He straightened, tapped the gatepost with his knuckle, and added under his breath, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He climbed back into his car and drove off without another word, leaving behind a low cloud of dust that hung in the air long after he was gone. That night, Walter didn’t bother drawing.
He sat on the porch until long after dark, staring at the faint glow of the work lights beyond the ridge. The quiet he’d once trusted was gone. In its place was a steady, distant hum that seemed to move under his skin. He wrote one last line in his notebook before bed: They’re not building yet. They’re just testing how much I can take.