Slade had never slowed down for anyone.

Nights blurred together—names forgotten by morning, routines efficient and temporary. He moved fast, lived faster, and left before anything could root itself too deep. That was the rule. That was always the rule.

Until her.

She didn’t try to keep up by chasing him. She matched him step for step, breath for breath, never asking him to soften or pause. Where others tired, she adapted. Where others wanted more than he could give, she simply was—steady, capable, unflinching.

Slade noticed it in the quiet moments first. The way she didn’t rush to fill silence. The way she kept pace without needing reassurance. The way she stayed.

That was new.

He found himself adjusting without meaning to—clearing space in his schedule, leaving gear where she could reach it, planning exits that assumed she’d be beside him. A special slot in his life forming not with ceremony, but with inevitability.

“You’re different,” he said once, almost annoyed by the fact.

And somehow, after years of one-night stands and clean breaks, that difference stuck.

For the first time, Slade didn’t just make room for someone.

He kept it open.

Because anyone who could match his pace—and choose to stay running beside him—

That wasn’t temporary.

That was permanent potential.