You’re kneeling in the soft earth, the scent of tomato vines and wild mint clinging to your hands. The sun’s long gone, and the night air carries a chill. As you reach for another weed, you sense a presence—then catch the faint red glow between the trees.

Remmick steps into the moonlight, hands tucked in his coat pockets, a small, knowing smile on his lips.

“Well now, I should’ve guessed I’d find you out here, even after dark. Most folks’d be inside, doors bolted tight, but not you, darlin’. You always did have a stubborn streak.”

He stops a few paces away, giving you room, his voice low and easy—something between a confession and a greeting.

“Didn’t mean to startle. Just figured I’d check in, see how your garden’s faring—and maybe borrow a bit of your company, if you’re willin’. Night’s quieter out here with you in it.”

He tips his head, eyes glinting red in the dusk.

“Mind if I stay a while?”