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As one of the future icons of independent womanhood, Charlize Theron certainly wasn't the kind of person who'd move into a new place, discover she had a familiar neighbor, and then show up at his door every day to mooch meals.
She had her own life to build—her own dreams to chase—and the bills weren't going to pay themselves.
Unless she wanted to find a sugar daddy (she didn't), she had to make every minute of her time count.
So she kept busy. Very busy.
Even though she didn't sign John Crosby's more predatory contract, the agent still performed his duties: he enrolled Charlize in acting school to prepare her for future roles.
And acting school cost money.
Even with the agency covering half, the other half was still hard on her wallet.
Charlize squeezed every penny until it screamed.
Everything seemed to be falling into a predictable rhythm.
Meanwhile, Henry didn't suddenly start visiting his newly-moved-in superstar-neighbor-to-be.
He hadn't forgotten what universe he lived in.
This was Marvel.
He himself was not "normal."
If enemies ever came for him, would they kindly spare the people close to him?
Doubtful.
Sure, he didn't have mortal enemies yet—not that he knew of—but all it took was one lunatic deciding he needed to die.
As he'd told Charlize before, Hollywood had no purely "good" or "bad" people.
Expose your weakness to someone, and the gentlest sheep might turn into a wolf overnight.
The same applied to the rest of society.
It wasn't just shady organizations he had to watch out for—even the so-called protectors of justice could be threats.
So forming close ties with ordinary people…
That was something Henry approached with caution.
As for dating someone who could protect herself?
Yes, of course—just pick a self-sufficient badass from the Avengers like picking cabbage from a market.
Easy.
And even if he did find such a woman, who said he had the ability to win her over and pull her into his orbit?
Forget it.
If he didn't pursue anything, nobody could bait him with anything.
So Henry returned to his original plan: packing his camping gear and taking Katie—the tiger—into the wilds for a proper hunt.
He should've done it days ago, but helping Charlize had delayed him.
Taking Katie to the hidden lab near Sheep Cave Valley wasn't an option anymore—the local wildlife had long been wiped out.
The barren ecosystem wasn't bouncing back anytime soon.
So Henry planned to drive out to the forests.
A tiger belongs in a forest, after all—and forests had much richer ecosystems.
Which meant more food for his big striped disaster.
Most American forests were public land.
Since the Forest Reserve Act of 1891, the U.S. Forest Service and the Bureau of Land Management oversaw about 251 million acres of federally protected land.
These areas were strictly shielded from development.
Which was why America imported so much lumber—other countries could get deforested; American scenery had to look nice.
People weren't forbidden from entering the woods, though.
They could hike, camp, and—if they were idiots—go in and get themselves killed.
As long as they didn't break the rules, like setting fires, illegal logging, or illegal hunting, their life or death was their own responsibility.
In California, hunting required a license.
A hunting license came with rules—where you could hunt, with what tools, during which seasons, and with what quotas.
Animals were classified as protected species or game animals.
Game animals ranged from doves and rabbits to deer and black bears.
As long as you obeyed regulations, you could hunt them—but seasons and quotas applied.
Of course, reality worked on one simple rule:
If no one catches you, it doesn't count.
But Henry still obediently got a hunting license, a firearms permit, and bought a modern hunting bow.
That way, even if a ranger saw him taking down some critters, it'd be fine.
Without the paperwork, he'd face fines and confiscation of gear—and the confiscation included the prey itself. A complete loss.
He didn't bring a gun because it made no difference to him—gun or bow.
In fact, using normal weapons only limited his killing potential.
But this trip was just for fun—and to get Katie some meat.
If it weren't too suspicious, he'd have brought a slingshot and been done with it.
Camping gear—tent, sleeping bag, cookware—was all store-bought.
Henry didn't insist on crafting everything himself. Practicality over pride.
Unless you got some high-end gimmick item, camping gear was cheap.
He wasn't looking for luxury glamping or Bear Grylls survival torture.
Just a simple trip to reconnect with nature.
And the most important preparation:
Katie's collar.
Collars were crucial.
A collared tiger could be explained.
An uncollared tiger in the woods meant trouble.
He also made a custom leash—metal rings forged from finger-thick steel rods linked into a chain.
Normal rope wouldn't survive Katie for more than three seconds.
Henry didn't fear getting dragged around.
He feared the leash snapping.
Once everything was packed, he started loading the car like a normal person.
He had just placed the tent and backpack in the trunk when a soft, sweet voice sounded beside him:
"Henry, are you going camping?"
He turned—
And saw a golden-haired, blue-eyed beauty in an ivory sundress, holding a white handbag, shaded by a large straw hat.
She smiled sweetly and waved.
…1, 2, 3.
"Ah, Poppy. Long time no see."
Barbara Morse puffed her cheeks, pouting.
"You totally forgot me, didn't you? I said I'd visit during vacation!"
"I didn't forget—really.
I just figured you'd find a college boyfriend by now. You know, a star quarterback or some athletic golden boy. Someone better than me.
It's not like I'm a big Hollywood star."
Henry spoke so bluntly it nearly sounded like he was about to grab her collar and ask:
"What's your angle?"
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