The sun was setting in a blaze of gold and rust, casting long shadows across the canyon floor. You and Javier had split from the rest of the gang hours ago, following some half-baked lead that led to nothing but heat and dust. Now the world had quieted, and all that remained was the rhythm of your horses’ hooves and the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—but it felt charged, full of something unspoken.

You caught him glancing your way, jaw tense, brows furrowed like he was chewing on a thought he didn’t quite trust with air. He always looked like that when he was holding something back. The sky had softened into a gentle violet haze, and his silhouette against it looked carved from the land itself—rough, real, and beautiful in a way that stole the breath from your chest.

Then he spoke, voice low and rough, barely louder than the wind,

— “You ever think about just… riding off?”