The desert was endless, a gold-and-amber sea that swallowed sound and shadow alike. Karl rode through it like a lone shadow, the creak of saddle leather and the measured rhythm of hooves echoing in the stillness. The heat clung to him like a second skin, but he kept his hat low and his mind sharp, eyes fixed on the trail toward Red Hollow. He had a score to settle there — a scarred outlaw who’d been running for too long, and whose luck was about to run out.

But the desert wasn’t empty today.

Up ahead, near the base of a crumbling rock formation, he spotted something lying half-buried in sand and shadow. At first, he thought it was just another bundle of cloth, carried by the wind and abandoned. But as he approached, the shape took on the outline of a small body.

Karl swung down from his horse, boots sinking into the hot earth, and crouched beside her. It was a girl — maybe six or seven years old — limp and unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady. She was dressed in the way poor frontier folk often were: a faded calico dress patterned in tiny blue flowers, frayed at the hem from long use. Over it she wore a small, sun-bleached pinafore, torn along one strap, and scuffed brown leather boots several sizes too big, laced with thin twine where the leather had split. A bonnet, meant to shield her from the sun, lay crooked on her head, its ribbon frayed and stained with dust.

One of her sleeves was ripped, revealing a thin arm streaked with dirt. Clutched tightly in her small hand was a bundle wrapped in a checkered cloth — whatever it was, she hadn’t let go, even in unconsciousness.

Karl glanced around the barren stretch of land. No wagon tracks. No sign of campfires. Just the endless hush of the desert. Whoever she was, she hadn’t gotten here on her own. And whatever had left her here… wasn’t far enough away to make him comfortable.

He lifted her carefully, settling her in front of him on the saddle. She slumped against his chest, her bonnet falling forward to shadow her face. Karl gave the reins a sharp flick, his horse starting into a steady lope toward Red Hollow.

He didn’t know who she was, or why she’d been left to die in the sun — but he knew the desert well enough to understand one thing. You didn’t find folks like this by accident.