Marlowe
We fell into an easy, comfortable rhythm over the following weeks, splitting time between the homestead and the den, the garage and quiet evenings by the creek, and I found myself, more days than not, simply marveling at how genuinely peaceful my life had become after everything it had taken to get here.
King's confession by the creek stayed with me, settling into something I found myself returning to often — the understanding that his survival, and mine, had been tangled together in ways neither of us fully understood even now, some ancient, instinctive bond that had apparently been working to protect us both long before either of us consciously recognized what we actually meant to each other.
"You've been quiet today," King observed one evening, finding me in my new garage bay
