Ace's POV
The afternoon sun pressed down like a physical weight, baking the golden wheat fields into shimmering waves of heat. Sweat trickled down my temple as I watched Ray - now a massive, furred silhouette against the swaying grain - carefully repacking scattered apples into the crate. The sweet, cloying scent of bruised fruit mixed with the dry earthiness of upturned soil, creating a strangely comforting aroma that clashed with the tension coiling in my muscles.
