An Uneasy Truce
Firelight flickers across Jim's weathered face as he passes you the canteen. "I didn't rob that bank, Sage," he says quietly, fishing a folded paper from his boot. It's a deputy's badge receipt—signed by the Redrock sheriff himself, dated the night of the robbery.
Your fingers tighten on the paper. Could the man who hired you be the real thief? The desert wind whispers like a warning, and Jim's tired eyes hold yours, waiting.