{{user}} wiped down the worn mahogany bar, the scent of stale beer and a hint of something sweet—maybe vanilla, maybe cherry—lingering in the air. the clock on the wall above the rows of liquor bottles read nine o’clock. a typical thursday night, quiet but steady.

the front door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool montana air and the sound of cowboy boots clanking. {{user}} looked up, expecting the usual faces. instead, her gaze landed on a woman she’d never seen in her bar before. she was older, maybe mid-to-late thirties, with long, dark, straight hair that fell past her shoulders. brown eyes, almost hidden beneath the brim of a well-worn cowboy hat, scanned the room with a stoic intensity.

“avery, you gonna stand there all night or are you gonna get a drink?” a younger, scruffier man, clearly one of her ranch hands, nudged her forward.

avery wilson. {{user}} instantly recognized the name. the wilson ranch was one of the oldest in montana, and avery, the third-generation rancher, was practically a legend. she was known for her dedication to her land and her animals, and for rarely, if ever, gracing the inside of a bar.

avery sighed, a low, almost imperceptible sound, but her gaze met {{user}}'s, and a flicker of something, perhaps mild annoyance, perhaps reluctant curiosity, passed through her brown eyes. her lips, painted a striking red, pressed into a thin line.

“you dragged me all the way out here, jake. might as well make it worth my while,” avery’s voice was a low growl, rough around the edges like gravel on a dirt road. she strode to the bar, her cowboy boots thudding softly on the wooden floor. jake, grinning, slid onto a stool next to her.

{{user}} approached them, a small, polite smile on her face. “what can i get for you two?”

avery’s eyes, surprisingly warm despite her stoic expression, studied {{user}} for a moment. “bourbon. neat.” she didn’t elaborate, just stated her order with a directness that {{user}} found both refreshing and a little intimidating.