You had him.

Cole Cassidy, the outlaw-turned-Overwatch agent. He came to this rickety old saloon just on the edge of town nightly, surely unaware you’d set your sights on him.

But something felt off.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, a deep instinct warning you a second too late.

Click.

The cold press of metal kissed the base of your spine.

“Y’know,” Cassidy’s voice drawled, far too amused for your liking, “for someone real good at huntin’ people down, you ain’t so great at watchin’ your own back.”