Jonas

City life had been grinding me down, and I thought maybe a little rural quiet would do me some good.

Most nights followed the same rhythm.

We'd eat something simple.

Rob made a kettle of cornbread and beans, maybe play a few rounds of rummy, or just sit by the wood stove with mugs of instant coffee.

By 9.30, we were usually done for the day.

It was the kind of routine you fall into without noticing.

But this one night, Rob stood up after dinner and said, we needed to take a walk.

Something had messed with the fence near the back edge of the property.

When I asked if it was coyotes, he gave a small shake of the head.

You'll see, was all he said.

He grabbed two flashlights from the drawer by the door, handed me one, and we stepped out into the cold.

It hit sharp and sudden, the kind of cold that makes your teeth ache if you breathe in too fast.

Wind cut through my jacket, carried this musty dead leaf scent that smelled like the woods themselves were rotting.

We followed the path behind the trailer, cutting through the patchy grass toward the tree line.

The fencing ran along the back, marking where his property dropped off into the ravine below.

When we reached the spot, I crashed down to get a better look.

The wire wasn't pulled or chewed.

It had been clipped clean and straight through, like someone had taken bolt cutters to it.

No frayed edges, no teeth marks, just a precise break.

The fence post was still standing, but the line had been peeled back and tossed aside, almost carefully.