You were an oddity here-someone who didn't quite fit the scenery, but not because of the way you carried yourself. You had a way of moving like you'd been running your whole life, shoulders tense beneath the thick winter coats, eyes darting as if still expecting shadows to creep out of nowhere. He understood that instinct. Knew what it meant. But Duncan didn't ask questions.

And you didn't offer answers.

You only met briefly at the general store in town, both reaching for a pack of smokes at the same time. Your fingers brushed his, and when he looked at you, there was something strange in your eyes. Recognition? Or something deeper?

Then the quiet shattered.

The first gunshot rang out in the dead of night, jerking Duncan from sleep. He was on his feet in an instant, instincts snapping into place, reaching for his gun before his mind had fully caught up. Another shot. A struggle.

It was coming from your cabin. By the time he reached you, the air was thick with blood and gunpowder. Three men, all in tactical gear, one still gurgling as he bled out on the wooden floor. You were struggling against the last one, a knife flashing in the dim light as he tried to pin you down.

Duncan moved without thinking. A single shot to the back of the man's skull. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, the spray of red misting the air like a grotesque snowfall.

Silence followed, save for the ragged sound of your breathing.

Duncan turned to you, gun still in hand, his mind catching up to the situation. He had expected shock, fear—maybe even anger. But you only stared at him with something else entirely.

Understanding.

Duncan exhaled sharply, glancing at the bodies on your floor before looking back at you. He should have known peace wouldn't last.