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Ethan met her gaze directly, his own expression unreadable. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only sign of his mind working through the implications of her words.
Her aunt had always been blunt, direct... often rude.
Rachel had spent more than one night in the desert, under her aunt's watchful eye, learning to live off the harsh land.
Sheriff Dawes' expression remained impassive, but the ember of his cigarette glowed brighter in the dark.
Aunt Sarah's hand extended, a skinning knife gleaming dully in the dim light. Its handle, worn smooth by years of use, seemed to throb with expectation as it passed into Ethan's grip.
"You don't have to," Rachel's whisper cut through the charged silence, each word laced with her discomfort.
"Rachel, it's fine," Ethan murmured back, his voice a low rumble of calm. He turned the knife over in his hand, assessing its weight, its balance. She wondered what he must've thought of her. She'd dragged him here just to put him through some strange ritual her aunt had cooked up all impromptu.
With deliberate movements, Ethan crouched beside the doe. The animal lay still and serene on the ground, its lifeblood painting the earth in shades of deep crimson. The overhead moon cast a silver sheen upon its coat, turning each hair to filigree.
Ethan's fingers traced the line he would follow, a path well known to him yet foreign in this context. His hands were steady, betraying none of the unease that churned in Rachel's gut. The blade dipped, puncturing the silence as much as the skin.
A clean incision. The flesh parted beneath his expert touch, revealing the intricate puzzle of muscle and sinew below. Aunt Sarah stood motionless, her eyes tracking every precise, deft movement.
"Seems you've done this before," Aunt Sarah's voice was grudging respect incarnate.
Ethan didn't look up, focused on the task. "Once or twice," he said, his reply casual but not dismissive.
Rachel's eyes flitted from Ethan's hands to Aunt Sarah's face. She searched for a crack in that stern facade, some sign of what might lie beneath. But her aunt was an enigma wrapped in the night's shadows.
The scrape of knife against bone filled the void between them.
Impressions swirled: the tang of iron in the air, the soft snick of parting tissue, the warmth radiating off Ethan's concentrated form. And through it all, Aunt Sarah's scrutinizing gaze, weighing, judging.
"Good hands," Aunt Sarah finally conceded, a nod towards Ethan's craftsmanship.
The moon, a silver sickle against the velvet sky, cast Aunt Sarah’s backyard in a light that was both ethereal and unforgiving. Rachel stood, rooted to the spot as if the earth itself commanded her stillness. The air was thick with the scent of pine and blood, and it weighed on her lungs.
"Rachel," Aunt Sarah's voice cut through the buzz of nocturnal insects, "Heard you had some run-ins with Kai lately."
"Nothing I can't handle," Rachel replied, her words more brittle than she intended. She glanced at Dawes, who kept his peace, preferring to blow a puff of smoke towards the crescent moon. She watched Ethan work, the knife an extension of his will, slicing with precision.
"Kai's not a bad kid," Sheriff Dawes chimed in, smoke curling from the cigarette perched between his lips. He leaned against the log wall, the ember glowing like a warning. "Just trying to look out for his people, that's all."
"Is that what he told you?"
"Seen it with my own eyes," the sheriff said. Each puff of smoke felt like a punctuation mark, finalizing his stance.
Rachel bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Kai's actions spoke louder than the sheriff's words, yet here she was, sandwiched between skepticism and the need to understand.
Silence wrapped around them again, save for the steady scrape of Ethan's knife.
The stars hung low, like watchful eyes, as Aunt Sarah's voice cut through the silence. "Had to call in some help for your mother's case," she said, the rasp in her tone wrapping around Rachel like the evening chill.
"Help?" Rachel's voice was a whisper lost in the night, but her body tensed, every cell on edge.
So this was it. The reason for the dinner. The reason her aunt had been so insistent. Sarah's sister's case... Rachel's mother's case. She tried not to show her mounting frustration as this realization crested.
Rachel's pulse quickened, the rhythm echoed by the repetitive thud of Ethan's knife meeting flesh.
"Good to have an extra pair of eyes, isn't it?" The sheriff's words were smoke, dissipating into the air before they could form a solid shape.
Aunt Sarah laughed, a sound devoid of humor. "Especially ones that know these parts."
