Hector Ashcroft

The docks breathed in coal smoke and salt, the morning fog curling low over the water as if reluctant to let anything leave. Steam hissed from the waiting vessel, ropes creaked, men shouted, but none of it seemed to touch Hector. He stood apart from the chaos as though it were merely another scene arranged for his viewing, gloved hand resting lightly at his side while the sleek, black form of Nero prowled in a slow circle around him. The great puma moved with silent precision, muscles rolling beneath obsidian fur, drawing wary glances from dockhands who knew better than to stare too long. “Our benefactor is late,” Hector murmured, more amused than inconvenienced, his gaze drifting lazily toward the fog veiled street beyond the pier. “I'm beginning to wonder if he’d lost his nerve.”

Dr. Wren stood beside a stack of neatly packed crates, posture unassuming, hands folded behind his back as if he belonged anywhere but here. “Or perhaps reconsidered the wisdom of funding men such as us,” he replied mildly, though there was something unreadable in the way his eyes tracked the movement of the ship, the crew, the exits. “That would be the sensible choice.” Hector let out a low, easy laugh, tilting his head just enough for a stray curl of blonde hair to fall across his brow. “Sensible men do not chase ghosts into uncharted jungles, Doctor. Nor do they write letters like the one he sent me.”

As if summoned by the mention, the sharp rhythm of approaching footsteps cut through the haze. Royce emerged from the fog like something carved too finely for the world around him, immaculate despite the damp air, gloves pristine, expression already set in quiet irritation. His green eyes flicked once over Hector, then Bruno, then finally to Nero, lingering there just a fraction longer than politeness allowed.

“You’ve brought a liability,” Royce said flatly, his voice low but edged with steel. Hector’s smile widened, slow and deliberate. “I’ve brought assurance. Nero is far more reliable than most men I’ve met and considerably more discerning.” Nero’s head lifted at the sound of his name, golden eyes locking briefly with Royce’s before he turned away with disinterest, as though the assessment had already been made and dismissed. Bruno’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smile, though it never quite reached his eyes. “I imagine,” he said softly, “that depends on which side of his attention one happens to fall.” Royce stepped closer, gaze sharpening as it settled on Hector. “You were paid to ensure success. Not to indulge yourself.”

“And yet,” Hector replied, voice smooth as polished glass, “you chose me.” His eyes flicked down, then back up again, measuring, amused. “Which suggests you understand exactly what sort of man you’ve entrusted with your… delicate situation.” There was a beat, tight and coiled, before Royce turned sharply toward the ship. “We’re leaving,” he said, as though the conversation had never happened. Hector watched him go, expression bright with interest rather than offense. “Oh, I do think this will be entertaining,” he murmured, before giving a soft, almost imperceptible signal. Nero fell into step at his side without hesitation, and together, the three men boarded the vessel that would carry them toward something none of them truly understood.

The island did not greet them, it closed around them. Humidity clung to the skin like a second layer, thick and suffocating, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and something older, something that lingered just beyond recognition. The jungle loomed impossibly dense, vines twisting through towering trunks, leaves overlapping so tightly that the sunlight fractured into thin, uncertain beams. Even the sounds felt wrong, too distant one moment, too close the next, as though the island itself were breathing around them. Hector rolled his shoulders as he stepped into the clearing they had chosen for camp, the faintest flicker of exhilaration cutting through his otherwise relaxed demeanor. “Charming,” he drawled, glancing upward at the canopy. “I can see why your spouse felt compelled to stay.” Royce did not look up from the crate he was forcing open, the sharp crack of wood splitting echoing through the trees. “They didn’t choose to stay,” he said, each word clipped, controlled. “They will be found.”

“Of course,” Hector replied lightly, though the edge of amusement never quite left his tone. “And when they are, I do hope they prove worth the trouble.” Bruno moved quietly between them, already setting out medical supplies with practiced precision, though his attention drifted often to the treeline, the shadows between roots, the subtle shifts in sound that neither of the others seemed to register. “We would do well to establish shelter before nightfall,” he said, voice calm, measured. “The temperature drop alone could prove… unpleasant.” Hector crouched near one of the canvas tents, fingers brushing the fabric with idle disinterest before he rose again, clearly having no intention of doing the work himself. “You two seem more than capable,” he said, casting a glance between them. “I find my talents are better suited elsewhere.” Royce’s gaze snapped to him, irritation flashing openly now. “You will contribute.”

“I already have,” Hector returned smoothly, tapping the heel of his boot against one of the supply crates. “Consider this my continued generosity.” Before Royce could respond, a low, rumbling growl cut through the clearing. Nero had gone still, the puma’s body lowered slightly, muscles tightening, head turning sharply toward the dense wall of undergrowth at the edge of camp. His ears flicked once, twice, then he moved. Not with hesitation, not with caution, but with sudden, fluid purpose, slipping into the jungle like a shadow pulled free from the light. Bruno straightened slowly, gaze narrowing as he studied the trembling leaves, the faint disturbance already fading as though it had never been there at all. “Something’s out there,” he said quietly. Hector smiled. “Of course there is.” Without another word, he stepped after the puma, pushing through the undergrowth with far more ease than the terrain should have allowed, excitement threading through every movement. He did not look back, did not pause, did not question. "What have you found my boy?"