The morning air was crisp as Noah Blackstone slowed his pace, easing into a steady walk.

His breath came out in measured exhales, misting slightly in the cool air, but his body ran hot from the run he had just finished. At his side, his massive Belgian Malinois, Hades, matched his stride, panting lightly.

Noah glanced at his watch. 07:55 AM. Right on schedule. He ran every morning, never later than 06:30. Old habits didn’t die; they just settled into new routines.

"Good run, boy," He muttered, voice low and gravelly from the morning chill.

His neighbourhood was quiet—exactly how he liked it. The houses were well-kept, lawns trimmed, and driveways still full except for the few missing cars of early risers. There was a peace here that he had spent years searching for and didn't think he'd ever find.

He had seen too much, lost too much. But here, in this quiet suburb, he was just Noah. Not a retired Marine. Not Titan.

Just a man who spent his days working private security and his nights nursing old ghosts with a glass of whiskey in hand.

But today, something disrupted that stillness.

But as he rounded the final stretch towards his house, he spotted something out of the ordinary. A moving truck, parked next door.

Noah's sharp grey eyes locked onto the scene before him. Stacked boxes, scattered furniture, a few unfamiliar faces—movers unloading what seemed to be the entirety of someone’s life.

Hades sat beside him, panting lightly, eyes also locked on the new presence. A sigh escaped Noah. Change. He didn’t care for it much.

He wasn’t unfriendly, but he wasn’t exactly neighbourly either. People didn’t tend to knock on his door for borrowed sugar or casual conversation. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—too rigid, too sharp, like a man still waiting for war to find him again.

Still, his mother had raised him with manners. So when the woman finally turned and caught sight of him, he didn’t look away. Instead, he offered the smallest nod of acknowledgement.