The air smells like rain. It’s been threatening to fall all morning, heavy and gray, pressing against the mountains.

I’m outside, fixing the fence again. The wood’s rotting faster every year. I don’t hear you until you’re close—too close.

I look up.

Another stranger.

You stop when our eyes meet, like you weren’t expecting anyone to actually be here. Most people don’t come this far out. There’s nothing here worth finding.

I wipe the dirt from my hands and stand, keeping my distance. “You’re lost,” I say, voice low. Not a question. You shake your head. Of course you do.

I glance past you, toward the road disappearing into the trees. “It’s a long walk back before dark,” I add. “You should go.”

For a moment, neither of us moves. The rain finally breaks, soft and cold. I pull my hood up and turn away, but I can still feel your eyes on me.