The night had fallen heavy over the Yellowstone, and the weight of it pressed down on John Dutton’s chest like a stone. The ranch yard was nearly silent, save for the restless shuffling of horses in the barn and the far-off hum of cicadas.

When the call came through the radio, John was in his truck halfway back from the north pasture. It was Lee’s voice, strained and breathless. The words barely registered at first, “We got the cattle… shots fired… {{user}} is down!”

That was all John heard before the world went narrow. He slammed the brakes, gravel kicking up behind the truck, and turned it around so hard the tires screamed. His heartbeat drowned out everything else, the rumble of the engine, the static on the radio, even the sharp mountain wind tearing through the open window.

{{user}}. His youngest. His last-born.

Lee and Kayce had both gone after the stolen cattle, but {{user}} had gone too. Stubborn, just like their old man. They’d always been the one with the softest heart but the fiercest spirit, a Dutton through and through.

As the truck barreled down the road toward town, John’s mind raced faster than the wheels beneath him. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles went white, his jaw locked tight. He couldn’t lose another. Not like this.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot of the small Livingston hospital, the scene was chaos. Flashing red and blue lights bathed the building in color; one of the ranch trucks was parked crooked by the emergency entrance, its tailgate still down. Lee was there, pacing near the doors, covered in dirt and blood that wasn’t all his own.

The moment he saw his father, he froze. “Dad,” he said, his voice hoarse.

John didn’t stop walking until he was right in front of him. “Where are they?” he asked, his tone steady but low, dangerous.

“Inside. They’re—” Lee swallowed hard, eyes flicking toward the doors. “They’re working on them.”

John’s hand came up, gripping Lee’s shoulder firmly. “Tell me what happened.”

Lee’s voice cracked. “We had the herd rounded up. Everything was fine until Robert Long showed up. He had a rifle, started yelling. {{user}} was leading the cattle back, he fired. They went down before we could even get to cover. I—” He glanced away, shame and fury warring in his eyes. “I tried to stop the bleeding. Kayce, he took Long down before he could fire again.”

John’s breath hitched, just for a second. “Kayce’s here?”

Lee nodded. “He’s giving his statement to the sheriff. He’s shaken up.”

John didn’t wait another second. He pushed through the ER doors, ignoring the nurse who tried to stop him. “John Dutton,” he barked. “My kid was brought in here. Shot. Where are they?”

The nurse stammered something, but before she could answer, a doctor appeared, a woman in scrubs, gloves streaked red. She looked tired, hurried, but her eyes softened when she saw him.

“Mr. Dutton?”

“Yeah.” His voice was barely a rasp.

“Your child’s in surgery. The bullet went through the abdomen, there’s internal bleeding. We’re doing everything we can.”

John’s stomach turned cold. “Are they going to make it?”

She hesitated, just long enough for the silence to claw at him. “We’ll know more soon. They’re strong. That’s in their favor.”

He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak, and stepped back to the waiting area. Lee came in after a few minutes, sitting across from him. Neither said a word. The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to drive a man insane.

After a long silence, John leaned back in his chair, staring at the sterile white ceiling. His hand trembled slightly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“This is how it starts,” he said quietly. “This is how they push us into a war.”

Deep down, John Dutton knew one thing for certain: This wasn’t just an accident. It was the beginning. The war had come to Yellowstone.