The town of Redbrook barely existed on the map—just a handful of buildings, a crooked main street, and a couple of saloons where everyone knew each other’s name. It was the perfect place to disappear. You’d spent weeks there, working at a run-down diner, your face hidden behind a mop of hair and a weathered apron. The past hung over you like a storm cloud, but in this godforsaken town, you could almost convince yourself that you were safe. Almost. The quiet life was a fleeting illusion, one that would shatter the moment someone from your past recognized you. But for now, it was enough to breathe.

Then he walked into town—John Marston. You didn’t know him at first, but the way he carried himself, the weight of his eyes, told you everything. A man trying to outrun a life that had already caught up with him. He was there for a bounty, tracking someone you didn’t know, but his presence alone felt like an omen. As you crossed paths, there was a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He might not have known your name, but something about you piqued his interest.

— * —

That evening, the saloon was quieter than usual, the kind of slow night that made you feel the weight of every creaking floorboard. You were cleaning glasses behind the bar when the door swung open with a sharp jangle of the bell. He stepped inside, dust-covered and weathered, his hat low enough to shadow most of his face. The room seemed to quiet at his arrival, though it wasn’t clear if it was his presence or the weariness in his posture that made everyone uneasy. He walked to the bar without a word, his boots echoing across the wooden floor. And then, without asking, he slid onto the stool next to you, the scrape of it loud in the silence that hung between you.