Men who won’t answer direct questions irritate me on principle. He doesn’t say anything else. But I file it away.
Territorial rancher with a savior complex. Predictable. And safer than whatever else this could be.
That’s when my eyes snag on it. The faint glow, like moonlight hitting frost, beneath the cuff of one sleeve, where his skin is tattooed.
The breath hitches in my throat.
“What?” he asks.
“Your tattoo?—”
He tugs distractedly at the sleeve. “People react different to storms.”
I grimace.What the hell?“If that’s static electricity, then I’m…” My words die on the air. I don’t know how to finish the sentence.
“Ever heard of black light ink?” he says too easily.
“Why cover it then?”
He looks away. “Because I don’t want everything I did in my twenties on full display.”
I bite my tongue, not wanting to point out he could still easily pass for his late twenties if he didn’t act so crotchety.
“Evening,” he grumbles unceremoniously, pushing off the fence post and sauntering away.
Later,I unpack my clothes, putting them in drawers and getting used to the faded wallpaper, the stuffed animals and dolls, the soft glow from the pink, flowery lamp.
I catch my reflection in the armoire’s mirror.
A black bob cut to the chin. Practical, neat, and easy to maintain.
Outside, the wind moves through electrical wires, humming a faint, familiar tone.
Lying in my childhood bed, I replay the evening.
The way he watched me when I mentioned pattern repetition. The way he avoided specifics. The way he hasn’t aged.
He probably thinks I’m another outsider with a clipboard. Another person trying to interpret land that feeds him.
That would explain the edge in his voice. And why he keeps telling me where I can and can’t go.
Territorial isn’t mysterious. It’s human nature. And human nature is manageable.
Still.
When I close my eyes, geometric sequences flicker behind my eyelids.
Repeating structures. Intentional spacing. Communication waiting to be decoded.
If something in these foothills is speaking, I’ll find its grammar.
A flash of light. Black light ink. Never would’ve guessed on him. But then, there’s very little I actually know about the neighbor.
Except this: if Ash tries to interfere with my research?
I smile faintly into the darkness.
He’s already underestimated me once today.
