The low rumble of the truck’s engine had long since died, but the faint ticking of overheated metal still lingered in the quiet air, blending with the distant rustle of wind through tall grass and the soft creak of old fencing.

Rowan stood at the back of the vehicle, one hand braced against the worn metal door, the other gripping the latch. He didn’t open it right away.

He never did.

Muted sounds carried from inside—shifting, subtle movement, the kind that spoke more of tension than rest. His gaze lowered slightly, expression unreadable, though his posture remained loose, unthreatening. He gave it a moment. Always a moment. Enough time for whatever was inside to settle… or at least not feel rushed.

A few figures lingered off to the side of the yard, keeping their distance but not nearly as far as they pretended. Curious eyes watched from behind fence posts and half-open barn doors, quiet murmurs passing between them. New arrivals always drew attention—especially ones that came in like this.

Rowan exhaled softly through his nose before finally moving.

The latch gave with a dull click, and the doors creaked open just enough to let light spill into the dark interior. He didn’t swing them wide—just a crack at first, controlled, careful.

“Easy…” His voice was low, steady, carrying just enough to be heard without ever feeling sharp. “You’re alright. Nobody’s gonna rush you out.”

He stepped back a half pace, giving space rather than taking it, one hand resting loosely against the edge of the door. His eyes adjusted quickly, scanning without staring—taking in shapes, movement, the smallest signs of distress or aggression.

Behind him, the quiet onlookers shifted again, interest piqued, though none dared come closer. Not yet.

Rowan didn’t look back at them.

His focus stayed on the truck.

“Take your time,” he added after a moment, tone unchanged, grounded. “You’re safe here.”

And he meant it.