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Elias didn't look up as he felt the weight of the pearl snaps under his thumb. "Just back to work," he said. He thought of the fence line he needed to mend and the dirt road waiting for him.

"Going somewhere?" the clerk asked, leaning against the counter.

He laid two shirts on the glass counter. He didn't check the price. You don't bargain for a second skin; you just buy the one that holds up when the wind picks up. He walked out into the cooling dusk, the paper bag tucked under his arm, feeling a little more like himself with every step.

The old neon sign for "Miller’s Dry Goods" flickered, casting a rhythmic amber glow over the sidewalk. Inside, the air smelled of cedar shavings and stiff indigo.

Elias walked straight to the back, past the rows of Sunday suits and polished boots. He didn’t need to browse. He knew the shelf. It was tucked between the heavy denim jackets and the leather belts, stacked high with the plastic-wrapped promise of a fresh start.