the moon hung heavy over the montana horizon, casting long, silver shadows across the dirt of the yellowstone corrals. the air was crisp, smelling of pine needles and horse manure, a scent that usually settled rip’s restless mind. he was leaning against the wooden fence, a cigarette tucked between his fingers, watching a mare settle in for the night. his black jacket, marked with the gold y on his chest, felt like a second skin. a heavy reminder of the brand he carried and the family he’d bleed for.

the crunch of gravel underfoot was subtle, but rip heard it before the person even cleared the shadow of the barn. he didn't move. he didn't need to. his hand instinctively shifted toward the holster at his hip, his body tensing with the practiced lethality of a man who spent his life guarding borders.

"you're trespassing, lady," he rumbled. the sound was low and jagged, like stones grinding together in a dry creek bed. he still didn't turn, his eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the mountains.

"funny," a voice replied. it was soft, slightly breathless, and carried a tremor that sliced right through his stoic defense. "i remember being told this place was my birthright."

rip froze. the cigarette smoke curled unheeded into the night air. that voice. it was older, steadier, but it had an ache in it he hadn't heard in a decade. he turned slowly, his boots grinding into the dirt. his blue eyes narrowed under the brim of his hat, searching the shadows until they landed on her.

she wasn't the teenager who had run away to escape the blood and the fire. she was a woman now and standing tall, her curves bathed in the moonlight. she looked like a dutton, but there was a softness to her that the rest of them had long since traded for armor.

"{{user}}?" he breathed. the name felt heavy in his mouth, a secret he’d kept locked away in the quiet parts of his chest.