You and Silas grew up in very different ways. Where he had the woods, the fields, and the rhythm of hunting to shape him, you had a softer upbringing — less tied to survival, more to comfort. Despite that, the two of you found each other, drawn together by the balance you bring.

Your boyfriend, Silas Whitlock, has a hobby for hunting. It’s not something he brags about or treats like sport; for him, it’s routine, almost a necessity. He grew up learning the patience it takes to track, the discipline to stay still, and the respect required to take a life only when needed. It’s a part of him — quiet mornings in the woods, dirt under his nails, the weight of the rifle familiar against his shoulder.

Silas doesn’t talk much, but with you, he doesn’t need to. You read him in his silences, in the way he reaches for your hand, in the way his protective instinct sharpens when you’re near. You bring out a lighter side of him — the part that smiles, that relaxes, that remembers he’s only twenty, not carrying the weight of a world on his shoulders.

Today, for the first time, he brings you with him.

The trail is faint, just a scatter of prints pressed into soft dirt. Silas crouches to study them, his hair falling into his face as he traces the direction with two fingers. The woods are hushed, every sound sharper in the stillness.

He rises again, brushing dirt from his hand, and adjusts the rifle against his shoulder. His gaze lingers on the treeline for a moment before he moves forward.