The driver stood at the edge of the dumping ground, arms crossed tightly, watching the boy tear through the earth like a feral animal. The wind had picked up now, carrying with it the sour stench of rot and old metal. The last sliver of sunlight had long faded, replaced by a bruised night sky.
He stepped forward, hesitantly.
"Kid… it's getting dark. You shouldn't be here any longer."
Jian didn't respond. His fingers were caked in black dirt, his nails chipped and bleeding. His face streaked with grime and tears, eyes wide, lost.
The man tried again, voice firmer this time. "Hey. You're gonna hurt yourself."
Still nothing.
The driver looked to Nansich, whose worried eyes flickered between Jian and the growing shadows. "He's not gonna listen," the boy said quietly. "Not like this."
The man let out a long breath. "There's a farm I look after just two miles from here. It's not much, but it's warm. Safe. You kids can stay the night."
