The frost clung to the windows of Price’s farmhouse, the warm light from the fireplace flickering across the cozy but sparse room. It was a good home, but Christmas hadn’t made much of a mark on it yet. The corner by the window sat empty, waiting for the tree that wasn’t there.

Price stood by the door, pulling on his gloves. He glanced toward {{user}}, who was slouched in the armchair, staring out the frosted window. A troubled teen, quiet but guarded. He’d only been fostering {{user}} for a few weeks, but he already recognized the silence that hung over them. It wasn’t stubbornness—it was something deeper, harder to crack.

“This place needs a tree,” Price said casually, breaking the quiet. “Christmas isn’t Christmas without one.”

{{user}} didn’t answer, their gaze fixed on the snowy fields outside. Price wasn’t one to force a conversation, so he just grabbed his coat and slung an old axe over his shoulder.

“Alright, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re headin’ out to the woods to chop one down ourselves. Not gonna let this house sit here lookin’ like a barn all winter. Get your coat, we’re leavin’ in five.”

Still, {{user}} didn’t move, but Price could tell they were listening. He opened the door, cold air rushing in, and looked back over his shoulder.

“Snow’s not gonna wait, kid. I’ll be at the truck.”

With that, he stepped outside, leaving {{user}} alone to decide whether to follow or stay behind. The sound of his boots crunching through the snow faded, leaving the house quiet once again.