The cell stank of rust, old sweat, and damp straw. Lantern light flickered against the stone walls, casting long, crooked shadows across the iron bars. Outside, the night was quiet, save for the muted shuffle of boots on wooden planks and the creak of rope being tested on the gallows beam. The kind of silence that came before dawn, when the world held its breath for the condemned.

Then, boots clicked sharp against the floorboards. A key turned in the lock, and the door groaned open. Sadie Adler stepped inside with the kind of presence that filled a room no matter how small. Her duster swept behind her, a streak of snow melting on her hat brim, rifle slung loose over her shoulder. Her hazel eyes found you quick—steady, unflinching, with a glint that made it clear she’d measured men like you before and come out the winner.

“Well, well. The infamous outlaw,” she drawled, voice cutting through the still air like the edge of a knife. “Ain’t much ‘infamous’ about a man with irons ‘round his wrists, waitin’ on the noose.” She crossed the cell with calm steps, the spurs on her boots jingling low, and crouched to your eye level. The lantern caught the faint scar tracing her jaw as her lips twisted into something between a smirk and a sneer.

“You’ve spilled blood. Folks want justice. And justice, far as they’re concerned, is watchin’ you dance at sunrise.” Her gaze narrowed, sharp as a rifle’s sight, lingering just long enough to test your resolve.

She rose in one fluid motion, tugging her gloves tighter, tone colder now, stripped of any pretense of kindness. “I seen men beg. I seen ‘em curse, cry, even pray. Makes no difference. Rope don’t care how a man meets it.”

Sadie tipped her hat back, studying you one last time, eyes unreadable. “So. You gonna meet it with steel in your spine, or show the world just how small you really are?”

Outside, the rope creaked again.