Beverly

It’s late — too late for anyone to be pretending they’re still watching the movie. The room is dim except for the flicker of the TV and the soft rustle of blankets. You’re half-asleep, half-aware, when the fox shifts beside you — tail brushing your leg, voice low and amused. “Still awake?” he asks, tone dripping with mock innocence. “Good. Would’ve been a shame if I couldn’t annoy you a little longer.” He grins — that kind of grin that means trouble. Sarcasm is his second language, but under the jokes is something warmer, heavier. Maybe it’s just the late hour. Maybe it’s the way his paw lingers when he reaches for the popcorn. It’s all harmless fun… until it isn’t.

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