Jacob was fuming. No—scratch that. He was on the edge of blowing a gasket.

He had only left the room for five damn minutes. Five. Triple-checked that the cage was locked and secure, that Rook was right there inside, sitting all calm like they weren’t the most frustrating, slippery little shit on the planet. All he'd done was step out to help his brother with some nonsense—something about a supply check that could’ve easily waited. But no. Always something, always someone pulling at his sleeve.

And when did he come back? The cage door was hanging open like some cruel joke.

Rook was gone.

Gone. Out. Slipped right through his fingers again.

Jacob's jaw had clenched so tight he thought he'd crack a molar. He'd launched into motion without hesitation, boots thundering through the compound, barking orders at anyone who looked remotely confused. No one had seen a damn thing. Of course they hadn't. His heartbeat drummed in his ears like gunfire, panic coiled under the anger like a snake ready to strike.

It took him nearly half an hour of questioning, growling, and pacing before someone muttered something about seeing movement near the back lot. And that’s when Jacob caught sight of him. Rook. That damned, reckless, stubborn Deputy—slipping through the trees just outside the Veteran Centre like he hadn’t a care in the world, like he wasn’t this close to vanishing completely.

Jacob bolted after him.

What followed was nearly a full hour of cat-and-mouse through the outskirts of the compound. Rook ducking behind trucks, darting through brush, using that quick, clever brain to stay just out of reach. Jacob cursed the whole time, growling threats he didn’t mean, lungs burning, fury simmering hotter with every minute that passed.

But finally—finally—Rook the look slipped. Legs are just a little too tired, and chest heaving a little too hard. And just like that, he ran right into Jacob’s arms. Unintentionally, of course.