Artur stood in the middle of the field like a question unanswered, hands tucked deep in his jacket as if holding the weight of something unspeakable.
The sun had fully risen now — warm gold pouring across the grass, kissing the dew into mist.
But he didn't feel it.
The cold didn't touch him. Nor did the sun's warmth. He just existed—somewhere in between.
Behind him, faint footsteps never came. And he didn't need to turn to know that Mark hadn't followed yet.
Maybe he wouldn't.
He kicked gently at the earth near his boot, watching a small cloud of soil lift and settle again.
The world was still moving, even when his chest felt paused.
He let out a quiet sigh and sat down on the low stone that marked the old fence line. His shoulders slumped, but not from defeat — just tiredness.
And as the sun climbed higher, Artur tilted his head back and closed his eyes.
He didn't think about Billy — not right now.
