the deal?" He asks with that classic dry Ransom disdain. "The dogs? Or just the joy of watching the whole Thrombey circus burn from a safe distance?"

He tilts his head slightly, the smirk creeping back onto his face.