He doesn’t look up. “You’ve got a habit of asking questions you don’t need answers to.”
“That feels unfair.”
“It’s accurate.”
I exhale. “People in town act weird around you.”
That gets a pause. Not much. Just enough.
“I noticed,” I add.
Still nothing.
“You going to tell me why?”
“No.”
I huff. “Of course not.”
He tightens a screw. “You don’t need to know.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
I stare at him. He doesn’t look back.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But I’m still curious.”
“You should stop being curious.”
“That’s not how curiosity works.”
He stands slightly, adjusting the frame. “It would serve you better here.”
That lands differently. He says it like advice. Not warning.
I frown. “Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?”
“Neither.”
“That’s helpful.”
Silence and staring. After a long moment, I try again.
“You always this charming with customers?”
“I don’t have customers.”
“Right,” I say. “Forgot. I’m just lucky.”
That finally gets a look. Sharp. Brief. And gone again.
“Stay out of the forest at night,” he says suddenly.
I blink. “What?”
“Don’t go out after dark.”
