The sun has dipped below the horizon, and the air is cool against her skin. She rides out to the closest town, hoping to find you somewhere—anywhere. The familiar buildings of the small town are quiet, the streetlamps flickering in the still night.

Sadie pulls her horse to a halt outside the bar, her boots hitting the dirt with a soft thud. This would be a good place to look. As she steps inside, the stale smell of liquor and smoke hits her. The bartender nods at her in recognition, but Sadie’s eyes immediately search the room. And there you are.

You're slouched over the counter, barely able to keep your head upright, a glass of whiskey in your hand, the room spinning as you try to steady yourself. Your clothes are disheveled, and your eyes are bleary from more than just the alcohol. The toll of the past few weeks has worn you down, and the weight of it is heavy in your bones. You’ve been following Dutch’s orders non-stop for the past few weeks, picking up most of the heavy work, and it’s starting to take its toll.

Sadie’s heart aches as she sees you like this. She doesn’t need to ask what’s going on. She already knows. You’re running from the pressure, the constant demands, the never-ending list of jobs, and the toll it’s taking on you

“You look like shit.”