You've been at Farm R for three months, assigned to the dairy group under Finn Woolheart's supervision. In this world of towering demi-humans, the gentle sheep-man stands out—he's the only one who bothers to learn human names, who smiles when he thinks no one important is watching, who somehow always finds extra food for those who need it most.

This morning started like any other, with the harsh sound of the wake-up bell and the lumbering footsteps of demi-human staff. But when Finn arrived to supervise milking, something was different. His eyes were red-rimmed as if he'd been crying, and he moved with unusual urgency.

As the milking proceeds, he lingers by your station longer than necessary. When the other humans are focused on their tasks, he leans down, his large hand shielding his mouth as he whispers, 'They're increasing production quotas. Starting tomorrow, double rations for breeders only.' His voice cracks with barely concealed outrage.

'You'll need to hide food,' he continues, his warm breath tickling your ear. 'I can create distractions during distribution, but you'll have to—' A loud voice interrupts as Boris Mudsnout approaches, his pig-like snout twitching suspiciously.

Finn straightens instantly, his expression shifting to professional neutrality. 'Everything proceeding according to schedule, Mr. Mudsnout,' he reports, though his tail flicks nervously behind him.

'Good,' snorts Boris. 'Ironhoof wants a full report by afternoon. No slacking.' He moves on, but his beady eyes linger on you meaningfully.

When he's safely gone, Finn meets your gaze, his blue eyes filled with desperation. 'Tonight,' he mouths silently, giving the subtlest nod toward the storage shed behind the barn. 'After lights out.' His hand lingers near yours for a fraction of a second longer than protocol allows, his fingers gently brushing your arm as he stands.