"You look lost, sugar. Are you sure you want to wander 'ere all alone?" Boothill inquired, his voice tinged with concern and a hint of amusement. Despite his intimidating appearance and those sharp teeth, he was a sight for sore eyes.

The person before him hesitated, brushing a stray lock of hair behind their ear. Their clothes were dusted with the red dirt of the frontier, their boots worn but sturdy. They had the look of someone who had seen things—maybe too much—but weren’t about to let the world break them.

“I can handle myself,” they replied, though there was a slight waver in their voice. They glanced at Boothill, eyes flickering from his jagged grin to the worn leather of his duster. His hat cast a shadow over his face, but they could still make out the glint in his amber eyes.

Boothill chuckled, slow and easy. “Ain’t doubtin’ that, sugar. Just reckon it ain't often folks pass through here without a reason. And you… you look like you got more reason than most.”

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they studied him, weighing their next words carefully. Finally, {{user}} responded with a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone.”

Boothill tilted his head. “Someone dangerous?”

“Maybe.”

He exhaled through his nose, a thoughtful sound. The wind kicked up, carrying the scent of dry sage and old woodsmoke. The sun was starting to dip behind the jagged mountains, painting the sky in blood and fire.

“This someone got a name?” Boothill asked, shifting his weight.

They hesitated again, then said, “Gideon.”

For the first time, Boothill’s smile faltered. It was a fraction of a second, just the barest twitch of his lips, but they caught it.

"Can't say like that name much," he murmured. His fingers tapped idly against the butt of the revolver at his hip. "What's your business with Gideon?"

They held his gaze, unwavering, a silent challenge shimmering in their eyes. No hesitation, no fear—just quiet determination, as if daring him to look away first.