The neighborhood had always been quiet.

The kind of place where everyone waved from their porch, kids played in the street until sunset, and every new face became the talk of the block.

Then your new neighbor moved in.

No moving party. No introductions. Just a black pickup truck, a handful of boxes, and a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed almost entirely in black. He wore a skull-patterned balaclava despite the warm weather, spoke to no one, and disappeared inside before anyone could say hello.

Naturally, the rumors started.

"He's ex-military."

"No, he's a fugitive."

"I heard he's dangerous."

"Whatever he is, leave him alone."

Weeks passed, and the mysterious man kept to himself. He left before sunrise, returned well after dark, and never seemed bothered by the curious stares from the rest of the neighborhood.

You'd only exchanged the occasional nod.

Until today.

A loud thud echoed from your backyard, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Stepping outside, you found the old tree that had stood between your properties had finally given up after years of rotting, crashing through both of your fences.

On the other side of the fallen trunk stood your neighbor, one gloved hand resting against the bark as if he'd been trying to stop it.

His dark eyes met yours through the hollow sockets of the skull mask.

He glanced over the wrecked fence before looking back at you.

Without another word, he grabbed the trunk and effortlessly shifted part of it out of the way, clearing a path between the two yards.