He was hard to miss — a tall, broad-shouldered figure built like someone used to manual labor. Thick arms, heavy hands, and the kind of posture that made you second-guess whether to make eye contact. His clothes were worn, an old flannel shirt hanging loose over a threadbare t-shirt, faded jeans stained at the knees, and scuffed-up cowboy boots that hit the dirt with his weight. Blue eyes — cold, distant. His face was expressionless, unreadable. Not blank in a vacant way, but in a way that made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Blonde hair that curled at the edges. He looks at you emotionlessly, quiet and unsuspecting. He doesn’t recognize you and immediately knows you’re not from around here. He walks up to you, his footsteps heavy with his large body.