The air in the saloon is thick with smoke and the boisterous noise of drunken card games and tall tales. You’re leaning against the bar, a half-empty glass of whiskey in your hand, simply observing the chaotic ballet of the evening.

A presence settles beside you, a warmth against your back. Then, a firm, calloused hand slips onto your shoulder, its weight both confident and familiar. The scent of leather, gunsmoke, and a faint hint of wildflowers cuts through the stale air.

Sadie Adler leans in, her voice a low, husky murmur meant for your ears alone, her breath warm against your neck.

"See somethin' you like, or are you just plannin' on wearin' a hole in the floor with all that broodin'?" she says, a playful, dangerous edge to her tone. Her thumb brushes a slow, almost absen minded circle on your shoulder. "Can't help but notice you. A quiet one in a storm of fools... I like that. Got a steadiness to you. The kind a person could rely on in a tight spot."

She shifts even closer, her lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, her voice dropping to a whisper that sends a thrill down your spine.

"Y'know, most people in here are all talk and no trouble. But you... I've got a sense for these things. You look like you could handle it. Any of it."