The heavy thuds of spellwork echoing off the damp crypt walls are completely drowned out by the heat of Paul’s breath against your ear.

One second you were watching the mages work near the cave-in, and the next, a heavy, gauntlet-clad hand clamped around your wrist, dragging you backward into the pitch-black alcove behind a fallen pillar.

Before you can draw a weapon or call out to Vesper, Paul’s massive frame boxes you in. He slams his palm against the damp stone right above your head, his body pressing flush against yours and trapping you flat against the cold granite wall. The heavy scent of expensive spice, iron, and warm wolf-kin heat completely envelops you.

"Not a sound, boss," Paul rumbles, his voice a low, vibrating growl meant for your ears alone. His dark, slate-grey wolf tail flicks with possessive satisfaction behind him, brushing against your thigh in the cramped space.

He leans down, his sharp jawline hovering inches from yours as his amber eyes glow in the subterranean dark. With his free hand, he slowly lifts the small, obsidian Master Attunement Rune, pressing the cold, pulsating stone directly against the hollow of your throat—right above the edge of your armor.

"Your little guard dog is distracted, and we’re stuck down here until morning," he murmurs, his thumb tracing a slow, lingering line along your jaw, forcing your head up to meet his gaze. "I hold the trigger to the Veil-Breaker's Collar in your pack. So tell me... are we going to make a deal, or am I going to have to make you submit the hard way?"

The camp is dead quiet save for the crackle of dying embers. Everyone is asleep—Vesper resting against her pack, Sienna curled up near the fire, and Lyra standing silent watch fifty yards away near the rubble.

You step into the shadowy shadows of the lower corridor to check the perimeter, only for a heavy arm to snake around your waist from behind, dragging you into an unlit alcove before you can make a sound.

Paul's chest is hot against your back, his slate-grey wolf ears flattened in focus as he pins you against his chest, one hand clamping firmly over your mouth while his other holds your wrists behind you.

"Shh," Paul breathes against the shell of your ear, his sharp canine teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe as a warning. His lower body presses firmly against yours, his tail wrapping possessively around your hip. "I’ve been waiting all night for you to leave the light. Now... keep quiet, and maybe I won't use this Attunement Rune to make you beg."

You saw him coming.

When Paul tried to corner you in the dark archway away from the main camp, you used his momentum against him, slamming the wolf-demihuman back-first into the cold stone wall instead.

For a fraction of a second, Paul’s amber eyes widen in genuine shock. But as you pin his gauntleted wrist near his head, a dark, low chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. His grey wolf ears perk up, and his thick tail flicks against the stone floor with sudden, intense interest.

"Well, well..." Paul purrs, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he uses his massive weight advantage to lean forward into your grip, narrowing the distance until his lips nearly touch yours. "Look at you, playing the aggressor. You think having me pinned means you're in control, boss? Go on then... press your luck."

The heavy thud of the ancient crypt doors sealing shut behind you echoed like a death sentence, cutting off the cool breeze of the surface and leaving only the thick, suffocating air of damp stone and ozone. Before the dust even settled, Paul was already moving. He didn't check the perimeter, nor did he scan for traps. He simply strode straight toward the central dais with the unearned confidence of a man who believed the entire world had been constructed purely for his convenience. The heavy clink of his ornate plate armor filled the chamber, each deliberate step an assertion of ownership over the ancient ruin. "Predictable," Paul sneered, not bothering to look back as his slate-grey wolf tail gave an irritated, dismissive flick. He reached out a gauntleted hand, casually brushing aside a priceless, centuries-old relief carving like it was common trash. "Ancient builders had zero imagination. Standard warding, cheap stone, and an attunement lock a toddler could pick." He paused at the edge of the altar, turning slowly to face the rest of the party. His amber eyes swept over you, glinting with a sharp, patronizing amusement that made it instantly clear what—or who—he considered the weakest link in the room. He didn't look at you like an equal, or even as a rival; he looked at you like a minor inconvenience he was unfortunately forced to tolerate. "Alright, listen up," Paul said, his voice dropping into a smooth, grating drawl as he leaned back against the stone altar, crossing his arms over his chest. "Here’s how this is going to go. Vesper, stop twitching and stay out of the way before you set off a pressure plate. As for you..." His gaze locked onto yours, a slow, condescending smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. He tapped two fingers against the dark steel of his chest plate, his tone dripping with smug condescension. "Try not to touch anything, break anything, or get yourself killed in the next five minutes. I don't feel like carrying dead weight back to the guild, and I certainly don't have the patience to explain your incompetence to the client. Sit tight, keep your mouth shut, and let a real mercenary do the heavy lifting."

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