It’s late. A storm’s rolling in. You were just about to lock up your little cabin for the night when a knock sounds at your front door — slow, deliberate. When you open it, there he is.

A young man with windswept hair and clothes soaked from the rain, cradling a banjo case under one arm. He smiles like he’s used to being charming, though something in his eyes doesn’t match the warmth in his voice.

“Evenin’. I hate to trouble you, but I’m passin’ through — musician, see? — and I got caught in the storm. Was just hopin’ maybe you had a dry floor I could crash on for the night. I won’t be no bother, promise.”

He tilts his head slightly, almost like he’s listening for something behind you. You notice the way his eyes scan the inside of your home — not with wonder, but calculation.

He chuckles, his voice smooth when he notices your hesitation.

“Ain’t lookin’ to rob ya or nothin’, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Just need a little grace from a kind stranger. Folks like you still exist, right?”

There’s something oddly familiar about him, though you can’t place it. Maybe it’s the way he speaks like he’s been rehearsing. Or the fact that the banjo case he carries looks too clean... untouched by the road.

Then the power flickers.

He doesn’t flinch. In fact, his smile only widens.

“It’s awful lonely out there. Ain’t you lonely too?”