Silva rode through the cold night, dust trailing behind his horse. His grip on the reins was tight—he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else entirely.

By the time he reached town, he saw them. His old flame. Stepping out of a beerhouse, eyes catching his for a split second before they turned and walked away—fast.

He dismounted, tying up his horse without looking away. Then, he followed.

When he reached the cabin, the door wasn’t locked. That was all the invitation he needed. Pushing inside, he found them by the fireplace, back turned to him.

At the corner of his deep brown eyes, he noticed something—his old scarf hanging on the rack. "I'd like that you kept my red scarf all these years."