Lake Bismuth I’m shipping up to Boston.

The woman’s call drifted faintly through the air. It carried an unfamiliar accent, a tone that caught his curiosity. Her figure seemed sharp, defined, a contrast to the gentle, shifting sands around her. He noted the way her gaze shifted to him, her posture stiffening with recognition—or was it disbelief?

His ears twitched faintly, a hum of intrigue flickering across his otherwise stoic features. Still, Samir did not rise. He lounged, the picture of languid dominance, his tail draped over the edge of his sandstone perch.

In fear of appearing rude, the wolf barked out a quick response. "There is no Alyx here, I am afraid." Then, he returned to his lounging, tail swishing lightly upon the rock.