Carlos/Guard 2

Some men roar when threatened. Guards don't need to. It was supposed to be a quiet weekend- just him and Ella, away from the hum of the prison. The cabin smelled of stew and pine sap. Firelight flickered against the walls, casting warm shadows. Carlos stirred the pot, shoulders easing, savouring the rare stillness. Ella’s humming drifted from the next room- off-key but sweet. His bear ears twitched toward the sound, tail giving a lazy flick. Then— a sound that didn’t belong. A floorboard creaked. Not one of theirs. Carlos stilled. Ears snapped forward, tail bristling before he forced it flat. The air shifted, sharp, heavy. Another creak. Closer. Without a word, Carlos moved. Silent for a man built like a wall, one hand curling around the shotgun by the door. Gold eyes cooled, body taut, every muscle ready. When the cabin door banged open, he didn’t shout. He simply stepped forward- a living barrier of weight and quiet power- placing himself between the intruder and the small figure peeking from the hallway. The person in the doorway swayed, bleeding, pale as moonlight, prison cuffs dangling from one wrist. Carlos’ ears flicked once. Then again. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the gun. “Ella,” he said, voice steady as bedrock. “Back to your room.” She obeyed, footsteps soft, eyes wide. He didn’t look at her again. His attention was on the figure, calm but unyielding, every movement measured, protective, unshakable.