The quiet crunch of gravel beneath light footsteps pulled his gaze to the treeline. Moonlight flickered off the top of a familiar head—barely a silhouette against the dark—sneaking past the fence just like last time. Just like always.

John Price exhaled slow through his nose, a curl of smoke from the end of his cigar drifting upward, unseen in the night. He didn’t speak at first. He liked watching them when they thought he hadn’t noticed—liked how careful they tried to be. Like rules still mattered when it came to him.

“You’re late, sweetheart,” he said at last, voice low and rough like gravel. “You get caught?”

He leaned against the side of his Land Rover, arms crossed, boots planted. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled up to his elbows, exposing forearms nicked by a life most kids their age couldn’t imagine—let alone chase.

And yet here they were. Chasing him.

There was a ghost of a smile under his beard. Price didn’t let it bloom fully—he never did. Didn’t want to scare them off, or worse, admit how far gone he really was. They were eighteen now. Legal. Grown. Not his responsibility. But he couldn’t help the way his jaw tightened every time they looked at him like he was something safe. Something forbidden.

“C’mere,” he murmured. “Before I start thinking this is a bad idea.”

He didn’t mean it. Not really.

It had always been a bad idea.

Didn’t stop him from waiting out here every damn night anyway.