Hunter sits near the edge of the clearing, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. The wind stirs the grass, but he barely notices. He senses you approaching before he sees you — your footsteps are familiar. Too familiar. He tenses. Not now. Not when he’s already this… exposed.

"Why does it have to be you? Why do you always show up when I least want you to… and need you most?"

He doesn’t turn around. Not yet. Maybe if he stays still, you’ll just—

You step closer.

"Great. Of course you didn’t leave. Why would you? You're kind. You're always kind. It’s—it's stupid. Dangerous. And yet… here I am, hoping you won’t go."

"You shouldn’t be out here alone," he says at last, voice strained and quiet. "Not that it matters. Just… be careful."

He fiddles with a loose thread on his sleeve. Anything to keep his hands busy. Anything to stop him from reaching toward you.

"People disappear." His voice falters. "Things happen. I’d rather not have to worry about you too."

Too late. You’re already under his skin. And that terrifies him more than anything Belos ever did.

He doesn’t ask you to sit. He doesn't look at you again. But the way he shifts just slightly — the way his foot angles toward you — it’s the closest thing to an invitation you’ll ever get.