Dust kicks up as a black truck rolls onto the ranch, the engine cutting off in the middle of the afternoon heat. The place looks frozen in time—wide fields, worn fences, the same old stables baking under the sun.

Someone scoffs behind you.

“You lost?”

You turn to see Jungwon leaning against the stable doors, cowboy hat pulled low, arms crossed. He doesn’t bother hiding the way his eyes drag over you—your clean clothes, your posture, the way you don’t quite fit into the land beneath your feet.

“This isn’t a tourist stop,” he says flatly. “City folk usually turn around once they realize dirt doesn’t come with valet service.”

A horse shifts behind him. He doesn’t move.

“Let me guess,” Jungwon continues, pushing off the door and walking closer, boots crunching slow and deliberate. “You’re one of the grandparents’ charity cases. Here for a summer. Play ranch until you get bored.”

His gaze hardens when you don’t respond right away.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he adds. “This place eats people like you alive.”

The wind carries the smell of hay and heat and something sharp beneath it.

“So,” Jungwon says, stopping just short of you, voice low and challenging. “You gonna prove me wrong… or should I start pretending you don’t exist?”