Somewhere in the Oregon Territory, 1860s.

You didn’t mean to stray so far from the wagon train.

The trees grew denser, the air colder, and the sound of your own breath became too loud. Then you heard another—not yours. You turned and saw a figure on horseback just beyond the trees, dismounting with unnatural ease. He wore a long, battered coat and a wide-brimmed hat. His eyes were small and sharp, his grin crooked.

“You’re a long way from safety,” he said, voice thick with mockery. “What’s your name, traveler?”