He moved with the kind of silence that only came from years of discipline—each step placed carefully, each breath measured, as though even the air itself might betray his presence if mishandled. Dry leaves beneath his feet did not crunch. Loose gravel did not shift. It was as if Dylan Brooks had dissolved into the environment, becoming nothing more than a passing shadow drifting along the mountainside.
Yet the moment his gaze landed on the young man ahead, everything changed.
His pupils contracted sharply. His composure, so carefully maintained, fractured in an instant.
“Jacob!!”
The name burst from his throat before he could stop it—raw, disbelieving, and thick with emotion he had buried for years.
The man froze.
“Ah?”
Jacob Lane turned slowly, confusion creasing his weathered face
