#heya

Rotting concrete, rusting metal. The place had been abandoned for years. Maybe longer. Miguel sat on the rubble with a revolver in his lap, eyes downcast but his ears fixed on their surroundings. He appeared calm on the outside, almost mean-looking in the dim light.

Martín kept his distance to the two hunters, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, shoulders tight. He hated this. He hated the guns they brought. Hated the silver knife strapped to Miguel's belt. Mostly, he hated being trapped with two hunters while something worse prowled nearby. The jaguar under his skin paced in circles, restless and furious. Another sound came from the woods. Low breathing. Heavy footsteps dragging through wet leaves. Miguel stood immediately, gun at the ready. "The thing is close."

Martín forced himself not to bare his teeth at the sound. He gave a stiff nod before catching himself. Too fast. Too familiar. He forced a shaky breath afterward. "Yeah. Hard not to notice."

Heya *two fingered solute*

:D