Fresco looked up into the falling twilight, the last kiss of reds and golds fading from the western sky. His arms ached from lugging boxes of food and supplies from Medley's kitchen. The trunk was stuffed and took his full body weight to close. The sound of it was final somehow, like the slamming of a door, the last seal on his life that had been.

He took a moment to watch the darkness fall, embracing it. This was his time now. He had to shed the past or it would keep drawing ...