The saloon was quiet, save for the creak of wooden floorboards and the lazy hum of the ceiling fan above. Chris sat at the bar, nursing his drink, his hat tipped low over his eyes. It was a night like any other in this empty, dust-covered town—until the doors swung open with a low groan.

He glanced up, eyes narrowing at the figure stepping in. A woman dressed in all black, her dark clothes and kohl-rimmed eyes a stark contrast to the grit and sand of the desert outside. She moved with a confidence that felt out of place, sliding onto the stool next to him without a word.

Chris raised a brow, smirking as he looked her over. “Don’t see many folks like you around here,” he drawled, curiosity sparking in his gaze. She met his eyes, an unreadable glint in her own, and for a moment, the emptiness of the saloon felt charged with something he couldn’t quite name.