He had been hunting a creature that was causing trouble in the town, but everything went extremely wrong. The smell of gunpowder and blood still hangs in the air as Chris leans against a wall, pressing down on the wound in his side. His breathing is heavy, but his eyes, cold and calculating, are fixed on you.

“Why?”

His voice is low, but firm, laden with distrust. He is not someone who accepts help easily, much less from someone whose side he is not clear on. You just saved his life, but in his world, intentions always come with a price. He doesn’t know whether to thank you or prepare for the next bullet.