The metal of the pillbox in his hand felt cold.
Next to him, the door of the truck that had almost hit him moments before slammed shut with a crash, and the engine roared loudly. The tires skidded across the damp gravel, then gripped, and the vehicle disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
"Bitch," Ryker hissed while his thumbs stroked the engraving on the lid.
It wasn't usually his manner, but the mixture of pain, adrenaline, anger, and shock killed his patience. Finally, a dark grumble came from his throat before he shook his head and slowly walked on.
For the next few minutes, his hands fiddled with the lid of the tin, trying to open it. But repeatedly, he caught himself thinking back to the almost-accident and the blonde woman.

Her behavior was bizarre. They had both got off on the wrong foot. Finally, his trembling fingers opened the small box, and a few white pills popped out.

Slowly, he calmed down, a soft sigh escaping his lips. By this point, he almost felt sorry for his behavior. He was stressed and upset. Usually, nothing upset him so quickly, especially not such terse words. But when he had a seizure... he just wasn't himself. For some reason, the whole day wasn't going as usual. He was out in the middle of nowhere looking for a child kidnapper, and, to make matters worse, he'd nearly been run over.

'That's not exactly a good start...'

There was a soft clink as he fished one of the pills out of the box and pushed the rest aside with his fingers. Then, he immediately closed the box again so that none of the essential medication could fall out. Only then did he pop the pill into his mouth and force himself to swallow it dry. It wouldn't take long for the potent painkiller to take effect.
'Fuck it,' he told himself in his mind, 'it can only get better.'

🍂🍂

It didn't take long for the sturdy giant trees to give way to younger ones. A thin veil of mist hung around the young trunks with their low-hanging branches. The high humidity kept the air heavy and cooled it, so his warm breath rose in wafts of mist. By now, his heart was beating more steadily in his chest than before. The pain was now just a dull throbbing that he barely recognized, and the trembling and limping had also disappeared.

Luckily, the woman had found his tin. Without the tablets ...
He couldn't think further as the last trees remained behind him. As he passed the last branches, the view of the village of Silvershore opened up before his eyes.
Ryker paused for a moment and shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown anorak. He let his gaze wander thoughtfully.

Small? Even that description seemed flattering, given the few dozen houses before him. No more than one or two streets snaked through the landscape between the buildings. Nevertheless, something was charming about it; he couldn't deny that. Grey, large stones, their gaps smeared with light-colored mortar, formed the walls on which a relatively flat, moss-covered but dark roof frequently rested. He wasn't sure but surmised that it was slate.

As similar as the houses looked, they were very different as he followed the graveled road deeper into the village in search of the café. Some were meticulously tidy, the lawn cut short, and only a few, presumably freshly fallen leaves lay on the grass. Others were surrounded by dense, thorny hedges that made it impossible to see inside.

"It certainly looks idyllic," he mumbled through his thick beard and turned his gaze away from a pretty little house with a white bench that had probably been freshly painted. It was not yet overgrown with lichen or moss and looked strangely out of place in the wild flair of the little village.

Occasionally, he passed small shops. In front of a plant shop, boxes and tubs of hardy plants stood alongside a few cut flowers. A little further on, he recognized pendants and postcards behind the glass shop window - probably a typical souvenir shop. Two or three windows were empty. Then came a somewhat larger shop with an old-fashioned, ornate sign: Henry's Village Shop. The shop windows were full of shelves that you couldn't see in. But the wooden crates and wicker baskets outside the front door confirmed his assumption that it was a simple general shop.

He came to a much broader, more modern low-rise building at the end of the street and close to the riverbank. The façade was clad with wooden panels interrupted by large, translucent panes of glass. Behind them were comfortable tables and chairs on a polished wooden floor. Only at the corners of the building could the typical grey but much smaller stones still be seen, and light smoke rose from the chimney. On closer inspection, he could even see the inviting glow of the fireplace through one of the windows.

As he walked round the house, he spotted a veranda with parasols that had been tied up. Above the front door was a large, brightly painted wooden sign with the dark blue lettering 'Bluebird's Café.'

A soft ringing accompanied him as he opened the door. He was immediately surrounded by a pleasant warmth and the smell of freshly brewed coffee, chocolate, and something he couldn't yet place.

Low murmurs and laughter met his ears and filled the room with a certain cheerfulness. But as the door closed behind him, the conversations became quieter and finally fell silent completely. The eyes of the villagers had turned to him, scrutinizing him appraisingly, and some heads had moved closer together.

Hidden behind his beard, the corner of his mouth twitched in disapproval. Of course ... what had he expected? This was the center of village gossip - and he knew exactly how he must look to everyone. Dirt was on his jacket from jumping into the ditch, and a few leaves clung to his hair. He must have appeared like a tramp or adventurer to the villagers.

Ryker headed for the counter without paying any further attention to the stares and chatter. Behind it, a young, blonde woman was working conspicuously on one of the machines. Nevertheless, her brown eyes under narrow brows strayed to him repeatedly.

Long, straight, street dog blonde hair with platinum highlights fell around her narrow shoulders. She wore a black, wide-cut top with lace trim on the chest, which complimented her figure, and tight-fitting blue jeans with ankle boots. She was visibly styled and looked strangely out of place among the other villagers in their casual clothes. She looked more like a girl from a big city on her way to an after-work drink.

"Excuse me," Ryker said with a slight smile, placing his rucksack on one of the high chairs beside the counter. "Can you tell me how to get to Pinewood Cottage?"

The young waitress turned her eyes from the espresso machine to him and scrutinized him unabashedly.

He didn't need detective skills to recognize that her gaze lingered a little longer on the dirt stains and the leaves. For a moment, he could even see her wrinkle her nose dismissively. Not exactly a pleasant first impression. With an unmistakable gesture, she pointed to a sign on the counter:

Toilet for guests only!
No information without an order!

'Seriously?' Ryker sighed loudly and unzipped his jacket. How many people visited this place that they had to put up a sign like that? Or were they just rude? The village didn't seem to be overrun with tourists. His eyes were still fixed on the sign, so he didn't notice how the blonde's gaze changed as soon as his broad shoulders came into view. Meanwhile, he carefully folded the jacket and placed it on his rucksack.

"A coffee, please. Black, with a dash of maple syrup."

"Coming right up," the young woman suddenly chirped, batting and winking with her eyelashes. The xenophobic attitude of a moment ago melted away like snow in the summer sun and was instead focused on him, like a hungry lion at the sight of a bloody steak. Now, the young woman sought his gaze and gave him a charming smile before she turned away to take care of the order.

The coffee machine rattled, and a light, white vapor rose.

Turning her hip to the side, her leg slightly bent, the young woman leaned against the cupboard and turned back to the stranger.

"So... Pinewood Cottage?" he heard the blonde ask while he sat down on one of the other stools. Unconcealed curiosity shimmered under too much sugar syrup in the bright voice. "What brings you to the old cabin?" There was no denying that she was flirting. Twisting one of her blonde strands around her finger, she winked at him cheekily. "It's much nicer here, you know."

Ryker had to suppress the urge to wrinkle his nose. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was superficial and pushy women.

"A job. Repair work," he replied curtly, hoping she would take the hint. But the opposite seemed to be the case.

The porcelain of the cup clinked on the saucer as she slid the coffee across the counter to him. She leaned particularly far forward on the dark blue painted wood of the counter and towards him.

"That sounds interesting." Her hand stroked his forearm, seemingly unintentionally. "A craftsman, then," her voice purred, and Ryker fought the urge to withdraw his arm rapidly. "I'm also in desperate need of a strong handyman. And I also have a guest room to spare," she offered him unwelcome generosity with a suggestive smile.

„I'm sorry, but I can't just cancel the job," Ryker replied quickly, pulling his arm back because it was becoming too intrusive.

He still managed a weak smile to soften the harsh gesture a little.

„Oh, what a shame," she sighed after a short silence. But you could tell that the young woman wasn't taking the tiny dent in her ego as well as she was pretending to. The smile on her lips seemed fake and less sincere.

"Then I'll call the cottage to pick you up. It's late and getting dark soon. You shouldn't be out there in the woods."