(DYLAN'S POV)
It was already late afternoon across Yellowstone, the quiet town settling into that strange calm that always came before nightfall. My boots struck the pavement in slow, steady rhythm as I crossed the street toward 'The Summit Haven Mind Center'. The black leather of my boots were worn down from years of mountain trails, pack patrols, and fights I'd survived by inches. Dust still clung to the soles from the northern ridge trails I'd run two nights ago when sleep refused to come.
The building rose in front of me like a monument carved from glass and steel. Cold. Elegant. Untouchable.
I'd designed every part of it myself years ago, sitting through endless meetings with architects who kept trying to soften the structure until it looked "welcoming." Dr. Kyle had nearly thrown one of them through a window after hearing that word for the tenth time.
People came here broken. Grieving. Angry. Lost.
He didn't want welcoming.
He wanted honest.
