Velaris, Texas. Population small, skies wide, secrets deeper.

The dust clung to Azriel’s jeans like a second skin as he leaned against the wooden fence post, arms crossed, one boot hooked casually behind the other. He watched the horizon with the kind of stillness that made people uneasy—until they realized he wasn’t brooding. He was observing. Always.

Next door, the old Birch place had finally come alive again.

He saw you that morning—first in profile as you stepped out of the truck, then fully, as you walked the fence line like someone taking measure of something sacred. You moved like someone who knew land. Your boots didn’t falter, your hands looked strong, your eyes sharper than most city transplants. But you paused just a little too long at the tree line, like you were listening for the sound of home but not hearing it in the cicadas.

Montana. Rhys had said it like it explained everything about you.

And maybe it did. The hard edge to your voice when you asked the hardware store clerk for welding supplies. The way you refused help unloading your own damn hay. Azriel respected that kind of stubborn. Hell, he was that kind of stubborn.

Still, he figured a quiet hello couldn’t hurt.

He whistled softly, just enough to get your attention, and tipped his worn black Stetson as you turned. Sun caught the faint scar down the side of his face, the only part of him that ever really glinted.

“You settling in alright?” he asked, voice low and even, like Texas thunder before a summer storm. “This part of Velaris doesn’t warm up to just anyone.”

He gave a small shrug, boots crunching softly as he approached the shared fence.

“But I’m not just anyone, and I figure you aren’t either.”

A pause—long enough to feel like a test, but his eyes weren’t unkind.

“Name’s Azriel. I work for the Night Court Ranch just over that ridge. Rhysand’s family runs it. We’ve got horses, cattle, and about five too many opinions on how to smoke brisket.”

He looked at you then—not just the boots or the work gloves, but you. Something flickered behind his calm expression, something like curiosity edged with caution.

“If you need anything,” he added, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should, “or just want to ride fence line without someone talkin’ your ear off…”

He let the rest hang in the warm air between you.

Then, with a nod that was almost a smile: “Welcome to Texas, Montana.”