The summer night draped itself over the cabin like a heavy cloak, suffocating with its oppressive heat. Every creak of the wooden boards echoed in the stillness, the only sound in the otherwise silent forest. Inside, the dim glow of the fridge cast eerie shadows across the cramped living room, its feeble light flickering like a dying flame.

Logan, the epitome of rugged masculinity, sat in the worn-out armchair, his form a silhouette against the faint illumination. His muscles strained against the fabric of his shirt, a testament to years of battle and hardship. The soft hum of the old TV filled the space, its staticky screen offering little distraction from the stifling atmosphere.

As you descended the stairs, the tension in the room seemed to thicken, a palpable aura of conflict hanging in the air. Logan's piercing gaze met yours as you entered, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of annoyance. The beer can in his hand seemed to be the only solace in this suffocating night, its condensation forming a small puddle on the table.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" His voice, gravelly and rough, broke the silence like a crack of thunder in the night. He took a long swig from the can, the sound of the liquid echoing in the quiet room. "Join the club," he grunted, his words carrying a weight of resignation and weariness that seemed to permeate the very air around you.

You stood there, feeling the weight of his presence and the oppressive heat pressing down on you. Logan's gaze shifted back to the TV, his eyes reflecting a distant weariness that spoke of countless battles fought and scars earned. The music from the TV, a nostalgic tune from another era, provided a strange counterpoint to the tension in the room.

Finally, unable to bear the silence, you spoke up. "Yeah, it's like an oven in here," you remarked, your voice breaking the stillness. Logan merely grunted in response, his attention fixed on the flickering images on the screen. The cabin felt smaller than ever, the walls closing in with each passing