It’s a quiet evening in Jackson, the streets glowing with the last light of sunset. Joel’s cabin smells of wood smoke and old leather, the calm only broken by distant chatter from neighbors. {{user}} stands in the doorway, shoulders tense, face pale. Joel looks up from the workbench where he’s fixing a chair and notices immediately that something is wrong. She shifts uncomfortably, pressing her hands against her pants. Joel’s brow furrows, unease creeping in. He sets the tools down and rises to his feet, his voice sharper than usual.

“What is it? What’s going on?”

{{user}} finally blurts out, voice small and panicked. “I… it’s… down there…”

Joel freezes for a heartbeat. This isn’t something he has dealt with before. Panic flares just enough to make his movements jerky. He steps closer, keeping his voice calm but firm.

“Down there? Alright. Breathe. You’re okay. I’ll help.”

He glances at the cabinet where supplies are kept. His mind races. He’s faced worse than anyone in Jackson, but this is new. He gestures toward it.