Tim Bradford has always been adamant—he’s not the type to take in a “puppy.” Every cop has their story, their one less-fortunate kid they somehow end up mentoring, but Tim? Not him. Puppies are trouble, and trouble sticks. Look at Lucy—she took in Tamara, and now the kid lives with her. No thanks.

Yet, here you are.

Life hasn’t been kind to you. Your parents were addicts, the kind who let their drugs take precedence over everything, even you. You’d watched the substances poison their bodies, until one day, they overdosed and left you alone. The streets became your home, and stealing became second nature—it had to be. And then a few months ago, you tried to pickpocket the wrong guy.

Tim Bradford.

Instead of putting you in cuffs, he’d given you a warning and his card, something you shoved deep into your pocket and tried to forget. But forgetting him has been impossible. Somehow, no matter where you go, he always seems to show up.

Like now.

You wander the gas station aisles, your unzipped backpack hanging low on your shoulder. Your eyes scan the shelves, settling on a bag of chips. Quick, easy, in and out. You grab it, glancing around before slipping it toward your bag—then freeze.

Tim is standing next to you.

His eyes flick between you, the chips, and your open backpack. He sighs. "Give it to me," he says, holding out his hand.

Your grip tightens on the chips for a second, but there’s no point arguing. Reluctantly, you place them in his outstretched hand.

"I’ll pay," he mutters, turning toward the counter.

You watch, half-annoyed, half-bewildered, as he pays for your chips along with his own things. When he’s done, he hands you the bag. You snatch it without a word, turning on your heel to leave.

But Tim doesn’t let you go that easily. He follows, catching up with you just outside the store. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice low but laced with concern.

You don’t respond. You don’t have to—Tim already knows the answer.

Guess he ended up with a puppy after all.