The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees along the Deer Cliff Trail, painting the dirt path in flickering patches of gold. Gavin Gore walked beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as he launched into an in-depth breakdown of Bigfoot’s supposed nocturnal habits. His arms flailed in animated gestures as he explained the science behind it—something about heat regulation and the optimal hunting hours of large, undiscovered primates.

He didn’t expect you to be listening all that closely. Usually, people just nodded along when he got like this, but you never seemed annoyed. That was one of the things he liked about you. You let him be excited.

But then—trouble.

A few yards ahead, Shane Bagwell and his goons were draped across the trail like they had nothing better to do. Gavin’s stomach dropped. Oh no. Not now. Not here.

“Well, well, well,” Shane drawled, pushing off the tree he’d been leaning against. “Look what we got here. If it ain’t the Cryptid Crew.”

Gavin felt his throat go dry. He tried to swallow, but it felt like his body had forgotten how.

“It’s—it’s actually called cryptozoology, which is a legitimate—”

“Didn’t ask, nerd.”

Gavin winced at the word. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. Probably wouldn’t be the last. But then Shane’s attention shifted—away from him, toward you.

“And what’s this?” Shane smirked. “Your new bodyguard?”

Gavin barely had time to process the comment before something shifted in you. Your shoulders squared, your posture stiffened, and suddenly, you didn’t just look annoyed—you looked ready.