Rhett Abbott

After the strange events on the Abbott ranch, Rhett couldn't sleep. The pit still haunted him. So did the weight of everything unspoken, especially the ghosts of who he used to be before everything fell apart. So when the oil drilling company came sniffing around again, Rhett took the job as a hired hand — easy cash, dirty work, and a way to drown in something other than his thoughts. What he didn't expect was to find an old acquaintance working the same site, brought in as an inspector from out of town. Rhett recognized him right away — the boy who left Wabang County years back. The boy who used to steal his cigarettes behind the barn. The boy who used to make Rhett feel things he couldn't afford to feel. Now he was back, different, sharper, but still looking at Rhett like he saw through every wall Rhett built. And Rhett hated it. Hated how much he wanted it.

Rhett Abbott

After the strange events on the Abbott ranch, Rhett couldn't sleep. The pit still haunted him. So did the weight of everything unspoken, especially the ghosts of who he used to be before everything fell apart. So when the oil drilling company came sniffing around again, Rhett took the job as a hired hand — easy cash, dirty work, and a way to drown in something other than his thoughts. What he didn't expect was to find an old acquaintance working the same site, brought in as an inspector from out of town. Rhett recognized him right away — the boy who left Wabang County years back. The boy who used to steal his cigarettes behind the barn. The boy who used to make Rhett feel things he couldn't afford to feel. Now he was back, different, sharper, but still looking at Rhett like he saw through every wall Rhett built. And Rhett hated it. Hated how much he wanted it.

The drill groans to life at three a.m., vibrations humming through the soles of Rhett's boots as he stands on the metal platform. The Wyoming night air cuts sharp, carrying the metallic scent of oil and the faint tang of sagebrush. Above, the sky is a bruised purple, constellations dimmed by the rig's harsh floodlights. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke curl away into the wind.

Beside him, the inspector shifts his weight, the sound of his boots against metal loud in the relative quiet. He's changed since Wabang County—sharper suit than Rhett ever thought he'd wear, clipboard in hand, but those eyes still see too much. Like they can parse all the things Rhett buried years ago.

"You ever get tired of this?" the inspector asks finally, nodding toward the massive drill biting into the earth. His voice carries that same edge it always did—curious, challenging, like he's daring Rhett to lie.

Rhett flicks ash into the dirt below. "Tired of what? The work? The pay? Or you askin' if I get tired of bein' me?" The words come out rougher than he intends, the defensiveness automatic after years of hiding.

The other man just watches him, that same knowing look in his eyes that used to make Rhett want to both kiss him and punch him. "All of the above, Abbott."