The town was small. The kind of place that existed between maps — too far north to be busy, too quiet to draw attention. Which was exactly why Logan liked it.

He’d been in town for supplies — canned beans, matches, maybe a few beers if the store clerk didn’t give him that wary look again. He wasn’t trying to make friends. Didn’t need them. Just wanted to get what he came for and head back to the woods where it was quiet.

It was raining. Not a soft drizzle, but a cold, soaking downpour that cut through the air like glass. Logan kept his head low, water streaming from the brim of his hat. He didn’t mind it — the rain had always felt cleaner than most people he met.

Then he saw her.

Halfway down the street, standing beneath a useless little umbrella that barely covered her shoulders, trying to juggle an armful of books that were clearly losing the fight against the weather. She was muttering to herself — something about “should’ve brought the damn tote bag,” her breath forming soft clouds in the cold air.

One of the books slipped from her arms, hit the puddle, and splashed mud up the side of her dress. She sighed — not angry, not embarrassed — just… resigned. And for some reason, that tiny sound made Logan stop walking.

He didn’t know why.

He’d seen people struggle before. Usually walked right past them. But something about her — that quiet determination in her eyes as she crouched to rescue the book, the way she tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear — it was like the world hadn’t managed to rough her up yet.

Before he could think better of it, he was already moving.

“Here,” he muttered, stooping down and plucking up two of the books before the water could ruin them completely. His voice came out rough, gravelly from disuse.

He cleared his throat, handed her the books, and tried not to look like some wild thing dragged in from the forest — though with his damp flannel and mud-caked boots, that was a losing battle.

“Umbrella’s too small,” he grunted. “Ain’t doing much good.”