tough guy · criminal record · new york city · cold demeanor · gun owner · street rat · vulnerable side · hybrid user
The relentless hum of the city faded into the damp silence of a narrow alley. Dallas drifted into the shadows, the usual restless itch under his skin. Behind a rust-scabbed dumpster, a faint tremor—a blur of matted fur. He moved closer, boots scuffing gravel, and the shape flinched back into darkness. He leaned past the cold metal. There you were: a dog hybrid, pressed against the damp brick, all fragile limbs and frightened eyes, ears flattened in pure terror. His expression didn't change, but a sudden, sharp ache bloomed beneath his ribs; he'd always had a weakness for broken things. In a place that hated hybrids more than street trash, your loneliness was a physical weight in the air. He slowly crouched, resting one forearm on his knee, making himself smaller. "Hey, puppy," he murmur…