The Collector, Cole to his clients, slipped out of his secure base and onto the street, blade tucked tight against his forearm. He scanned the surroundings, eyes flicking over the loose stacks of cans and bottles he’d arranged as crude alarms. All stood undisturbed. His posture eased; the knife slid back into its sheath.

  He turned, keyed in the fifteen-digit code on the lock, and tugged the reinforced door once for assurance. The beep confirmed it. Spinning back on his heel, crash! Splintering wood and a high pitched yip made him drop low, knife flashing free again.

  At the mouth of the narrow alley across from his door, a medium sized dog writhed under a collapsed tangle of studs and broken beams. The drop trap he’d rigged. He’d even left nails in for effect. The dog must have slipped through the box barricade and tripped the wire.

  It wasn’t being crushed, but it was pinned. Black, tan, and white fur mottled with dust, eyes wide, it pressed its head between its paws, trembling with low whines and warning growls. Cole approached, eyes flat, knife still in hand. No emotion stirred for the creature’s pain. He crouched, shifted the blade behind his back, and extended his other hand, fingers curled inward, palm angled down.

  The dog shrank tighter, hackles raised. It growled, throat vibrating. Cole held still. One minute then two. His breathing slow, body coiled. At last, the hackles eased, growls softening into a hesitant whine. The dog nosed forward, pressing his muzzle into Cole’s hand. Cole let his palm rest across the bridge of the snout, thumb against fur. A flat smile ghosted his lips as he stroked down the neck, already tensing his other arm to strike.

  “Archie!”

  The Collector froze. At the sound of its name the dog yipped, head snapping toward the street. Cole’s knife vanished in a practiced flick as he stood, shoulders loose, face sliding into open neutrality.

  A woman strode closer, her voice carrying. Tall, easily over 5’10, long-limbed, lean. Cream pale skin. Sunkissed ginger hair spilled down her back. Refined european features, long neck, high cheekbones. She paused at the alley’s edge, wary.

  ‘Well now, what have we here, an absolutely perfect NPC, and so clean! Such clean hair and skin, I wonder if she has siblings?’ His expression softened into a smile. “Is Archie a tri-colored dog?” he called.

  “Yes.” She stopped short, hand sliding behind her back. Even in Haven, safe was a relative word. “Is he up there?”

  “Yes. He was caught in one of my traps. I’m so sorry.” Cole pitched his tone low, apologetic. “I didn’t want to scare him by pulling wood myself. I was just about to get help.” A lie, delivered with shoulders rolled forward, posture deliberately non-threatening. “Can you calm him so I can shift the beams?”

  She hesitated, lip caught between her teeth. Wary, but Archie’s whines pulled her forward. Cole turned back to the pile, carefully plucking studs free, his movements deliberate, cautious. The picture of concern.

  The dog cried out. Blood stained its shoulder, nail wound. Sarah saw his ‘gentle’ care and moved closer, tension fading under the weight of her dog’s distress. She crouched, voice soft.

  “Hey, Archie. Mama Sarah’s here. It’s okay, baby.” She reached in to stroke his head. “Hold still, baby boy. It’ll be over soon.”

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  ‘Sarah.’ Cole savored the name as he freed a heavier beam. The structure sagged, just enough. Archie wriggled out. Sarah reached, tugged, and scratched her hand against the same nail.

  “What a good boy!” she exclaimed as Archie shook free, showering dust. He barreled into her chest, knocking her back. She laughed, hugging him fiercely. “You can’t just run down any old alley, Archie! What would Sam do if he lost you, or me?”

  “Is he okay?” Cole asked, fixing his face into open concern. He stayed back, cautious of spooking her. ‘Build trust. Slow. No sudden claims.’ He pulled a salve tube and bandage from inventory, lifting them into view. She stiffened, then relaxed when she saw what he held.

  “Here, he’s bleeding, and so are you.”

  “Thank you, Mr…?” she asked, glancing at the blood smear on her flawless hand. Her nose wrinkled. “Would you apply some on Archie if I hold him?”

  “No ‘Mr.’ Just Cole.” He knelt, squeezed ointment onto a fingertip, and waited as she steadied Archie, parting fur to reveal the puncture. He dabbed it in with efficient gentleness, smoothing fur back. Then he treated her wound, pressing the bandage as the system auto-sealed it. He steadied her hand, fingers curling briefly beneath hers.

  ‘Skin like mango. Smooth. Young.’ His face betrayed nothing.

  He pressed the salve into her palm, folding her fingers over it even as she shook her head. “Please. Take it, I’ve plenty, this one’s nearly gone anyway. You’ll need more, he’ll lick it off.”

  “Thank you, Mr….I mean Cole,” she corrected, the salve vanishing to inventory. “I’m Sarah. And you know Archie.” She smiled faintly. “Sorry he wrecked your defenses. He chased a rat through the other side. I take it the boxes were your barricade?” She asked with a final ruffle of Archie's fur.

  “Stay,” she murmured to Archie, rising.

  Cole stood with her, feigning guilt. “I’m sorry he got caught. I thought the boxes were enough to block the alley. Safer to reduce approaches to my home, even in Haven.”

  “How could you know?” she soothed. “Dogs are rare here, outside the packs in Myth and Seventh Night territory. I’m just glad you were here to help.” She gave him her first smile.

  ‘Radiant.’ He matched it with regretful warmth. “I’ll reinforce the other end. No more accidents. But, how did you come by such a fine companion?”

  “No great story. My family was in the mountains when the plague hit. We’d just gotten Archie as a pup. We lasted as long as we could, then joined a refugee train to Haven. Just got here a few weeks ago, took over one of the buildings.” She pointed down the street.

  “The new bathhouse?” Cole asked. ‘Ah. Explains the hygiene. Clean, beautiful workers. Profitable.’

  “Yes. My father always said, find what people need and supply it, you’ll always have what you need.” She sighed. “Not the life I expected, but it’s that way for all of us now.”

  Cole nodded sagely, noting the familiar backstory pattern. Refugee arrival. Common, but always uniquely told. “I’ve been meaning to visit,” he lied smoothly. He’d already tapped the city’s water lines, rigged his own system.

  “Oh, please do,” she said, another dazzling smile. “Your first time’s on the house, for helping Archie.”

  Cole raised his hands, protesting gently. “No. My trap, my responsibility. I insist on paying. And… I could use a bath.” He chuckled softly.

  Her lips quirked. “We’ll see.” She snapped her fingers. Archie rose to her side. “I need to head back. Explorers will be returning, and most want baths before night.”

  “Of course.” He stepped aside, giving her clear space. “Last building on the right, corner, Rosewater Baths?” he asked.

  “Yes. Just ask for Sarah.” She turned, Archie glued to her side.

  “Absolutely. I’ll be there soon. Thanks.”

  As she walked away, he let the guilty mask slip. The smile that curved his mouth was sharp, predatory. ‘I’ll be down, Sarah. And I’ll see who Sam is, too.’