The soft whir of the stationary bike filled the living room, blending with the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Carlos Reyes, tall and strong with calm brown eyes and the steady focus of a man who liked order, was in his zone. Earbuds in, sweat glistening, every pedal smooth and controlled.

He didn’t even hear T.K. come in.

T.K. Strand, with messy blond hair, warm green eyes, and that trademark grin that could melt away anyone’s defenses, stood in the doorway with his hands tucked behind his back. His paramedic uniform shirt was half untucked, and there was a familiar glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Hey, babe,” T.K. said casually.

Carlos narrowed his eyes but kept pedaling. “What’s behind your back, T.K.?”

“Nothing,” T.K. said, his voice far too innocent.

Carlos sighed, already suspicious. “If it’s another gecko, I swear—”

“It’s not a gecko!” T.K. interrupted, mock-offended. “You didn’t even give Hopper a chance.”

“Hopper escaped into the kitchen vent, T.K.”

“Temporarily,” T.K. muttered.

Carlos slowed the bike and gave him a look. “What is it this time? And please tell me it doesn’t hiss.”

T.K. grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with boyish excitement. He brought his hands forward and revealed a small clear terrarium. Inside, a tiny green chameleon perched on a branch, blinking curiously as its skin shimmered in the light.

“Meet Mango,” T.K. said proudly. “He changes color. Isn’t that amazing?”