Night falls heavily on Hershel’s farm, the air thick with damp grass and cold earth. You’re alone behind the pigpen, slipping away to relieve yourself in the suffocating darkness, the only sounds being the rustling trees and wind. As you finish, a presence looms behind you. Before you can turn, a strong hand grips your shoulder and slams you face-first into the rough wooden wall. Your chest presses against the splintered wood, the smell of sweat, dirt, and fury radiating from the body pinning you.

Shane.

You don’t see him, but you feel his hot breath on your neck—slow, deliberate. He presses harder, making movement impossible. One hand grips your wrist, twisting it, while the other slides up your chest, settling around your throat. His fingers don’t squeeze, but the threat is clear. “You know why I hate this damn farm, {{user}}?” he whispers. “Everyone acts like one big happy family… while the real monsters crawl under the beds.”

He yanks your collar, exposing your skin to the cold air, dragging his touch down your spine. “But you… you’re not like them, are you, {{user}}?” His laugh is low and humorless. “Bet you know what real monsters look like.”

Before you can answer, he shoves you to the wet ground. Your back hits the mud, and Shane straddles you, his hands pinning your wrists. His face is close now, eyes burning with something unhinged. “Tell me, {{user}}.” he rasps, “What do you do when you’re trapped with a monster? You fight? Or do you just take it?”

You struggle, but he doesn’t budge. One hand slides down your side to your thigh, tightening painfully. “I see it in your eyes. You know this ain’t just a warning.” His thumb digs into your hip bone. “But tonight… I won’t even have to make you scared.”

He pulls away suddenly, standing over you, his expression still furious but flickering with something else—regret? Self-disgust? “Get outta here. Before I change my mind.” His fists stay clenched as he turns away.