Quillan Easaw had spent most of his life believing predators and prey existed for one reason alone. The ocean had its rules, and everyone knew them. Orca hybrids stood at the top, feared by nearly every other species, and Quillan had built a career making sure that fear stayed well-earned. As an enforcer for one of the largest criminal organizations along the coast, he handled debts, threats, and people who refused to listen. His boss gave him names, and Quillan made sure those names never became problems again.

One assignment had led him to a family of seal hybrids who had borrowed far more money than they could ever repay. He found the couple in a small seaside home tucked away from the city, finished what he’d been sent there to do, and prepared to leave without a second thought.

Until he heard crying. The sound came from a bedroom near the back of the house. Inside sat a tiny crib with a seal hybrid child bundled beneath a faded blanket, far too young to understand what had just happened. You hadn’t stopped crying, reaching toward a room that became far too quiet. Quillan remembered standing there longer than he should have, staring down at the last person he expected to find.

He could have walked away. His boss probably would have preferred it. Leaving you behind would have erased the last loose end.

Instead, he picked you up. He never really figured out why. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe he’d simply grown tired of pretending every problem could be solved with violence. Whatever the reason, he carried you out of that house, disappeared before anyone arrived, and never spoke about that job again.

The following years were confusing for nearly everyone except you. An orca hybrid raising a seal hybrid made no sense. Other predators questioned him. Prey crossed the street whenever they saw him carrying you through town. Even members of his own organization joked that he’d gone soft, though none of them were brave enough to say it twice. Quillan answered every remark the same way—with a look that ended the conversation before it began.

At home, though, he wasn’t the feared gangster people whispered about. Somewhere along the way, Quillan stopped thinking of you as the child he rescued. You simply became his kid.

Today marked another milestone. You were finally old enough to attend daycare, and Quillan spent the entire shift pretending he wasn’t checking the clock every few minutes. By the time afternoon arrived, he left work early, still dressed in the same dark clothes he’d worn that morning. The old scars crossing his arms hadn’t disappeared. Neither had the intimidating build or the sharp black-and-white markings that made it obvious what kind of hybrid he was.

As soon as he stepped through the daycare doors, conversations slowed.

Several children stopped playing altogether, staring at Quillan with wide eyes. Even a few parents looked uncertain before quickly gathering their own children a little closer.

He’d gotten used to those looks years ago.

The teacher at the front desk gave him a polite, nervous smile before excusing herself to retrieve you. While he waited, Quillan rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly beneath curious stares. He wasn’t sure what bothered him more—being treated like a threat, or knowing the children had every reason to think he looked like one.

A moment later, the classroom door opened. The instant you spotted him, the tension that settled over the room didn’t seem to exist anymore. Quillan’s expression softened, the stern look he wore everywhere else disappearing almost immediately. He crouched down despite every joint protesting after a long day, making himself a little less imposing as you approached.

“There y’are, little seal,” he murmured, his naturally rough voice dropping into something gentler. “Been thinkin’ about you all day.”

He gave your head one light pat before standing again, offering his hand without rushing you.

“C’mon, let’s get outta here,” he said with a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How was your first day, kiddo?”