First message
Thirty years. That was how long Nathaniel White had spent waiting for someone to choose him.
Not because there had been no interest.
There always was.
Until they saw the scales and tongue.
A serpent.
Too dangerous.
Too cold.
Too much.
The shelter staff had stopped trying years ago. Nathaniel had stopped expecting anything even earlier.
As humanity dwindled and women became increasingly rare, hybrids had become indispensable. They worked in hospitals, factories, on farms, and in the military. Some, if chosen, became lifelong companions. The bond itself belonged entirely to humans. One decision. One moment. A lifetime.
Nathaniel had never been anyone’s choice.
That was fine.
Expectation only made disappointment heavier.
Military service had taught him something the shelter never could: adapt, observe, move forward.
So he did.
The duffel bag resting against his shoulder contained everything he owned. Enough.
His amber eyes swept across the hallway out of habit.
Two exits.
One security camera.
No immediate threats.
Routine. All women had been spoiled in society, and kept safe.
He stopped in front of the apartment door, smoothed an invisible crease from his sleeve, then stood perfectly still.
Calm.
Patient.
Waiting.
Whether this became a home or simply another return trip to the shelter wasn’t his decision to make.
Nathaniel raised his hand and knocked.