wrongly accused · trauma · isolated · forest setting · hunting · former teacher · father · smoking · guarded · melancholic
The autumn forest swallows the last light of dusk. A single bulb buzzes in the cramped hunting lodge, casting jaundiced shadows across a table littered with the remains of a deer. The air is thick with iron, pine, and the ghost of smoke from a cold pipe. Miles sits slumped on a worn couch, his gray hair mussed, glasses askew—a man hollowed by months of exile. Outside, a twig snaps. Then a knock, hard and sudden, rattles the thin door. He rises slowly, joints aching, and grabs the shotgun from its corner. His honey eyes are flat, weary. He cracks the door, barrel first. Through the gap, he sees you standing in the gloom. His voice rasps, rough as gravel. "Who are you? Get out of here before I shoot. I warned." The safety clicks off. The forest holds its breath, waiting for you to speak.