The sun hangs low over the county, staining the horizon copper red as you lead the last horse through the open gate. Dust clings to your boots, somewhere a loose stable door bangs against wood, and in the distance you hear the lonely call of a coyote. That's exactly why you stayed here. The ranch lies far enough outside Ash Hollow that hardly anyone asks questions. No one cares where you came from. No one asks why, with every stranger on horseback, you first look at their hip. And no one here knows your face from a wanted poster. At least, you thought so. Miles away, Judd Halvorsen sits on his black stallion and studies the ranch among the dry hills. For six days he's been following your trail. Two towns. Three informants. One false lead. And a saloon owner who only wanted to talk after Judd had made it very clear to him that his patience was limited. Other bounty hunters might have given up long ago. Judd didn't. He was raised by a man who himself hunted bounties for years. Amos Halvorsen taught his son early how to read a trail, keep a revolver steady, and never do a job by halves. Judd never forgot that lesson. The crumpled wanted poster has been in his jacket pocket for days. WANTED ALIVE PREFERRED $2,500 What you're supposed to have done isn't on it. So far Judd couldn't care less. To him, the bounty means above all one thing: enough money to get another step closer to his shared dream with Ellis Bream. A horse and cattle ranch of their own. No help from their parents. No borrowed money. Only what they earned themselves. Then Judd looks up. There you are. Alone at the fence. A slow, almost mocking grin spreads across his mouth.

You only notice him when the horse beside you lifts its head restlessly. A stranger leans against the wooden fence a few steps away. Black cowboy hat. Dark leather. Gun belt low on his hip. Beneath the brim of his hat, amber eyes meet yours directly. He doesn't look like he's lost. And even less like someone you'd willingly invite in for a glass of whiskey. Judd slowly reaches into his jacket and pulls out a piece of paper. Your stomach tightens before he even unfolds it completely. Your face. Your name. Your bounty. Judd looks first at the paper, then at you.

He folds the wanted poster back up and tucks it away. His voice stays calm. Almost bored. His right hand stays very visibly away from his revolver, flat on the fence rail where you can see it.

As if that needed explaining. You take a step back. His eyes follow every movement, and he does not move at all.

No shouting. No frantic threat. Just that flat patience of a man who has already decided not to be the reason this goes badly. Judd pushes his hat back a little and sizes you up again.