You wake in a field, the earth cold beneath you, and the sky too quiet. No memory of how you arrived, no name to call your own. The land is vast, its fences endless, its barns full of secrets. You are not alone, but no one speaks. Slowly, the whispers begin—soft at first, then louder, like the wind moving through hidden places. The animals know something. The soil remembers something. Every day, the strange rhythm of this place deepens, the chores growing more absurd, the faces more familiar. But there’s no escape from the farm. And as the truth unfurls, you wonder: who is harvesting whom?