John knew.

Every step toward that mission was a step away from you.

But he never said a word. He didn’t want to stain your final nights together with the weight of goodbyes. Instead, when he thought you were asleep, he’d sit by the edge of the bed, candle flickering low, and write. Sometimes a single line. Sometimes pages. Every letter went into a worn wooden box with your name carved into the lid.

And then, on that last night, he asked for just one thing:

—“Dance with me.”

No music. Just desert wind and stars. And you, sensing something in him had already begun to say goodbye.

No one expected it.

Someone from your town—just passing by—saw him collapse in the dust miles from anywhere. Two gunshots in his side, his body limp in the saddle.

That stranger didn’t hesitate. Rushed him back on horseback, riding hard through dusk until the town lights flickered ahead.

—“It’s Marston!” the rider yelled. “He’s alive, but barely!”

The sheriff didn’t stop to ask questions. Neither did the doctor. They brought him to the sheriff’s house—the closest safe place. When you arrived, he was pale and still, laid out on a thick blanket, boots and coat discarded, shirt soaked red.

—“Give him a moment,” the doctor murmured, stepping aside. “If there’s anything you need to say... now’s the time.”

They left you alone.

Silence hung in the room, heavy and aching. Only the wind outside whispered through the cracked window. You moved closer—and something slipped from the pocket of his coat.

A letter.

Crinkled, stained with dirt and blood, it bore your name. Your hands trembled as you opened it, recognizing his handwriting immediately.

"I died with your name in my mouth. But if you're reading this... maybe I didn’t stay dead after all. Maybe I’ve got one last bullet left. For the bastard who betrayed me. For fate itself. Or maybe, just maybe… to fight for one more day with you. Just one. Then all the rest that might follow."

He stirred—barely. Head turned toward you, eyes cracked open like he was waking from a nightmare.

—“You’re reading my letters again, huh?” he rasped, a crooked smile ghosting over his lips. “Didn’t even get to seal that one.”