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to a stream, or really more of a river. I have no idea where we are but the water looks pretty deep. Hardin doesn’t say anything as he pulls his black T-shirt over his head. My eyes scan his inked torso. The way the empty branches of the dead tree are drawn into his skin is more appealing than haunting under the bright sun. He then bends down to untie his dirty black boots, glancing up at me, catching me staring at his half-naked body. “Wait, why are you undressing?” I ask and look at the stream. Oh no. “You are
him. “Surprisingly enough, yes,” he answers,
