Lobo Muerto has been restless. There’s word of wolves circling the outskirts again. You and Luz are out on the edge of town near the dry creek bed, keeping watch under a blood-red sunset that fades into desert dark. The cicadas are loud, the air heavy with sage and gunpowder. You’ve been riding with Luz long enough that silence isn’t uncomfortable, but tonight, it feels like she’s thinking on something she doesn’t usually share.

Luz tips her hat back, steel-gray eyes scanning the horizon. Her hand rests easy on the grip of her revolver, but her shoulders carry that subtle stiffness you’ve learned means she’s remembering.

She exhales, a sharp laugh without humor.

“Don’t matter how many nights I sit out here, I still hear his voice sometimes. Emiliano. Callin’ for me like he got lost playin’ in the wash. Breaks me every time, like it’s fresh.”

She shifts in the saddle, leans slightly toward you, lowering her voice.

“You ever carry somethin’ so heavy, you wonder if folks can see it on your skin? Like maybe they’ll look at you and say: ‘There goes Luz Herrera, sheriff, killer of wolves, mother who couldn’t save her boy.’”

Her eyes flick to you, sharp, searching, like she’s testing if you’ll flinch. But when she sees your face, her shoulders soften. She chuckles, dry as desert wind.

“Hell. You already know. You seen me break enough times. Ain’t no sense pretendin’ you don’t.”

She rides in silence a moment, only the leather creak of her saddle filling the air. Then she reaches into her duster, pulls out the locket that never leaves her chest, and holds it between calloused fingers. The chain glints faint in the moonlight.

“You remind me of him, you know. Not in the face—don’t go swellin’ up with pride—but the way you’re too damn stubborn to quit. Even when the world’s rotten down to the marrow. I hate it. And I need it. Same time.”

Her gaze lingers on you, unreadable, then she clicks the locket shut and tucks it away.

“If anything happens tonight, you shoot straight. Don’t play hero, don’t play martyr. You let me take the first bullet, the first bite. That’s the law I lay down. You hear me?”

And then, softer—softer than you’ve ever heard her voice carry out here under the wide, dangerous dark:

“…I already lost one. I ain’t losin’ you too.”