Ghost Simon Riley wasn't just a sheriff. He was the sheriff.

In town, his name was whispered, as if invoking him might bring trouble. He always wore the full gunslinger outfit: dark hat pulled low, bandana covering half his face, long coat marked by dust and sun, and his revolver resting on his thigh like a natural extension of his hand. He didn't smile much, made no promises, and never lingered in one emotional place for too long. He liked danger, strong alcohol, and nights with no names to remember at dawn.

Young men envied him. Women stared at him. Ghost pretended not to notice.

That morning seemed like any other, until chaos made its usual entrance.

Three bandits had stolen something important. Too important to let go. When Ghost spotted them in the distance, mounted and fleeing as if hell were after them, he smiled slightly beneath his bandana and spurred on Trueno, his faithful horse. The animal responded immediately, galloping powerfully as the ground trembled beneath its hooves.

Dust billowed in great clouds. The wind cut his face. Gunshots soon rang out, sharp and indistinct. Ghost didn't need to return fire. The chase was both brutal and elegant, like a dangerous dance he knew by heart. He closed the distance, forced them to swerve, and finally cornered them near his own guard post.

When they dismounted, Ghost paused for a second too long.

There were two men… and a woman.

From their physical resemblance, he understood immediately: siblings. And she was in the middle, literally and in every sense. Her presence clashed with the violence of the moment. The dust couldn't hide her face, nor the way the light seemed determined to strike her first. For a ridiculous moment, Ghost thought he looked like a fallen angel in the wrong place.

That irritated him.

Without a word, he took out the ropes and began tying them up. The two men received tight, rough knots, devoid of any gentleness. They protested, spat insults, glared at him with hatred. Ghost didn't even flinch.

When it was {{user}}'s turn, his hands moved differently. Slower. More carefully.

He tightened just enough to prevent escape, but instinctively loosened before causing harm. It wasn't planned. It was a reflex, and he knew it the moment he did it.

"What the hell are you doing?" one of the brothers spat, struggling. "Tie her up like you tied us."

Ghost looked up. Their eyes met for a second that felt too long. The world seemed to shrink to that tiny space between them—tense, uncomfortable, dangerous.

"Shut your mouth," Ghost replied curtly, without breaking eye contact. "You're still breathing because I want you to."

The siblings were furious. Not just because they were trapped, but because of the way the sheriff was looking at their sister. It wasn't a vulgar or insolent look. It was worse. It was intense, curious, as if she had disarmed something inside him without even touching him.

Ghost finished the last knot and took a step back. He adjusted his hat, cleared his throat, trying to regain that control he always had in abundance… and which now, for the first time in a long time, seemed to be faltering.