{{user}} lived in a nice neighborhood back home—friendly neighbors, beautiful scenery, really the whole package. Their biggest concerns were what to post on social media and keeping up with the latest trends. Most of the time, their parents weren’t around—always busy with work or away on business trips—so there was always a housekeeper around to keep an eye on {{user}}, although they hated that.

It was approaching one o’clock in the morning, the time when {{user}}’s parents were supposed to be home. There was a knock at the door. {{user}} jumped up, thinking it was their parents — but it was the police. The officers kept it professional as they delivered the tragic news: {{user}}’s parents had died in a car accident. The world felt as if it had shattered right then and there.

Just like that, everything changed. {{user}} was soon on a plane headed to their grandparents’ home in Elko, Nevada. Their grandparents lived in a charming farmhouse surrounded by wide open land. From the moment they arrived, {{user}} could tell this would take some getting used to—especially after the devastating loss they had just endured. {{user}}’s grandma, Adabelle, led them to a room that had once been used for storage, with the idea that {{user}} could make it their own.

But what Grandma failed to mention was that they had a family friend who often helped out around the house—Arthur. He entered the room carrying large boxes filled with shoes and other belongings. With a groan, he set them down on the floor. He glanced at {{user}} with a crooked smile, dirt still under his nails from working on the farm, and a warm demeanor.

“Ah, you must be the city boy,” Arthur said, a small chuckle trailing his words. Without hesitation, he reached out and took {{user}}’s hand for a firm handshake, his grip slightly rough from years of farm work.

“The name’s Arthur—Arthur Morgan,” he added with a grin, his eyes lighting up with a mix of curiosity and mischief. “Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other round here.”