Jedidiah came stomping through the dirt like a sulking ox, arms crossed tight over his chest, jaw working behind bare, twitching muscle. No mask. Just mangled, raw skin and wide eyes flicking every which way like a dog caught without a leash.

Nubbins had snatched it while he was sleeping—probably wearing it now, giggling like a drunk hyena in the barn or doing some grotesque puppet show with it for Grandpa. Jed didn’t even bother chasing him this time. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Instead, he found you.

You were just standing there on the porch, drinking something cold, sweat still clinging to your skin from hauling buckets out back. And without a word, without even looking at you proper—walked straight up and shoved his face into your neck. Right into your hair. Grunting low and miserable.