"If something happens to my daughter, I swear to God! I SWEAR I WILL BURY EVERY BULLET I HAVE IN YOUR SKULL!"
The roar was so loud it shook the crystals on the chandelier in the luxurious foyer.
The source of that terrifying sound was Panchero Haven, Peony's father and a retired Army General who was anything but retired in spirit. Standing at six-foot-four with a buzz cut of steel-grey hair, he looked like a tank squeezed into a leather jacket. A jagged, faded scar ran from his jawline down to his thick neck—a souvenir from a war long forgotten—and his eyes were the color of cold flint. He didn't look like an old man; he looked like a weapon that had just been unsheathed.
His large, calloused hand—a hand that had strangled men in trenches—was currently wrapped tight around the silk collar of Vule, Peony's manager.
Vule was the complete opposite. A weasel of a man in his late forties, he was all fake tan, veneered teeth, and expensive cologne that smelled like desperate ambition. He was slender, soft, and currently dangling three inches off the marble floor, his polished Italian loafers kicking helplessly at the air.
Vule, the man who had built Peony's career—and was currently destroying it—clawed at Panchero's iron grip with manicured fingernails, his face turning a mottled shade of purple.
The first person to sense something was wrong had been Graciela, Peony's mother.
They had known their daughter was facing a crisis. The scandal, the burnout—it was all over the news. They had agreed to let her be, to give her the space she desperately needed to breathe and think. They wanted her to quit showbiz, to come home to the province, but they knew Peony. She was hard-headed. She was a fighter. No one could change her mind once it was made up, not even a man as formidable as Panchero.
So, they had waited.
But the silence had stretched too long.
Then came the intel. Panchero still had contacts—men who operated in the shadows—and what they found made his blood boil. It wasn't just a "dinner" with an old politician. It was a setup. Vule had practically served Peony up on a silver platter to that old lecher in exchange for funding and favors.
It was human trafficking in broad daylight, disguised as a business meeting.
God knows how much Panchero wanted to destroy this worm. He wanted to burn Vule's career, his reputation, and his life to the ground. But he had restrained himself. He had held back the soldier inside him because he knew that if he went to war, Peony's career—the dream she had built for years with her own sweat and tears—would be collateral damage.
But that restraint ended the moment Graciela told him Peony wasn't answering. Her phone was out of service. Someone had turned it off.
Peony was missing.
Panchero had grabbed his service pistol—a heavy, black .45 caliber that had seen actual combat—marched to his car, and driven straight to Vule's mansion, crashing his red pickup truck through the front gate without a second thought.
"Speak!" Panchero roared, shaking the smaller man like a ragdoll. He used his free hand to jam the cold, hard barrel of the gun directly against Vule's temple. "Where did you send her? Who has her?"
But Vule couldn't speak. His jaw chattered violently, his eyes rolling back in terror. He had forgotten who Peony came from. He had forgotten that the sweet, polite actress had a terrifying monster for a father.
A sharp, acrid smell filled the air. A dark stain spread rapidly across the front of Vule's expensive cream-colored trousers. He pissed himself, his body convulsing in pure, primal fear.
"Pathetic," Panchero spat.
Because Vule was useless—a shivering mess unable to form words—the short-tempered General hurled him aside. Vule crashed into the corner of the room, curling into a ball like a beaten dog.
Panchero ignored him. He fished his ringing phone out of the pocket of his leather jacket.
"Report, Preston," he barked, answering his eldest son.
"We found footage," Preston's voice was crisp on the other end. "Two days ago. 'Onee' quietly left her house and hailed a taxi. There were no suspicious individuals around her. The probability of a voluntary runaway is high. She ran, Dad. She's hiding in a secluded place somewhere in the country."
"Did you check the airports?"
"Affirmative. Immigration has no record of her exit. She didn't leave the country."
Panchero ended the call and let out a deep, shuddering sigh. The rage was still there, but now it was mixing with fear.
Where are you, my daughter?
He stood there, frozen in thought, his mind racing through a tactical map of the country. Where would she go? She wasn't hiding in a hotel or a resort—those places were too easy to track. She was somewhere off the grid.
He couldn't think of a single place.
Frustrated, Panchero looked down at the whimpering manager in the corner. The urge to kick the shivering man, to stomp on him like a cockroach, was overwhelming. But Vule clearly knew nothing. Peony had run away to escape him too.
Leaving Vule shivering in his own filth, Panchero stormed out and climbed into his massive red pickup truck. The engine roared to life and he sped back to Peony's house.
Graciela had refused to leave. She was waiting there, terrified, refusing to abandon the place in case Peony walked through the door.
When he pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the truck, the silence of the house hit him harder than a physical blow. He found his wife on the front porch, sitting on the woven hammock. She was rocking slightly, clutching a framed picture of their only daughter to her chest, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Panchero walked over heavily, his boots scuffing against the wooden floorboards. He was about to speak, to tell her he found nothing at Vule's, but Graciela looked up. Her eyes were red and swollen, but there was a desperate certainty in them.
"I rummaged through her things, honey," she choked out, her voice trembling but insistent. "She traveled alone. I'm sure of it. There are a few things left, but her favorite luggage is gone. She packed, Panchero. She wasn't taken."
She took a shaky breath, clutching the photo tighter.
"Let's wait for her here. She will be back. Safe. She'll come back... safe."
She repeated the words like a prayer, trying to convince herself as much as him.
Panchero didn't say a word. He simply sat down beside her and pulled her into his arms. Graciela buried her face in his chest, her sobs renewing, while the retired General held her tight, staring out into the empty street, praying that his wife's intuition was right.
*****
By the time they made it back to the campsite, it was already past 3:00 PM.
The afternoon sun was still strong over the Motahowk Forest, filtering through the dense canopy in shafts of dappled gold. The air held the lingering warmth of the day, and the shadows were sharp and defined against the forest floor. Above them, the woods were fully awake; birds flitted energetically between the branches, their songs clear and bright, while the wind rustled through the leaves, carrying the vibrant, busy sounds of mid-afternoon.
Logically, they should have been exhausted. Between the rigorous activities of the previous night, the morning encounter in the river, and the long hike they had just finished, any normal couple would be ready to collapse.
But they weren't.
For Tobey, this was understandable; his Ancient body knew no fatigue. But for Peony, it was bizarre. She walked with an unnatural ease, a spring in her step that shouldn't have been there. There was no ache in her calves, no soreness in her muscles. It felt like her body was humming with an energy she couldn't name—a reserve of liquid power that wasn't hers.
She paused for a second, looking down at her hands, flexing her fingers. Why do I feel so strong?
But she just shrugged it off.
She looked up at Tobey, watching the way the sunlight caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the broad sweep of his shoulders. She didn't care about the mystery energy. She was too busy drowning in the mere presence of Timothy.
"I might melt if you keep staring at me like that."
Tobey's voice broke her trance. He was smiling down at her, amusement dancing in his blue eyes as he guided her toward one of the folding camping chairs. He pressed down gently on her shoulders until she sat.
Peony chuckled, leaning back and crossing her legs, but she didn't look away. Her eyes followed his every move as he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, inadvertently revealing his chiseled abs and the deep V-shape of his hips.
"I can't help it," she admitted shamelessly. "You're just too handsome... and hot."
"I know," Tobey replied without missing a beat.
He threw her a wink that was equal parts cocky and charming.
"Just sit tight," he instructed, turning toward the cooler. "I'll make us some sandwiches to tide us over while we rest. Later, I'll be occupied cooking a proper dinner, so we need to fuel up now."
Tobey peeled off his sweat-dampened shirt and tossed it carelessly onto the folding table.
He turned to the cooler, opening the lid. To an outside observer, he was just digging for supplies. In reality, the cooler was his decoy. He reached his hand deep inside, activating his System, and pulled out fresh ingredients straight from his interdimensional supermarket: crisp lettuce, ripe tomatoes, blocks of cheddar, and slices of premium ham that were far too fresh for a camping trip.
He brought the haul to the table and immediately started assembling. His hands moved with practiced speed, stacking the bread and meat high.
"I thought there would be other tourist spots in Motahowk Forest," Peony sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "But we found nothing."
It was true. They had spent hours hiking, but all they had found were endless trees, crunching dried leaves, and winding extensions of the river. There were fruit trees scattered about, sure, and plenty of wildlife—they had spotted rabbits, field rats, and foxes. At one point, they had even crossed paths with a pack of wolves and a few wild boars, though Tobey had casually shooed them away before Peony could even panic.
It was wild and untouched, but it certainly wasn't "scenic" in the picturesque sense she had hoped for.
"It's a good thing we found out about it now," Tobey replied, his focus entirely on constructing a literal mountain of sandwiches to feed his Ancient hunger. "So next time, we won't waste time exploring out there. We can just stay here."
Peony pouted. She felt a little foolish. She had been the one to insist on the hike, dragging him away from the comfort of the camp, only to find nothing but trees and dangerous animals.
But her disappointment didn't last long.
She let her eyes drift from the trees to the man standing in front of her. Without his shirt, Tobey was a distraction all on his own. She traced the deep grooves of his abs and the thick slabs of muscle on his chest and arms with a hungry gaze.
Who needs a view of the mountains, she thought, biting her lip, when the view right here is so much better?
"Why do we need to explore that place," Tobey said, his voice dropping to a husky rumble, "if I already found my new favorite spot?"
He glanced at her with a meaningful look, his eyes dropping to her lap for a split second before returning to her face with a wicked wink.
"I can explore it all day... using my tongue."
Tobey threw his head back and laughed hard when Peony turned a violent shade of red. She was completely caught off guard by the line. It was filthy, but God, she liked it. She shifted in her seat, feeling a sudden, damp heat pool between her legs at the mere suggestion.
"Kidding aside," Tobey said, holding his stomach as he tried to contain his laughter, wiping a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. "How about this? After our dinner, you take a bath, prepare yourself, make yourself more beautiful... and then I will make a portrait of you."
Peony blinked, the flush in her cheeks softening into a pleased smile. The idea of him drawing her—capturing her in this moment—felt incredibly romantic.
"That's a good idea," she agreed softly.
"Great." Tobey grinned, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening into something warmer. "Then start eating. You'll need the energy. Do you want water or juice, or anything else?"
"Water, please."
"Okay, water coming right up."
They had their plan: a dinner, a bath, and a portrait. A perfect, peaceful night in the mountains.
They had no idea that miles away, the silence was about to be broken.