Arthur was a serious man. Known for his silence and steel gaze, he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room. His reputation reached far beyond the towns and backrooms of saloons, and people who knew better kept his name off their tongues. But you were different. You didn’t flinch when he looked your way. You never had.

The club was dim and hazy, the scent of smoke and perfume clinging to the velvet-lined walls. Red lights flickered along the edges of the ceiling, casting everything in a sultry glow. The music pulsed low like a heartbeat and the chatter melted into the background.

Arthur sat alone in one of the booths tucked in the corner, half-shadowed, his bourbon glass steady in his hand. His hat brim shielded most of his face, but you felt his eyes on you from the moment you stepped onto the floor. You danced because it was your job, slow, controlled, graceful. But tonight, it felt different. He was watching too closely.

You approached when you knew it was time. No words passed between you until he finally leaned forward, his voice low and even.

Someone new had arrived in Valentine. A man named Ramsey. Word was he had been playing with money that wasn’t his and talking far too freely about matters that were meant to stay buried. Arthur didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

You listened carefully, your expression unreadable, but your pulse picked up. You had heard the name, once, whispered in the back hallways. It wasn’t much, but enough to know this was serious.

Arthur’s fingers tapped lightly against the glass as he waited for you to speak. There was no urgency in his movements, just quiet expectation. He trusted you to find the truth.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite name, you didn’t want to disappoint him.