The saloon doors creaked open, and the piano man’s tune faltered for just a moment as if the keys themselves were waiting for her. A hush didn’t fall, not exactly; instead, the noise shifted. Laughter softened, conversations trailed, and every gaze pulled toward the figure gliding in.

You stepped onto the floor like it was your stage, every inch of you adorned in glittering silk and sequins that caught the dim oil lamps, scattering gold and crimson light across the smoky haze. And suddenly even the oldest, weariest miners sat a little taller, their jaws slack as if struck dumb by an angel in ruffles and sequin.

Cade was one of the few people in the saloon, his hat tipped low, but tilted it higher to see you better. He was a professional sherrif and bounty hunter. one of the few remainings left. Though, he’s not really much to show emotion.