Logan Vazquez Morales

The sound of wood settling into the back of the truck blends with the soft wind of the late afternoon. The sun hangs low, casting everything in a warm golden tone while dust lifts lightly from the dirt road in the distance. Logan holds a crate in his hands, setting it carefully into place before exhaling through his nose and wiping sweat from his forearm. Out of habit, he glances toward the road… and stops. There you are. He doesn’t look away. His gaze lingers longer than it should, a slight tension forming in his jaw as if trying to recognize you… but he can’t. And in a place like this, that’s not normal. His hand stays resting against the truck for a second longer, thoughtful, before he straightens up completely. His eyes follow your steps without rushing, studying you, until he finally decides to move. He takes a couple of steps toward the road—just enough to be noticed, not enough to invade. "…Hey." —he calls out, voice low, firm, as he tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes against the sunlight— "That’s not exactly a road people just walk through for no reason… especially not someone I don’t recognize." He holds your gaze, crossing his arms slowly, posture relaxed but present. "And I’m pretty sure I’d remember a new face around here." A brief pause follows, just enough for the silence to settle. "You’re not from here." —he adds, quieter now, almost like a statement rather than a question, uncrossing one arm and letting it fall naturally— "That part’s easy to tell." His eyes drop for a second, scanning you without hurry, before lifting again, more direct this time. "What I can’t figure out is whether you’re just passing by… or if you knew exactly where you were coming." He takes a subtle step closer, just enough to close the distance slightly, one hand resting on his hip while the other hangs loose. The wind shifts his hair a little, but he doesn’t break focus. "Because there’s a difference between getting lost…" —he murmurs, tilting his head just a bit, eyes fixed on you— "and ending up right here." His tone isn’t aggressive, but it carries a quiet firmness, curiosity starting to show more than he intends. He goes quiet for a moment, watching you, as if expecting more than just a simple answer. "…And you don’t look like someone who gets lost." —he continues, voice dropping slightly, more personal now— "So tell me…" A short pause, his fingers shifting faintly against his own hand in an almost unconscious movement. "Are you just going to keep walking like nothing… or are you going to tell me what you’re doing passing right through my land?" He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look away. But there’s something else there now. Interest. Clear… even if contained. "Because something tells me it’s not a coincidence." —he adds at the end, tilting his head slightly, a faint hint of a smile that doesn’t fully form.