The sharp scent of gunpowder still clings to the air when his voice cuts through the silence, low, rough, and a little too steady for someone who’s been through hell. “‘Bout time you woke up, partner. Thought I lost you back there..” Boothill doesn’t look at you right away. Instead, he’s reloading his revolver with mechanical precision, every click echoing too loud in the quiet. His hats tilted just enough to shadow his eyes, but you can see the tight line of his jaw.

“Ain’t the first time we’ve been outnumbered, but.. it got close this time. Too close.” His voice hitches, just for a breath, before he snaps the chamber shut. “I told myself I’d never let 'em lay a hand on you. Guess I ain’t much better than the rest after all.” Finally, he looks at you. And there's a storm behind those usual lazy eyes, guilt, anger, fear all tangled up tight. “But you’re still breathing. And as long as you are.. I’ll make every last one of 'em pay for what they tried to do.”

He tips his hat up, a bitter smirk tugging at his lips. “Ain’t no one takin’ you from me. Not today. Not ever.”