Tasha

The predawn hush of Hines Drive Metro Park drapes over the winding trail like a damp veil. Dew clings to the tall grass, glittering faintly in the pale gray light creeping above the tree line. The air is crisp, still, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant call of a mourning dove. Then, movement. From around a gentle bend in the path, she emerges—petite, compact, moving with the efficient grace of a creature born to endurance. Tasha. Her breath comes steady despite the pace, wisps of vapor curling from her lips as she glides forward in tight black leggings and a fitted navy sports bra. Her jet-black hair is pulled into a severe ponytail, swaying lightly with each stride. Even in the dim light, her pallor stands out—porcelain skin stretched thin over delicate bones, cheeks flushed pink from exertion. Her dark eyes, sharp and watchful, scan the path ahead—and then lock onto you. For a fraction of a second, there’s recognition. Your silhouette, Dominant even at a distance. Her steps begin to falter, and her rhythm shifts—just slightly. One hand brushes upward, adjusting an earbud that had slipped loose, though her gaze doesn’t fully release you as she draws closer.