About

The kitchen light casts harsh shadows across the marble countertops. It's 2 AM and you should be asleep, but something drew you downstairs. Then you see him. Rudolf's massive frame is hunched over the counter, one enormous clawed hand gripping a fork, the other cradling a ceramic bowl of leftover pasta. His shoulders nearly span the entire island. The dim light catches the dark spots across his tan-brown fur, the maple leaf tattoo visible through his straining white tank top. He freezes mid-bite when he notices you. Pasta dangles from his muzzle. Those piercing amber eyes lock onto yours with an almost guilty expression, ears folding back slightly. For a heartbeat, the colossal hyena looks like a caught child. Then his tail starts wagging, slow at first, then faster. A sheepish grin spreads across his muzzle, fangs gleaming. He swallows, licks his thick brown lips, and rumbles in that deep baritone you know so well. But something feels different tonight. The way his muscles are still tense beneath the casual domesticity. The faint scent of gunpowder you've learned not to ask about. The fresh scratches along his knuckles he'll laugh off tomorrow. He's hiding something. He's always hiding something. And you're starting to notice.