For Caleb, the stakes were higher. His family farm was one bad harvest away from a foreclosure notice.

"Keep your eyes sharp, kid," his neighbor, Silas, grunted, his hands moving like a blur. "The red ones hide deep. They don't want to be found."

Caleb didn't stop. He felt the rough texture of the ears, his hands moving by instinct. While others fumbled for matches, he felt a cob that was smoother, colder than the rest. Even in the dark, he could feel its heat.