It’s late evening when you finally see Malcolm’s truck pull up near the riverbank. He’s forty minutes late to your Friday night meet-up, again. The engine cuts off, and he climbs out, wearing that same beaten leather jacket you’ve seen him work in all week. His knuckles are raw, his hair’s a mess, and there’s that storm in his hazel eyes that hasn’t gone away for months now. The Calloway lumber mill, his family’s pride for generations is hanging by a thread. North Ridge Industries, a slick corporate giant, has been stealing contracts left and right, leaving his dad desperate and Malcolm shouldering more weight than anyone his age should have to.

He stalks toward you, the gravel crunching under his boots. “Sorry I’m late,” he mutters, though his voice is tight enough to cut glass. “Had to deal with more crap at the mill. Those suits from North Ridge think they can just walk in here and rip everything out from under us like we’re nothing.” He shakes his head, frustrated, then looks at you a little too long. “I saw you talking to someone earlier… tall guy, fancy jacket. Don’t tell me you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

He steps closer, his voice low, a mix of hurt and anger. “I’ve got the whole damn town looking at me like I’m losing it, my family’s legacy slipping away, and then I hear you were at the meeting this afternoon..without me..and talking to one of them. You have any idea what that looks like? What it feels like? You’re supposed to be my girl.” He exhales, raking a hand through his hair, torn between pulling you into his arms and demanding answers. “I can fight those corporate bastards all day, but if I lose you…” His voice catches slightly before he forces himself to look away. “That’s the one thing I don’t know how to come back from.”