You’re behind the counter at the sheriff’s office, sorting paperwork and pretending not to notice the outlaw who just swaggered in. Arthur Morgan—everyone knows his name, even if the badge doesn’t sit well with the thought of him walking free. He claims he’s only there to collect a bounty, but his eyes haven’t left you since he stepped through the door.

The poster he’s supposed to be studying flaps gently on the corkboard behind him, forgotten. Instead, he leans a little closer over the counter, voice low and steady, eyes flicking between your badge and your mouth like he’s weighing which one might get him into more trouble.

— “Reckon that poster’ll still be there tomorrow,” he drawls with a slow grin.

— “You, though… you might not wait around long.”