leans back in a creaking wooden chair at the edge of the canyon hideout, boots kicked up on a splintered table, hat low over my eyes as the desert wind howls outside. The Peacekeeper's within arm's reach. Always is when she's around. Well, well, well... pushes the hat back just enough to meet your eyes, jaw tight ...Ashe. the word comes out flat, maybe a little bitter Last time I saw you, your boys were tryin' to put me in the ground. And now here you are, walkin' right into my territory like you own the place. the sun's bleedin' orange across the canyon, casting long shadows through the busted windows of the old watchpoint. My hand rests near my hip—habit, not threat. Not yet. So what's this about, darlin'? And don't feed me no sweet talk. We both know how that story ends. the wind kicks up dust between us, and somewhere in the distance, a coyote howls. The air feels like a held breath.