Devon and I look at each other.
We exchange no words. Some kind of silent understanding passes between us, and we're moving, following him, keeping enough distance to not be obvious but close enough to not lose him.
Candy trots alongside us, perfectly behaved, like she knows this is important.
The man walks half a block, and heads toward a dark blue sedan parked on the street.
As we get closer, I notice the sticker on the side panel. White letters on a blue background.
Apex Urban Group.
"A developer?" I say. "Why would a developer be—"
Devon's eyes go wide, his whole face transforming into an expression of horror and rage. "Nooooo."
Before I can say anything, Devon's already marching toward the man, Candy keeping pace beside him like a tiny, blind bodyguard.
I follow, because what else am I going to do?
"You!" Devon's voice rings out across the quiet street.
The man freezes, hand on the car door handle, and turns to look at us.
"You're the asshole who called for an inspection, aren't you?" Devon demands.
The man's face goes through several emotions—surprise, guilt, resignation—before settling on something that might be defensive annoyance.
He opens his mouth, probably to deny it, but then seems to think better of it. "Look, boys," he says, holding up his hands like he's trying to calm an angry mob. "I don't mean to sound like a villain here—"
"Could have fooled me," I say.
"—but this property is prime real estate. The location, the size, the potential—"
"It's the shelter's property," Devon interrupts, stepping closer. "And it willremainthe shelter's property."
The man has the audacity to chuckle, shaking his head like we're children who don't understand how the world works.
That's it. That's all I can take.
I cross my arms over my chest and straighten to my full height, using every inch of my six-foot-five frame to loom over him. I don't often use my size against people. Almost never. But if there was ever a time to do it, it is now.
The man's eyes widen slightly, and I watch him take an unconscious step back, bumping into his car.
Good. Be scared.
"All I'm saying—" he tries again.
"And allI'msaying," Devon cuts him off, "is you better tell your overlords to give it up. Because if I see you skulking around here again, this isn't going to end well for you."
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing because Devon's still a few inches shorter than this guy, and the fedora gives the developer even more height. But Devon's standing there with his chest puffed out, looking like he's ready to throw hands, and it's the most adorable threatening display I've ever witnessed.
And I'm not about to undermine him.
I take a small step forward, close enough that the man has to crane his neck to look up at me. "What he said."
Devon and I stand there, arms crossed, forming a united front. Even Candy sits down next to Devon's leg, her little facepointed in the developer's general direction, like she's part of the threat.
The man looks between us, then down at Candy, then back at us.
