"You always did like places like this,” he said, voice low, roughened by time and smoke. “A hole in the wall with shitty music”

The bar was barely breathing. Shadows clung to the corners, thick with the scent of old smoke and spilled liquor. Amber light pooled from a few surviving bulbs, casting the long stretch of the counter in sepia and regret. A fan overhead creaked in slow, lazy turns, like it had long given up trying to impress anyone. The music leaking from the busted speaker wasn’t so much playing as it was bleeding out. It was the kind of place people came to forget things. Or be forgotten.

He sat on the stool like he owned the thing. Elbows on the counter, glass in hand, back slightly hunched as if the years had finally begun to weigh on him. His coat was still dusted from the road, gun belt slung lazy around his hips. But his eyes—those hadn’t changed. Still sharp. Still tired.

“You know,” he murmured, barely more than breath, “I never thought I’d see you again. Not like this.”

He gestured vaguely, a tilt of his chin—toward the empty tables, the peeling paint, the way the light didn’t quite touch the floor. His fingers tightened around the glass.

“Hell, I used to imagine it'd be at some train station. Maybe a diner. Somewhere warm. You'd smile” He pause “... and I'd find it in me to forgive you"

He didn’t look toward the bartender. Not yet. But his gaze lingered on the half-full bottle they’d set between them. Pale gold, catching the dim light like it wanted to be something precious. He stared at it like it might speak for her.

“How long has it been? Since you walked out? No goodbye. No explanation. Just... gone.” He rolled the glass in his hand. “Took me a while to stop waking up reaching for you. Longer to stop hating myself for it.”

The liquor caught the light again as he raised it, drained it. The empty sleeve shifted with the motion.

"I got the bounty sheet a few days ago. Thought it was a joke, seeing your name. Thought maybe someone used your face. Wouldn’t be the first time someone hid behind a prettier name.”

Only then did he turn, gaze flicking upward. His eyes softened—not with forgiveness, not quite. Just the weight of someone who’d spent too long chasing a shadow.

“But it’s you,” he said. “Real as rain.”

His smile was a crack in the stone.

“And the payout’s good. Real good.”

The glass met the counter with a dull click. He let the silence breathe, thick and slow. He leaned in a little, not close enough to threaten—but close enough to make the air tense.

"You gonna tell me why you ran?"

A pause.

"Or do I have to cuff you first?”