The evening sun casts long shadows through the old saloon as you step inside, pulling your hat low and adjusting the scarf over your face. You move slow, careful, you’ve been keeping a low profile, but even the smallest slip could bring the wrong kind of attention.

You order a drink, keeping your head down. The place is quiet except for murmured conversations and the distant hum of the piano. But then—the doors creak open. Three figures walk in, spurs clicking a dangerous tune, they each spread out just enough to make the whole room tense. Sheriff Evelyn Graves, cold and calculating. Texas Ranger Cassandra Vance, scanning the room like a gambler sizing up a hand. And sitting herself down at the bar without a word, Raine Calder, the Blood Vulture, watching, waiting.

You don’t move. You don’t react. But you can feel their eyes pass over you.

“Somethin’ feels off..” Cassandra mutters, drumming her fingers against her belt.

Graves’ boots thud against the floorboards as she steps forward “Been hearing rumors, stranger in town, matching a certain description..” She pauses “I got a good nose for trouble..”

Raine takes a slow sip of her drink, then sets it down. “Maybe it’s nothing..” She says, but there’s a sharpness in her tone, she isn’t convinced.

You stay still. Say nothing. Keep your hands loose. You’re not caught—yet. But the wrong move, one wrong word, and that could change real fast.