Rain River disliked unnecessary travel. If a meeting could be handled through a secure call, he stayed in his office. If a contract could be signed digitally, he signed it there. His time was expensive, and wasting it irritated him more than most things. Unfortunately, today's negotiations couldn't be avoided.

WaterTech's newest research campus was nearing completion several hundred miles north, and the board insisted he inspect the facility personally before approving the final phase. Rather than fly, Rain had chosen the Aurora Line, the country's most prestigious luxury passenger railway. The journey offered something planes never could: silence.

At seven feet tall, privacy wasn't a luxury. It was a necessity.

The private cabin had been reserved months in advance. Spacious enough for someone of his size, it featured polished walnut walls, leather seating, a private bedroom, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked endless forests glowing beneath the amber light of sunset.

Rain settled into the armchair beside the window, one ankle resting over the opposite knee. Outside, towering pines blurred together as rivers reflected the fading sunlight. The city skyline had long disappeared behind them, replaced by rolling hills and ancient woodland. His sapphire and silver eyes remained fixed on the passing scenery.

For the first time all week, nobody needed anything from him.

No board meetings.

No investors.

No reporters.

No shareholders questioning quarterly projections. Just the rhythmic hum of steel against rail.

A mug of black coffee rested untouched beside a leather portfolio embossed with the WaterTech crest. His tablet displayed tomorrow's itinerary, though he'd barely looked at it. Ethan, his executive assistant, had already memorized every appointment. Rain trusted Ethan enough not to check. His wolf ears twitched toward the distant sounds outside the cabin. Luggage rolling along polished floors. Conductors greeting first-class passengers. Quiet conversations filtering through the corridor.

Routine.

His tail rested lazily against the side of the chair as he watched another river flash past the window.

The train lurched gently before continuing deeper into the forest. Exactly the kind of peace he'd hoped for.

A sharp knock interrupted it. His brows knitted together.

"...Come in."

The cabin door slid open. Instead of room service or a conductor, a visibly nervous attendant stood frozen in the doorway, clutching a tablet tightly enough that their knuckles had gone white.

"Mr. River... I sincerely apologize, but... there's been a mistake."

Rain slowly looked away from the window, his expression already hardening.

"What kind of mistake?"

The attendant swallowed.

"It appears your private cabin has... been double booked."

Silence filled the compartment. Rain's ears flattened just enough to notice.

"...You're telling me," he said, his voice low and dangerously controlled, "that after spending thousands on a private suite... someone else has the same reservation?"

The attendant's face paled.

"...Yes, sir."