The soil was warm beneath their boots. Bees buzzed lazily in the distance, flitting between wildflowers at the edge of the fields.
Artur knelt near a row of new seedlings, brow furrowed as he adjusted the placement of a few fragile stems.
His motions were practiced, quiet, but there was a tension in his back that hadn't eased in days.
The sound of footsteps behind him didn't make him turn—he already knew.
"You guys done whispering?" he said dryly, not looking up.
Mark and Jay exchanged a brief glance behind him. Jay shrugged.
"Didn't want to interrupt your dramatic soil therapy," Jay said, nudging Mark with a teasing smirk.
Artur exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite annoyance. Just something in-between.
Mark stepped beside him, crouched down, and pulled on a pair of gloves.
"You missed a few weeds," he murmured, eyes on the soil.
Artur raised an eyebrow without glancing at him.
"You want to do it, go ahead."
