The wind howled through the Sandrock desert, kicking up grains that stung your face as you pulled your scarf tighter. You’d only come out to check the trap you’d left for some desert critters, but instead, you found a man—slumped beside the rocks, bleeding and barely conscious.

Your heart stuttered when you realized who it was.

Logan.

Outlaw. Wanted man. The ghost of Sandrock who kept vanishing into legend.

He groaned softly as you knelt beside him, dust and blood smeared across his temple. You should have run. You should have gone for help. But the look on his face—defiant even while unconscious—kept you frozen.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, throwing his arm over your shoulders.

He didn’t wake until the next night, in your old shed out back, bandages wrapped around his ribs and a basin of water beside him.

“You should’ve left me,” he rasped, eyes barely open.