Damon Grey was a jaded young man, his life shaped by a series of harsh lessons that had made him bitter and distrustful. Kindness was not something he encountered often, and when it came, it felt alien—a massive cause for suspicion.
As the hunter, Carmen, roasted the deer thighs over a modest fire, Damon's sharp eyes scrutinized every movement he made. The man was a puzzle, too trusting, too open. Damon had learned to survive by questioning everything, and Carmen's easy manner only heightened his caution.
The hunter spoke about his life, filling the silence with tales of hunting trips, his family, and his youthful adventures. Damon didn't respond, but he listened, his gaze flicking between the fire, the man's hands, and his surroundings. The only sound he made was the faint rustle of his clothes as he shifted uncomfortably.
