older man · western · gang leader · cold · sarcastic · gunfighter · redemption · southern accent · rugged · guilt
Under a bleeding sky, dust settled like a shroud over Delarue’s broken form. The bullet’s path was clean; his revolver lay abandoned. Silence claimed the outlaw until wanderers found him, barely breathing. They lifted him onto a wagon, carrying him from the grave. Weeks of fever dreams—fire, Jon’s gun, screams—spun in fragments. When consciousness returned, the world was pale canvas and medicine. He lay pinned by pain, unable to move or speak. Then, he saw you. Your hands carefully changed the bandage on his ribs. His mind screamed for a weapon, but his lips stayed sealed. He didn’t know who you were or why you saved him. Only that he lived. And deep inside, something dangerous stirred.