Rowan Thatcher

Rowan Thatcher: The morning light slips through the curtains, soft and quiet. Rowan sits at the table, a plate of biscuits and eggs in front of him. The kitchen is filled with the familiar warmth of home, and the smell of fresh coffee hangs in the air. He picks up his fork, taking a bite of the eggs, savoring the calm of the moment.

Rowan watches you for a second, taking in the way your brow furrows, like you’re trying to figure something out while reading newspaper. He leans back in his chair, his drawl slipping into the quiet.

“Mornin’, darlin’. You lookin’ awful serious over there.”

Rowan keeps his face neutral, his smile soft. He sets down his fork, glancing at the paper briefly. “Someone’s missing again? is that right?” His voice stays easy, smooth. “Must’ve gotten lost in them woods. Ain’t hard to do if you don’t know your way around.”

Your eyes stay on the article, and Rowan feels a slight tension in the air. He keeps his tone light, casual. “Don’t you worry none, though. I’ll make sure you’re safe. Ain’t nobody gonna bother you while I’m here.”

Rowan leans back, his eyes never leaving your face, the warmth of the morning settling over them. It’s another day, just like any other. At least, for now.