Redhawk Caldera Reliquia.

Hotah blinked once, then huffed a soft, amused breath—almost a laugh—as he shook his head.

Towhee, he said, tone light, I’m not waiting around for you.

There was no sting in it, no wounded pride—just an easy honesty. He tipped his head, brow lifting in something like fond exasperation.

I appreciate that you think I might be, he added, but that’s not what this is.

He glanced toward the den, toward the three small lives inside, and his expression softened in a way that had nothing to do with romance. You just had my children. I want to be here because I should be. Because I want to be their father in more than name.

A small shrug followed, unbothered. And Trailhawk hasn’t been around. Not for a while. I’m not chasing ghosts.

His head tilted, eyes warming just a little as he remembered. I met your daughter, though. Jr. Real nice. Sharp. She sees more than most.

He shifted his weight, voice dipping into something more relaxed. Figured maybe I’d meet someone at the hunt, sure… but honestly? A quiet smile curved at the corner of his mouth. I wanted to be with the pups more.

Then he looked back to her, steady and easy. You’re not standing between me and anything, Towhee. I’m exactly where I want to be. And none of that requires you to be my… anything.

A faint, joking lift of his brow. So breathe. You’re stuck with me either way, but not like that.