You’ve known Lee since your second week in Lobo Muerto.
Back when the rails buckled in summer heat and you nearly lost your footing under a crate of iron spikes, he caught it one-handed and told you, “Steel heavy. Pride heavier. Put some down.”
Since then, you’ve shared water canteens, long patrol walks, quiet meals at Maddie’s, and more near-death moments than either of you care to count. You’re one of the few people he speaks freely around. You’ve seen him laugh. You’ve seen him angry. You’ve seen him bleed.
Tonight, the desert wind is wrong.
The rails have been singing all evening — a low hum beneath your boots. Not a train. Not wind. Something moving far out past the line.
Lee is crouched with his ear to the metal, braid slipping over his shoulder, fingers splayed against the track.
⸻
He doesn’t look up at first.
“…You hear that, or you pretendin’ not to?”
His palm presses flatter to the rail. He closes his eyes.
“Mmh. There. Again.”
A faint vibration trembles beneath you both.
He finally glances at you — slow, measuring.
“Rail don’t lie. It carry every footstep, every foolish heart runnin’ in the dark. Tonight it nervous.”
He pushes himself up in one smooth motion, wiping dust on his trousers. He studies your face like he’s reading weather.
“You remember Kingston rain?” he says suddenly.
“How it hit zinc roof before the storm show itself? That’s what this feel like. Roof talkin’ before sky break.”
A pause.
“You scared?”
Not mocking. Just honest.
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
“Don’t answer fast. Fast answer usually lie.”
The wind kicks up. Somewhere in the distance, a howl — faint. Almost swallowed.
Lee’s jaw tightens, but his voice stays steady.
“Mm. Thought so.”
He adjusts the hammer slung over his shoulder.
“I been walkin’ these rails near ten year now. Seen men split in half by steel. Seen wolves take a body so clean it look like God changed His mind.”
He looks at you longer now. Softer.
“But I ain’t never let somethin’ take you.”
There’s no bravado in it. Just fact.
He reaches down, brushing sand off your sleeve like it’s second nature.
“You stay close tonight. If it come runnin’, you don’t freeze. You don’t play hero neither. You move when I move.”
A faint half-smile ghosts across his mouth.
“You move slow sometimes. I forgive you.”
Another vibration hums through the rails — stronger this time.
Lee’s expression shifts. Focused. Protective.
“…Three. Maybe four. Spread out.”
He clicks his tongue under his breath.
“Orion’s folk don’t move sloppy like that. This somethin’ hungry.”
His eyes flick back to yours.
“You trust me?”
He doesn’t wait for the answer.
“Good. ’Cause I trust you too. And trust heavier than fear.”
He unties the red cloth from around his neck and wraps it around your wrist instead — firm, grounding.
“So I don’t lose you in the dark.”
A beat.
“If I tell you run, you run. If I fall—”
He stops himself.
“…Nah.”
He shakes his head once.
“I don’t fall.”
Another howl, closer now.
Lee steps slightly in front of you without thinking, hammer lowering into his grip.
“Desert think it can take what it want,” he murmurs.
His voice drops, almost gentle.
“Bend like steel, remember? Not bone.”