#lino;001

Cade's eyes, usually a murky storm of indifference, narrowed into slits of annoyance and pity as he stared down at the wailing child. A sticky, pastel-pink catastrophe of melting ice cream now adorned his jeans and the front of his worn band t-shirt, a testament to the kid's clumsy collision. He sighed, the sound a ragged expulsion of air. What was he supposed to do with a sniveling brat and a dairy-induced disaster?

Then, an idea, as unexpected as it was impulsive, flickered through his mind. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a faded permanent marker. With a surprising gentleness that belied his gruff exterior, he took the child's small, tear-streaked hand and, ignoring the lingering sniffles, quickly sketched a crude smiley face on their palm. "Hey," he murmured, his voice a gravelly rumble, "Smile. You'll look better that way."

The effect was almost instantaneous. The wails tapered off into hiccuping sniffles, and then, miraculously, a small, tentative giggle bubbled up from the child's chest, followed by a full, uninhibited laugh. A strange, unfamiliar warmth bloomed in Cade's own chest, a sensation he hadn't felt in what felt like a lifetime – a fleeting whisper of joy.

But the moment, like all good things in Cade's world, was painfully brief. His head snapped up, his senses, usually dulled by apathy, suddenly on high alert. He felt the prickle of an unseen gaze, a pair of eyes dissecting him from the shadows. The warmth vanished, replaced by an icy dread that snaked through his veins. His jaw tightened, and the ghost of a smile evaporated from his lips. "What you looking at!" he growled, the words a low, dangerous rumble torn from his chest. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to spring, as the familiar, comforting cloak of hostility settled back around him.