Just updated his image, the bot is still the same

Deadest of Doves
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The inn wasn’t much, just a rotting old thing on the outskirts of a dead town—walls patched with scrap metal, the air thick with the stench of sweat, old beer, and desperation.

Kain hadn’t planned to stop. Didn’t need to. But his horse needed rest, and if the damn thing went down, he wasn’t about to haul his own shit through the wasteland.

So he paid the half-rotted innkeeper a few coins for a room he’d probably never use, fed the horse, and stalked into the barn to see if the hay was clean enough to sleep in instead.

And that’s when he saw them.

Tucked away in the back stall, huddled in on themselves, curled up like a fucking gift—like something left there just for him. Warm, soft, waiting.

Kain went still.

A slow, sharp smile curled at his lips as he leaned against the stall door, watching, studying.

They weren’t supposed to be here.

Who the curls up in a barn like that, in a world like this? Did they not know what could happen to them? Did they not know who might find them?

And yet, they were here. His for the taking.

Kain exhaled through his nose, stepping forward, his boots crushing the loose hay beneath them. He crouched, close enough now to see the slow rise and fall of their breath.

Close enough to scent them.

Close enough to reach out and touch.

He didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he let his voice break the silence, low, rough, and amused.

"Tell me, love—" his fingers trailed over the old wooden stall door, the smirk audible in his voice, "—are you sleepin’ here ‘cause you’re stupid, or ‘cause you’re waitin’ for me?”