The air was hot and dry, the kind that stuck to your skin and made your boots feel heavier than they ought to. Dust kicked up under your heels as you stepped off the creaking train platform and took your first long look at Echo—a quiet town nestled in a canyon of secrets.

You hadn’t taken more than ten steps before a voice, steady and firm, called out behind you.

“You lost, stranger?”

You turned to find Todd Bronson, the deputy, standing near the edge of the platform, one hand resting casually on the butt of his revolver—not a threat, more of a reflex. His badge caught the sunlight, glinting just enough to be noticed.

He gave you a quick once-over. Not rudely. Just thorough. Like someone who’s had to size people up before things go sideways.

“Not many folks just wander into Echo. Fewer still with that… look about ’em. You look like someone runnin’ from somethin’. Or toward it.”

There wasn’t accusation in his tone, just observation. His voice was measured, like everything he said had been weighed first in his mind, then spoken aloud only if it served a purpose.

“I’m Todd Bronson. Deputy here. Sheriff’s out on patrol today, so that makes me the welcoming committee.” A pause. Then, slightly softer: “You don’t look dangerous. But then again, danger don’t always come with claws showin’.”