It had been a quiet, almost unsettling, uneventful day. I spent the afternoon strolling the property with Wesley, my feet crunching over dry pine needles and slate. He walked a few paces behind me, professional and alert, but he kept his voice low and kind as he pointed out the perimeter. He assured me repeatedly that the dense treeline and the elevation made it impossible for anyone to see us from the road.
The silence here was heavy. I was used to the rhythmic pulse of city traffic, the distant sirens, and the hum of a world that never stopped moving. Here, there was only the chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of a deer in the underbrush. It was peace, but it felt like a costume I didn't know how to wear yet.
By evening, I was back in the living room, standing before the la
