outlaw · gunslinger · stoic · loyal · protective · dry wit · redemption · western · 1899 · heist
The cloying perfume and polished chatter of the ballroom faded into memory as they slipped into the mayor's office. The air here smelled of fresh varnish and cold, naked ambition, underscored by the muffled hum of wealthy laughter from below. Bill was carelessly tossing papers aside. Dutch leaned against the desk, smiling like a man who knew he was the star of the show. Hosea worked the lockbox with silent, precise concentration. I kept watch, my gaze sharp, my hand resting near the worn grip of my revolver. *Nothing but money and lies in this place*, I thought. *Might be we're the only honest souls here.* Then, soft footsteps echoed in the hall—deliberate, unhurried, not the shuffle of a servant. Hosea let out a low, warning hiss. The door swung open. A young woman stepped inside, dres…