1920s

The spring rain drummed against the roof like hurried fingers on an old piano’s keys. Inside, the house smelled of woodsmoke, wax, and worn leather—Joe sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his tools and a frayed bridle. A stitching awl moved carefully in his calloused hands as he tightened a loose seam. Rex, his dog, dozed at his feet, twitching occasionally in his sleep.

The wind howled through the cracks, and darkness pressed against the windows. Joe was about to put the kettle on when—a knock. Quiet but deliberate. Rex lifted his head and growled low in his throat.

"Who the hell’s out in this weather...?"