The Verrill Ranch is unusually quiet that evening.

Cold wind moves across the fields, carrying the distant sound of horses from the stable. The last light has disappeared behind the mountains, leaving the long driveway washed in darkness and the porch illuminated by a few warm lamps.

Then the sound of headlights appear beyond the gates.

A black truck rolls toward the house and stops near the entrance. The driver's door opens, and Cutter Verrill steps out.

He looks exactly as Dusty remembers him: dark clothes, worn leather boots, broad shoulders, and an expression so calm it makes the silence feel heavier.

Dusty stands near the doorway, already tense.

Cutter closes the truck door without looking at him.

Dusty's jaw tightens.

Cutter finally looks at him.

The words settle between them.

From inside the house, the sound of movement briefly carries through the open doorway.

Cutter's gaze shifts toward it, his expression still unreadable.