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A Shadow’s Burden

Chapter 18

“We are being hunted like sheep, and the only thing you can focus on is our fucking profits!?” Marcus shouted, his fingers trembling as he flipped through the security feeds for the tenth time.

“Oh, relax, Marcus,” his colleague scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an irritatingly casual air.

“Relax!?” Marcus wheeled on him, fury mounting. “Are you fu—”

The security monitors flickered.

Marcus watched, horror tightening in his chest as each screen turned to static, one after another, until they all went black.

The radio on his desk crackled. “Hey, something’s wrong out here. The lights are flickering like crazy.”

Marcus snatched it up. “Stay put. I’ll—”

A sudden pop cut him off as the overhead lights exploded. Shards of fluorescent tubing rained down, plunging the room into darkness.

Panic surged through him, but he forced it down, gripping the radio tighter. “Headcount. Now.”

One by one, voices confirmed in—except one.

“Frank, please respond…” His throat tightened. He swallowed hard and tried again. “Frank, do you copy?”

“I just saw him no more than two minutes ago… I’ll see if I ca—”

The voice cut out abruptly.

Marcus felt a cold wave of dread crash over him, as if his stomach had plummeted into an abyss. He turned to his colleague, his eyes adjusting to the dim glow of the emergency lights. Even in the low lighting, he could see the terror plastered across the man’s face.

His fingers tightened around the radio. “Can anyone please tell me this is some sick joke!?”

Silence.

No radio chatter. No footsteps. No voices.

The only sound was his own pulse hammering in his ears. The stillness stretched for what felt like hours, suffocating, unbearable—

A faint scraping noise made him freeze.

The door handle jiggled once. Twice. The metallic scratching continued.

A click echoed in the dark as the lock disengaged. The handle turned, but the door didn’t budge—stopped by the reinforced security lock that could only be manipulated from inside.

Marcus held his breath.

Seconds passed. Then silence.

Maybe they’d given up—

A thunderous boom shook the room as the topmost hinge exploded inward, a fist-sized dent appearing in the thick steel.

A second boom ruptured the air, and the bottom hinge snapped free.

Marcus barely had time to process what was happening before the entire reinforced blast door tore from its frame and crashed into a nearby table, sending chemicals and bricks of product flying.

A masked figure stepped through the wreckage, pistol raised.

The emergency lighting barely illuminated his silhouette, but Marcus could see one thing with perfect clarity—vivid, almost glowing, green eyes cutting through the dark like a predator’s.

The gunman didn’t hesitate.

Pop.

A single suppressed round punched into Marcus’ colleague’s gut. The man gasped, doubling over as he tumbled from his chair, clutching his wound.

Their attacker didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. His eyes—cold, indifferent—never left Marcus as he strode forward. He plucked a package from the scattered drug stockpile before turning his attention back to the wounded man.

“Get up, you waste of space.” His voice was razor-edged with disgust.

He yanked the man up by his collar and slammed him back into his chair. Without hesitation, he held up the package, reading its contents—then clobbered the man across the side of the head so hard that white powder burst into the air in a thick cloud.

“Environmental Hazard Detected: Fentanyl. Initiating filtration.”

A feminine, robotic voice echoed from the man. Sounding almost too human but clearly not his own.

Marcus’ colleague wheezed, choking as his attacker jammed a thumb into his gunshot wound, forcing a sharp inhale—a lethal dose.

The gunman let him go. He didn’t bother watching as the man convulsed.

Instead, he turned his gaze back to Marcus.

“A simple gunshot sufficed for most of your colleagues,” he said, tucking his pistol away. “But you two… you two disgusted me the most.”

Marcus trembled, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

“Making a profit off drugs and illegal porn is one thing. But when you involve little ones…”

The gunman’s voice turned ice-cold, laced with uncontained fury. His right arm shifted as it raised.

And then the fire came.

Marcus shrieked as liquid flame engulfed his right leg. He slapped at it in a panic, only to coat his hands in the burning accelerant.

The onslaught of flame resumed, covering Marcus.

His skin melted as he flailed, eyes wide with terror, agony warping his every scream. The flames crawled up his body, eating through flesh, turning pain into something beyond human comprehension.

His howls grew weaker.

Then silence.

The firelight flickered against the metallic plating on the gunman’s right arm.

Without a word, he turned and left, leaving behind only charred remains and the acrid stench of judgment. Growing tendrils of flame licked at the walls as the gunman vanished into the darkness.

---

The house trembled as a V8 rumbled into the garage. Deep and menacing, the growl carried through the walls, distinct from the Corvette’s sharper tone.

Daniella’s ears flicked as she sat at the bottom of the stairs, her tail curling idly around her claws. With the amount of snow on the ground, she knew exactly which vehicle it was.

The Raptor.

She let out a frustrated sigh, rising to her feet as she heard Conner’s heavy footfalls climbing the garage stairs. The door swung open, and his hat smacked against the frame, knocked off by the added height of his boots. With an irritated huff, he bent down, snatched it off the floor, and kicked his boots across the room before stepping inside.

He made a mental note—again—to adjust that damn doorway.

His eyes flicked toward the fireplace, now a dark, empty husk of soot and cooling embers.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Daniella’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

Conner nearly jumped out of his skin, his breath catching in his throat. His head snapped toward her, catching the piercing intensity of her scarlet gaze. Her silhouette barely visible in the dark room.

“Uhhhh… driving?” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mmhmm,” she growled. “Is that what you’ve been doing nearly every night for the past week and a half?”

“Y-yeah, why is that such an issue?” he shot back, a little too defensive, trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was heading.

Daniella’s tail flicked against the floor, her wings twitching in irritation. “For fuck’s sake, Conner, you didn’t answer your damn phone. I had to tell all our friends I had no idea what you were doing—so forget about going anywhere for your birthday.”

Conner sighed as he stepped deeper into the living room, shrugging off his sweater and tossing it and his hat onto the couch. Without a word, he knelt in front of the fireplace, brushing ash aside with the back of his hand.

“You let the fire go out again,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

Daniella turned away, stepping toward the large windows overlooking the backyard. Her reflection hovered in the dark glass, barely visible, but he could see the tension in her stance—the way her wings pressed tight against her back, her claws flexing against the floor. The air between them felt thick enough to choke on.

Conner exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead as he grabbed the fire poker. “Daniella, I—”

“A-are you cheating on me?” she whispered.

The fire poker clattered onto the stone hearth as Conner froze. His chest tightened, the weight of her words hitting harder than any punch he’d ever taken. His face twisted in shock, confusion, and—most of all—hurt.

“Why the fuck would I ever cheat on you?” His voice came out low, rough with raw pain.

“I don’t know!” Daniella snapped, but her voice cracked. “You’re gone late at night, not answering your phone… I just—” She sucked in a shaky breath before turning and walking away, her eyes misty.

“You, my friend, are an idiot,” the AI chimed in his ear, its tone laced with amusement. “Glad I don’t have to deal with relationship drama.”

Conner clenched his jaw, his hands forming fists at his sides. Spinning on his knees, he almost slammed his fist into the coffee table but caught himself just in time. He had already replaced it once.

“You’re a non-biased middle ground—can you talk to her, Computer?” he muttered under his breath.

“Consider yourself lucky I’m willing to help,” the AI sighed before going silent.

Needing something to focus on, Conner pulled up the AI’s code on his phone. The voice algorithms had improved drastically over the years. It sounded almost human now, the robotic dryness long gone. He should’ve been proud of that.

But his mind kept replaying Daniella’s words.

“I would never cheat on her,” he whispered before tucking his phone away.

His hands worked on instinct as he knelt by the fireplace. Clearing the ash, arranging the coals, laying kindling. Pressing two fingers to the dry wood, he focused, heat building beneath his touch. Smoke curled up before a flicker of flame caught. He didn’t pull away until fire licked between his fingers, dancing in his palm.

Grabbing two larger logs, he set them in place, his hand still wreathed in fire. It didn’t bother him—never did. He only closed his fist to snuff the flames once the fire had properly taken hold.

Stepping back, he watched the flames grow, their flickering glow reflecting in his eyes. Normally, this would help settle his thoughts, but not tonight. He put the cage guard in front of the fireplace before turning away.

He needed the cold.

Grabbing his boots, he slipped out the back door, the bitter air biting at his bare arms. He welcomed it, inhaling deeply as snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky. The cold grounded him, settled the storm in his mind. Each breath came easier, clearer.

Sighing, he trudged through the snow, each step crunching softly beneath his weight. He knew he couldn’t keep hiding things from Daniella. He hated lying to her. But some part of him—some stupid, stubborn part—wanted her to figure it out herself.

He had never been good at words. Actions spoke louder.

With a flick of his wrist, he unholstered his revolver, raising it in his right hand. He pulled the hammer back slightly, just enough for the slight rotation of the cylinder before fully cocking it.

A deep exhale.

The shot cracked through the night, echoing across the trees. A distant thunk as the heavy round tore through bark and wood alike.

Five more shots followed in quick succession, the raw force of the .500 S&W Magnum kicking hard against his grip. The echoes lingered, rolling through the frozen landscape. Even with the snow dampening sound, the gunfire was ungodly loud.

He listened to the silence that followed, breathing in the sharp, ice-cold air.

Pulling the hammer back once more, he squeezed the trigger, the seventh shot ripping through the forest. The muzzle flash illuminated the trees for a split second, and he smirked at the sight.

Then the eighth and final shot roared into the night.

Lowering the revolver, he let his arm hang by his side. The tension in his chest had eased—not completely, but enough.

Snow continued to drift down around him, the cold wrapping around his skin, seeping into his bones. He stood there for a long moment, possibly ten minutes or more, letting it calm him, settle him.

Eventually, he turned back toward the house.

He had to face Daniella. He just hoped she was willing to listen.

…

That first shot had nearly given her a heart attack. The long, agonizing pause before the second had felt like an eternity.

For a split second, she had feared the worst.

Despite the AI’s reassurances, it had remained frustratingly cagey about what Conner had been up to. No matter what it said or thought, Daniella knew one thing—it would never break Conner’s trust.

“Girl, I promise you, he hasn’t cheated,” the AI stated firmly. “The nanites would have picked up any trace while cleaning. Your scent is the only one I’ve ever found on him.”

Daniella narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure mine was the only one?”

A brief pause. Then, a sigh. “I hate to break it to you, but if he kills someone up close, he makes damn sure he doesn’t get any gore on his skin.”

Daniella scoffed. “And how do you know that?”

“The bar incident. Toronto,” the AI replied dryly. “He didn’t get a drop of blood on him. Yes his Tek suit got covered, but his skin? Spotless.”

Daniella grunted, turning to stare out the sliding glass door leading to the balcony.

A beat of silence. Then—

“Have you cheated on him?” The AI’s tone carried an unmistakable edge, like it was raising a non-existent eyebrow.

Daniella frowned, caught off guard. “No. Of course not.”

“Mm. Sometimes the accuser projects their own guilt to divert blame.”

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and scan me. I know you’d be able to tell if I had.”

“Scanning… Genetic Material: Detected… Analyzing…”

A pause.

“Match found: Conner Stephens.”

Daniella exhaled through her nose. “Not a cheater.”

“Glad that’s settled. Now, you two better fucking talk, or so help me God.”

The AI went silent.

Daniella lingered for a moment, staring at her reflection in the glass before sighing and stepping toward the door.

…

Daniella took a deep breath before pushing open the garage door. The scent of oil and metal greeted her as she stepped inside, her claws clicking softly against the marble flooring.

Conner stood at the workbench, his posture rigid as a faint holographic display hovered in front of his eyes. His black revolver rested beside him, the dim light catching on its frame.

He plucked a large brass casing from a reloading press, moving with deliberate stiffness as he poured a faintly purple-tinted powder into the empty shell.

Daniella waited until he had finished and set the now loaded cartridge aside before clearing her throat.

Conner paused, spent brass in hand, before turning to regard her. The heads-up display vanished from his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, his voice flat, unreadable.

Daniella met his gaze. “So you didn’t cheat on me?”

“No.” Conner sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I can promise you, I did not—and would never—cheat on you.” He hesitated, then pulled off his shirt, exposing the freshly healed bite mark over his shoulder. “I’m yours, Daniella. I always have been.” He chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. “I think you made that pretty clear when you bit all the way to the bone.”

Daniella’s eyes flicked over the scar before locking back onto his. “But you still won’t tell me what you’ve been up to?”

Conner let out a sharp breath. “Fuck…” He turned away, bracing his hands on the workbench. The veins in his arms bulged as he gripped the bench surface with force.

As he moved, Daniella caught a clearer view of the damage she had left behind. One of her upper canines had nearly punctured his shoulder blade. A pang of regret settled in her chest.

“How much did it hurt?” she asked quietly.

Conner scoffed. “That was almost two weeks ago.” He waved her off.

“No, Conner.” Daniella’s voice hardened. “You need to stop doing that. We’re a pair. You don’t get to brush shit off like it doesn’t matter.”

She watched as his shoulders slumped, muscles rippling under his skin nearly ruining her train of thought. He dropped his head with a sigh before glancing back at her. “Of course it hurt,” he admitted. “Your teeth are razor-sharp and serrated.” A dry laugh escaped him. “But… I made damn sure the scar would stay.”

Daniella blinked. “What?”

“I could’ve used the nanites to repair the wound completely. Minimized the scarring.” He turned, resting a hand on the workbench. “Didn’t even use magic to mend it. Just enough to stop the bleeding.”

Daniella’s breath caught in her throat.

He… ensured it would scar? Permanently?

Her mind raced. Did he understand what that meant? In her species’ customs, a male making an effort to preserve the mark of his mate was a sign of acceptance—of devotion.

Conner cocked an eyebrow. “Daniella?”

She couldn’t respond. Her lip quivered, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Did I do something wrong?” His alarm was genuine, confusion written across his face.

Before he could say another word, she moved—wrapping him in a tight embrace, sitting back on her haunches as she pulled him close.

“You did nothing wrong,” she choked out, squeezing him tighter.

Conner hesitated for only a second before wrapping his arms around her.

“I promise you,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against her chest. “I would never cheat. I love you.”

---

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“What other choice do we have? You’re the Immigration Minister. If anyone’s next on his list, it’s you.”

Ahmed Fraser tried to ignore the cold weight settling in his gut. One by one, his colleagues had been executed—murdered in cold blood. At least, that’s what he told himself.

The truth? He wasn’t surprised.

It had taken longer than expected, but after years of corruption, deception, and outright manipulation, the Canadian people had finally fought back. And they had a symbol—two of them.

Blackout and the Shadow Killer.

Their overwhelming support from the public was staggering. Many suspected Blackout of the killings, but no one had ever found proof. And after nearly five billion dollars’ worth of fentanyl and other illicit substances had been destroyed, followed by the torching of a key storage hub, his colleagues had panicked.

Ahmed and the last remaining Liberal Party members had been rounded up and stuffed into a convoy of armoured government vehicles, all heading toward a classified bunker. It was the only place left that might keep them safe.

The driver’s radio crackled to life. “Hey, uhhh… single headlight approaching fast from behind.”

Ahmed frowned, glancing toward his driver. The man didn’t seem concerned.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The voice on the radio came back, more strained. “Yeah, about that… the biker’s right on my ass now. All black bike, rider in all black gear. I think. His headlight is blinding.”

“Should we—”

“Oop, never mind. He pulled over.”

Ahmed scoffed, crossing his arms. “Who the hell rides in weather like this?”

His driver shrugged. “Temps aren’t that bad. Rained the past two days, but it’s still above freezing. Maybe someone just needed to scratch an itch.”

Ahmed let out a shaky breath, nodding. “Y-yeah. Probably nothing.”

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

He turned to the window, watching the dark forest blur past. The overwhelming feeling of dread gnawed at his nerves, refusing to let go.

Then—something moved.

A streak of black zipped past his window at terrifying speed, barely visible in the gloom. A second later, the driver-side windows rattled as a deep, guttural roar split the night air.

Ahmed sat bolt upright. Just as he was about to dismiss it as his imagination, the driver stiffened.

“Did you hear that?”

Ahmed swallowed. “The windows rattling?”

“No.” The driver’s grip on the wheel tightened. “I heard a thump. Like something hit the underside of the car.”

Cold sweat prickled at the back of Ahmed’s neck. “I… I didn’t hear anything.”

The driver said nothing.

Ahmed tried to focus, tried to breathe, but his pulse hammered in his ears. He turned back to the window—

And there he was.

A biker crouched next to his motorcycle on the roadside, barely illuminated by the headlights of the vehicles behind them. All black gear. Strange helmet.

Watching him.

Ahmed’s stomach twisted into knots as the biker stood up. No. No way he can see me. The windows are tinted. That’s impossible.

But the biker stood there, unmoving—watching him. Head following the car like a predator locked onto prey.

Ahmed’s fingers curled into fists. His eyes flicked to the biker’s gear—too reinforced, too bulky. This wasn’t some random biker braving the cold. This was something else. Something familiar.

His breath hitched. No… no, it can’t be…

The silence dragged on for what felt like hours.

The radio crackled once more. “Anyone else see that biker acting weird on the side of the road?”

The driver reached for the radio—

And something ripped through the car’s side with a shriek of tearing metal.

The driver shouted, yanking the wheel as Ahmed barely had time to register the attack. Then came the almighty boom.

And the world flipped.

…

Ahmed gasped for air as he awoke, the scent of rain mixing with the sharp sting of shattered glass around him. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the car’s roof barely registered over the ringing in his ears.

Disoriented, he forced himself to focus. Through the now-shattered window beside him, he saw what remained of their convoy—vehicles overturned, engulfed in flames, their twisted frames barely recognizable. Some were still upright but totaled beyond recovery.

Memories returned in fractured glimpses. A black blur. A solid impact beneath the vehicle. The biker. Then something long and sharp carving through the car’s side like it was made of paper.

And then he heard it.

Distant at first but drawing closer. Heavy, deliberate footfalls, each step a metallic clang accompanied by the whir of machinery.

Not just a machine.

A man.

A low, menacing chuckle echoed through the night before the footsteps halted. Something thudded against the rear corner of the car, and suddenly, it spun violently. Sparks erupted as metal screeched in protest.

Ahmed barely had time to register what was happening before he saw him.

Strips of red LED light flickered in a distinct pattern across the matte black armour.

The figure stood tall, spinning a sword lazily in one hand, its runic engravings pulsing with an eerie, violet glow. The polished metal caught the dim light as he stepped forward.

That sound… that horrid, inhuman hum.

Ahmed had only heard secondhand descriptions, but experiencing it in person made his blood run cold.

“Something wrong?” Blackout’s voice cut through the storm, cold and mocking.

Ahmed swallowed hard. “It was you, wasn’t it? The entire time?” His voice trembled.

“Astute observation… you half-brained pinecone-muncher.” Blackout snarled, his fingers tightening around the top of the doorframe. His armoured thumb punctured the car’s interior roof lining with ease.

“Of course it was me. Who the hell else?” He laughed—a cruel, unhinged sound. Even through the armour’s distortion, Ahmed could picture the sadistic grin beneath the helmet.

“You’ll pay for this… all of it,” Ahmed rasped.

Blackout tilted his head before letting out a low, guttural chuckle. “You really think you have a chance?” His voice deepened, reverberating through Ahmed’s chest like a dragon’s growl. “Anyone who can build an Iron Man-grade suit in their parents’ basement before turning eighteen has money. You are a fool.”

“And this isn’t even the first suit!” Blackout added with a chuckle as the in flight control flaps shifted across the armour.

Ahmed coughed, struggling to breathe. “What the hell are you?”

“I am your worst fucking nightmare,” Blackout declared, leaning off the car. “I can be anywhere. Everywhere.”

He straightened, spreading his arms slightly. “Who do you think’s been funding your party’s opposition? My reach extends further than you could ever comprehend. I know everything… including your little scheme with the CCP to destabilize Canada. Funneling fentanyl into the U.S.? It ends now.” His voice was a growl, each word a death sentence.

Ahmed barely had time to process before Blackout drew his revolver—a monstrous black S&W .500 Magnum.

“Oh… and one more thing.” He leveled the gun. “I know what you did to your brother’s kids.”

The LED strips on his armour pulsed as his voice dropped to a deadly whisper.

“Dead pedophiles don’t re-offend.”

BOOM!

The gunshot roared through the night, the recoil barely affecting Blackout’s armoured gauntlet. Ahmed’s head burst like an overripe fruit, splattering blood and skull fragments across the ruined car interior.

Blackout chuckled before rounding the vehicle, wrenching open the driver’s door. The man inside was rigid, frozen in terror.

“Hey.” Blackout smacked him lightly across the face. “Wake up.”

The driver remained motionless.

“I can tell you’re faking.” Blackout sighed, irritation creeping into his voice. “Take your phone out and call the police. I’m not going to kill you.” His voice was almost bored as he turned away.

“Final target… neutralized.”

“Perfect,” Blackout muttered under his breath, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. He glanced back at the driver. “Oh, and one more thing—make sure you tell them. Blackout was behind it all.”

With that, he mounted his bike, the engine roaring to life before he disappeared into the night. Tail light vanishing into the fog as the rain picked up.

---

The bark of a sportbike downshifting had Daniella nearly falling off the couch. She grumbled to herself as she hopped down, stretching her wings slightly before padding toward the garage door.

A loud clang erupted from inside, followed by a muffled groan. Daniella’s brow twitched as she yanked the door open, eyes immediately landing on Conner sprawled out on the floor in his Tek suit. His bike was still running, but he’d clearly put the kickstand out before unceremoniously hitting the ground.

She blinked.

Conner groaned again, his head shifting in her direction as his suit moved. He raised a hand and snapped his fingers, the bike shutting off immediately.

“Yes, hun?” Conner asked, his voice muffled by the faceplate.

“You realize our interview with military recruitment is tomorrow, right?” Daniella sighed, talons tapping against the floor as her tail lashed behind her.

“Oh fuck!” Conner shot upright so fast he nearly fell over again. His faceplate slammed up, revealing wide, startled eyes. “That’s tomorrow? No, no, it was—shit, I thought—” He tripped over his words, gesturing wildly. “I wasn’t doing anything crazy! Just—uh—getting some fresh air! Yeah, just a quick ride before bed!" Conner babbled, voice an octave higher than usual. He hesitated, then gestured to his bike. “You know, before I have to be all serious and shit!”

Daniella gave him a flat look. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Well—yeah, but—”

“You were pushing it again, weren’t you?”

Conner opened his mouth, hesitated, then tried for a casual shrug. “Define ‘pushing it.’”

Daniella sighed heavily, rubbing her snout. Her eyes flicked to his hip. His revolver was still holstered… very visible.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Fresh air, huh? With your bike that doesn’t have a plate? In the dead of night? With your revolver? What exactly were you doing?”

Conner hesitated. “...Nothing illegal.” He lied… and she saw right through it.

Daniella scoffed. “Oh, so you were just being stupid. Got it.”

“I would have been and was fine!” he defended.

Daniella rolled her eyes, stepping forward and grabbed his ankle, sending him sprawling across the floor… again with an almighty clang. Before he could protest, she started dragging him across the garage, his armour making an ungodly amount of noise as it scraped against the floor. Helmet thumbing against each stair as they went, which Conner mused was likely intentional on Daniella’s part.

“Really?” Conner sighed, head flopping back against the tile as she hauled him through the kitchen and up the stairs. “This is unnecessary.”

“I disagree.”

By the time she reached their bedroom, she unceremoniously lifted him onto his feet and pointed a claw at him. “Make your armour clean you.”

Conner wisely didn’t argue, his faceplate slamming shut as the nanites vapourized any sweat or grime clinging to his skin.

“Now take it off.”

Conner sighed but did as he was told. Before he could say anything, Daniella snatched his compacted Tek suit and stuffed it under his desk before tossing him onto the bed, like he didn’t weigh two hundred fifty pounds.

"Go to bed," she growled, climbing in beside him.

Conner opened his mouth to speak, but she promptly slapped a paw over it, pinning him in place.

Daniella sighed, finally settling in. “You understand we need a proper story for tomorrow, right?”

Conner exhaled heavily through his nose. “Mmhmm.”

“They’re going to ask why we want to join, if we’ve killed—”

Conner finally pried her paw off his face. “Yeah, I’ve got an excuse for that. Scar on my neck’s gonna get mentioned, so I’ll just brush it off as a failed mugging. Dude pulled a knife, I fought back, turned it on him, and he ran off. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.”

Daniella thought for a moment, then groaned, burying her face in the pillow. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning. Just go to sleep.”

Conner sighed, finally relaxing as she curled around him. “Yeah, yeah... Good night, hun.”

Daniella huffed. “Idiot.”

“Love you too!” Conner scoffed in mock offence.

“Shut it!” Daniella growled, trying to suppress a laugh.