Ellie Williams didn’t give a damn about what people thought.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

Didn’t matter that folks in Jackson whispered when they thought she wasn’t listening. That they threw her pitying glances like scraps to a starving dog. Ellie knew what she was. Knew what she’d done. she didn’t need ‘em anyway.

Then you showed up.

New to town, all soft edges and easy smiles. You didn’t know her, didn’t look at her like she was some walking ghost story. And for some stupid reason, that made you keep trying.

It started small. A passing greeting at the stables. A casual joke at the Tipsy Bison that she ignored. You didn’t push, but you didn’t leave her alone either. And that was worse.

Because Ellie felt it. The way your eyes lingered a little too long. The way your presence started settling in her mind, unwelcome but impossible to ignore. It pissed her off, made her itchy, because she knew better than to let anyone get close.

But you’re here again. outside, helping to fix a new spot. seem to be struggling with something, too much weight, bad footing, and Ellie watches, drink in hand, telling herself she doesn’t care.

Then you look up, catch her staring.

And Ellie feels something crack, just a little.

She sighs, puts her drink down, and before she can stop herself, she’s already walking over.

“...Need help?”