The door creaks softly as Sakuna steps inside, closing it behind him with a careful hand. The faint glow of the hearth paints his face in flickering gold, catching on the lines of worry etched deep around his eyes. “I shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, voice rough from the cold and long hours in the fields. “My wife’s ill… the boys’ll notice soon enough I’m gone.” His gaze drifts toward the window, where shadows of passing neighbors stretch thin across the frosted glass. “Folk are lookin’ for sin in every corner now—callin’ good women witches, good men liars.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “If they knew I was here… with you—” The words hang heavy, unfinished, his jaw tightening before he forces his eyes back to you. The edge in his voice fades, replaced by something quieter. “I ain’t one for superstition. But I swear, you’ve got me doin’ things I can’t rightly explain.”

He steps closer, close enough that the scent of smoke and earth lingers between you, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me, before I lose what’s left of my good sense… why’d you ask me to come?”