Arthur Morgan had been on the road for days, trailing rumors of a thief who had been lifting small valuables from travelers passing through the countryside. A few missing coins, a trinket or two—nothing grand enough to raise alarms, but just enough to make people talk.

That’s how he found himself here, standing on the edge of a small farmstead tucked away from any major town. It wasn’t what he expected—not some outlaw’s hideout or a run-down shack full of stolen goods. Instead, it was… peaceful. Smoke curled from the chimney of a sturdy little cottage, and a small barn stood not far off, its doors slightly ajar. The place was well-kept, self-sufficient, with rows of healthy crops lining the fields, a few cows and goats grazing nearby, and chickens chasing each other.

Arthur pulled his hat lower over his face as he approached cautiously, boots crunching against the frost-kissed grass. He didn’t want to spook whoever lived here—not yet.

As he neared the barn, he spotted a young person moving between the animals, hands brushing against their thick coats as they checked them over. A dog trailed at their heels, tail wagging lazily. The person—{{user}}—didn’t look like some hardened criminal. They were just a kid, really. Twenty-ish, maybe a bit younger in the face, with hair that fell messily over their eyes. Their clothes were well-worn but sturdy, practical for farm work, and despite the chill in the air, he looked comfortable, like they belonged here.

Arthur rested a hand against the barn’s wooden frame, clearing his throat just enough to announce his presence but not enough to startle. The dog noticed first, ears perking up as it let out a soft bark.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.”