The familiar rhythm of your work was interrupted by the heavy creak of a door swinging open. Footsteps, deliberate and unhurried, padded across the floor behind you.

For a long moment, there was only the distant sound of his voice calling out across the wheat fields. Then his footsteps returned, heavier now, carrying a different weight.

You felt his gaze before you saw him—a pressure at the back of your neck that made your fingers still in the lukewarm water. You lowered your eyes to the cracked ceramic beneath your hands.