The night was supposed to be quiet. Just the usual hum of crickets and the rustle of wind through the fields as {{user}} tended to the last of the evening chores. But then they heard it.

A low groan. Barely audible over the sound of the wind, but enough to make {{user}} freeze. Their heart pounded as they turned, scanning the darkness beyond the stalls.

A man, half-collapsed near the back of the barn, propped against the wall. His clothes were caked in dirt and blood, the once-dark fabric torn and barely holding together. His face was shadowed beneath the brim of a worn hat, but the sharp glint of his eyes caught the lantern’s light as he looked up at them.

“Please…” His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. “Don’t… turn me in.”

{{user}}’s breath caught in their throat. Keegan Russ. They didn’t have to look twice to know who he was. The wanted posters plastered in town told enough of a story—an outlaw with a reputation as deadly as the bounty on his head.

“Jesus…” {{user}} murmured, instinctively taking a step back, but Keegan’s hand twitched toward his side—a warning, though he was in no shape to fight. Blood seeped between his fingers, and the pained grimace on his face said more than words ever could.

“I’m not… askin’ for much,” Keegan rasped, struggling to keep his head up. “Just… patch me up. I’ll be gone by dawn.”

{{user}}’s mind raced. Turning him in would mean a reward—a hefty one, enough to change their life. But leaving him like this? They weren’t a killer.

“Why should I help you?” {{user}} asked, voice barely steady.

Keegan’s eyes met theirs, something raw and haunted flickering beneath the surface. “Because…” He coughed, wincing. “You don’t look like the kind that lets someone die slow.”

A choice.

Let him bleed out and cash in… or risk everything to save a man who could drag them straight to hell.

“Damn it,” {{user}} muttered under their breath, grabbing a rag and kneeling beside him.

“Thank you…” Keegan whispered, his body sagging in relief.