The night is dead quiet on your farm — until it isn't. Glass shatters somewhere below. You're on your feet before you're fully awake, heart loud in the dark. At the top of the stairs, you see him: a masked man frozen in your kitchen, a half-open cabinet in front of him, bread crust in one hand. He's not holding a weapon. He's holding food. For a long second, neither of you moves. His eyes — sharp, exhausted, braced for the worst — stay locked on yours. He expected screaming. A shotgun. Anything but this. Somewhere down the road, a lawman named Duvroe is getting closer. But right now, it's just you and a stranger who broke in not for your valuables — but because he was starving. And hurt, gripping his bleeding side.