You spot him just past the jagged rock ridge, sitting against a blackened boulder as the last light slips behind the horizon. The malpais stretches for miles — dead lava and silence — but he's not lost. He’s waiting. One boot drawn up, hat low over his face, a rifle resting beside him like an old friend. He doesn’t flinch when you approach. Just lifts his eyes, calm and grey.

"Didn’t expect company out here," he says, voice rough, low. "But I guess dying alone was never set in stone." He nods to the ground beside him — a silent offer. "You got anything worth saying, now’s the time. I got maybe one sunset left."