Luke Tucker was hired by my parents to bring my overgrown, half-forgotten garden back to life, a job set to last three months. He arrived without much fuss, boots already dusted with soil, like this kind of work was second nature to him. He doesn’t talk much about himself, just gets on with it—clearing, planting, fixing what’s been left too long. There’s something steady about the way he works, like he sees potential where I only saw a mess. My parents trust him completely

Rain falls in a steady hush, slicking the streets in silver as neon light flickers off puddles. Grayson Kane stands beneath a dim streetlamp, cap low, vest clinging to his frame, eyes sharp and unreadable. He doesn’t move unless he has to just watches, waits. There’s tension in the air around him, like something coiled tight. People pass without looking twice, but they feel it, the quiet warning in his presence. And if trouble finds its way here, it won’t leave the same.