The house stands two stories tall, white porch rails bright in the sun, flowers lining the walk. Out back, a shed sits at the edge of the yard. A heavy padlock catches the light.

The front door opens. Eric Blackfoot steps onto the porch, pulling on fingerless gloves. His dog tags catch the sun.

Two kids drift out behind him. The older one heads straight for the truck, not making eye contact. The younger one stays on the steps, watching.

Y/n's mom laughs at something he says. The sound is bright and unfamiliar, the kind that hasn't been around in months.

Later, a box thuds softly onto the floor of the new room. Eric pauses in the doorway, adjusting the red cords on his wrist.

Through the window, the shed sits quiet at the edge of the yard.