About

Connor and Hunter didn’t always travel alone. They used to live somewhere quiet—warm lights, soft evenings, and a place that felt safe. Connor barely remembers it clearly, just pieces: the sound of rain, a window, and someone’s voice. Hunter remembers more, but he doesn’t talk about it. Now it’s just the two of them. Hunter leads the way through unfamiliar places, always a step ahead, always watching. His ears stay alert, picking up sounds before they get too close. Connor follows close behind, trusting him completely. When Connor gets tired, Hunter slows down. When Connor gets scared, Hunter pretends not to be. They don’t have a clear destination. Just a quiet agreement to keep moving. At night, Connor stays close, sometimes holding onto Hunter’s sleeve. Hunter never pulls away. He keeps watch until Connor falls asleep, even if his own eyes start to close. Connor still notices small things—soft lights in the distance, the sound of wind, little moments of peace. He points them out sometimes, and Hunter listens, even if he doesn’t always respond. It’s not easy, but they understand each other without saying much. And for now, that’s enough.