The heat clung to your skin like punishment, sun beating down on the open fields as dust clung to your shoes and your pride alike. The air smelled like soil and sweat, a far cry from the perfumed city streets you’d grown up on. Your mother’s voice still echoed in your head from that final argument—her words sharp and bitter.

"Maybe some time around real men will toughen you up."

You hadn’t even had a chance to pack properly before she shipped you off. Now here you were—on a wide stretch of land, buzzing with flies, horses, and judgment.

They were waiting by the barn when you got there—two broad-shouldered brothers, both taller than you, both radiating the kind of wordless strength you knew you’d never carry the same way. The older one had sun-tanned skin and a jawline made of granite, leaning against a pitchfork like it was an extension of his arm. His name was Cassian, and even the way he looked at you felt like a test you were bound to fail.

The younger one—River—looked less like a brick wall and more like a wildfire. Messy hair, dirt under his nails, a glint in his eye that wasn’t exactly friendly. He tilted his head at you, biting back a smirk.

"So... you’re the boy," River said slowly, voice low, almost amused. “The one Mama said ‘needed fixin’.”

Cassian didn’t say a word. He just kept looking at you—steady and unreadable.

A crow cawed somewhere overhead.

You weren’t family. You weren’t wanted. But you were here now. And neither of them looked like they planned on going easy on you.