The sun hung low over the western plains, a dull orange disk bleeding into the haze of dust that clung to the horizon. Kade Shen trudged along a rutted trail, the broken saber swinging at his hip, its jagged edge scraping faintly against his belt with every step. Three days had passed since he’d buried his family, three days of walking, tracking, and choking down the dry jerky he’d scavenged from an old shed near the ranch. His boots were caked with mud from a brief rain the night before, and his throat burned for water he didn’t have. But he kept moving, eyes fixed on the faint hoofprints scarring the earth—Red Talon’s trail, leading him deeper into the wild.

The land here was unforgiving, a sprawl of cracked plains and stunted scrub that stretched toward the sawtooth peaks in the distance. No towns, no rivers, just endless sky and the ghosts of his family whispering at his back. He’d found signs along the way—a broken wagon wheel, a campfire’s cold ashes, a snapped arrow shaft—all pointing west. Darius Vane was out there, somewhere, and Kade would walk until the earth ran out if it meant finding him.

His stomach growled, a sharp pang that doubled him over for a moment. He straightened, wiping sweat from his brow, and scanned the trail. Up ahead, a cluster of boulders jutted from the dirt like the bones of some ancient beast, casting long shadows in the fading light. A good spot to rest, maybe scrounge for a lizard or two if he got lucky. He adjusted the pack slung over his shoulder—lighter now, just a bedroll and a dented canteen—and started toward it.

That’s when he heard it: the low rumble of hooves, faint but growing, vibrating through the ground. Kade froze, hand dropping to the saber’s hilt. The sound came from behind, back down the trail he’d walked. He ducked behind the nearest boulder, peering out as three riders crested a rise a quarter-mile off. Dust trailed them like a storm cloud, their silhouettes sharp against the sunset—broad hats, rifles slung across their backs, spurs glinting. Not Red Talon, not with those wide brims. Outlaws, maybe, or bounty men looking for easy prey. Either way, trouble.

Kade pressed himself flatter against the rock, its rough surface scraping his cheek. He had no rifle, no bow—just the broken saber and a skinning knife tucked in his boot. Against three armed riders, that was a death sentence if they spotted him. He held his breath as they slowed, their voices carrying on the wind—gruff, laughing, too far to make out words. One pointed south, toward a faint trail branching off the main path, and they turned, kicking their horses into a trot.

He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders, and stepped out from cover. Rookie mistake—watching them go instead of the ground ahead. His boot caught a loose stone, sending it clattering down the slope, loud as a gunshot in the stillness. The riders yanked their reins, heads snapping toward him. “Hey!” one barked, voice rough as gravel. “Over there!”

Kade cursed under his breath and bolted, legs pumping as he darted for the boulders’ thicker cover. Hooves thundered behind him, closing fast. He ducked around a rock, skidding on loose dirt, and drew the saber—not much use broken, but better than nothing. The first rider rounded the bend, a wiry man with a patchy beard, rifle already swinging up. Kade lunged, slashing wild with the jagged blade. It caught the rifle barrel, knocking it aside as a shot cracked wide, splintering stone.

The rider swore, yanking his horse back, but the second was on him—a bear of a man, all muscle and scars, swinging a machete from the saddle. Kade ducked, the blade whistling over his head, and rolled, coming up with the skinning knife in his off-hand. He threw it hard, aiming for the chest. It sank into the man’s thigh instead, drawing a bellow of pain as he toppled from the horse.

The third rider circled wide, a lean figure with a revolver drawn, firing twice. One bullet kicked dirt at Kade’s feet; the other grazed his arm, a hot sting that made him hiss. He dove behind a boulder, heart hammering, blood trickling down his sleeve. Three on one, and he was pinned. The wiry one shouted, “Flush him out, Cal! He’s got nowhere to run!”

Kade gripped the saber tighter, mind racing. He could hear the bear-man limping closer, cursing with every step, machete scraping stone. The revolver clicked as the lean one reloaded. He was dead if he stayed put—needed a move, any move. Then, from the trail beyond, a new sound: a sharp whistle, high and piercing, cutting through the chaos.

The riders froze, heads turning. A figure strode from the dusk—a woman, slight but sure-footed, cloaked in a duster that billowed like a storm. Her hair was black as coal, tied back tight, and a scarf masked her lower face, leaving only sharp eyes visible. She carried no gun, just a pair of short sticks tucked into her belt, but the way she moved—fluid, deliberate—screamed danger.

“Who the hell—” the wiry rider started, leveling his rifle. He didn’t finish. The woman surged forward, a blur of motion, one stick whipping out to crack his wrist. The rifle clattered to the ground as he howled, clutching his arm. The lean one fired, but she was already gone, rolling low and coming up behind him. A second stick struck his knee, then his temple, dropping him limp in the saddle.

The bear-man roared, charging her with the machete raised. She sidestepped, smooth as water, and drove both sticks into his ribs—once, twice, three times, a rhythm like a drumbeat. He staggered, gasping, and she spun, kicking his wounded leg out from under him. He hit the dirt face-first, out cold.

Kade blinked, still crouched behind the boulder, the saber slack in his hand. The whole fight had lasted seconds—three armed men down, no shots fired on her end, no mercy wasted. The woman straightened, dusting off her hands, and turned those sharp eyes on him. She pulled the scarf down, revealing a smirk and a face younger than he’d expected, maybe twenty-five, with a scar tracing her left cheek.

“You gonna hide there all day, or you got something to say?” Her voice was low, edged with a drawl he couldn’t place—part frontier, part something farther off.

Kade stood slowly, wiping blood from his grazed arm. “Didn’t need saving,” he muttered, though the lie stung as much as the wound.

“Right.” She glanced at the broken saber, then the unconscious riders sprawled around them. “Looked like you had it handled.” She stepped over the wiry one, retrieving his rifle and tossing it into the scrub. “Lucky I was passing. These jackals don’t quit once they smell blood.”

He bristled, sheathing the saber. “I’d have managed.”

“Sure you would’ve.” She crouched by the bear-man, checking his pulse with a casual nudge of her boot. “Name’s Lila Mei. You?”

“Kade Shen.” He hesitated, then added, “Thanks. I guess.”

“Don’t strain yourself.” Lila stood, brushing dirt from her duster. “What’s a lone fool like you doing out here, anyway? Trail’s no place for a busted blade and a bad attitude.”

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. “Tracking someone. Red Talon. You know ‘em?”

Her smirk faded, just for a heartbeat, before snapping back. “Heard of ‘em. Vane’s crew, mean as rattlers and twice as ugly. You got a death wish, Kade Shen?”

“Got a promise to keep,” he said, voice hard. “They burned my home. Killed my kin. I’m gonna find Darius Vane and bury this blade in him.”

Lila studied him, her gaze flicking from his face to the saber and back. “Big talk for a man who nearly got skewered by bottom-feeders. You even know where you’re going?”

“West,” he said, nodding toward the peaks. “Following their tracks.”

She snorted. “Tracks’ll get you lost or dead. Vane’s got camps scattered like fleas on a dog. You need more than a hunch and a broke sword to catch him.”

“And you’re some expert?” Kade shot back, stepping closer. “What’s your stake out here, Lila Mei?”

She crossed her arms, unflinching. “I drift. Pick fights I can win. Don’t need a stake to know you’re in over your head.”

He glared, heat rising in his chest, but the sting in his arm and the bodies at his feet told him she wasn’t wrong. He’d been reckless, sloppy—lucky she’d shown up. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Fine,” he said after a beat. “You know Red Talon, you know the land. Help me find ‘em.”

Lila laughed, sharp and short. “Help you? I ain’t a babysitter, Shen. You want a guide, pay me.”

“With what?” He spread his arms, pack abandoned, pockets empty. “All I’ve got’s this blade and what’s left of me.”

“Then you’ve got nothing I want.” She turned, starting back toward the trail. “Good luck dying out here.”

Kade clenched his fists, watching her go. The riders groaned behind him, stirring faintly—trouble he’d have to dodge soon. Alone, he might not make it another day, not with his luck running this thin. He hated it, hated her smug grin, but the truth gnawed at him: he needed her.

“Wait,” he called, voice rough. She paused, glancing over her shoulder. “We’re going the same way, right? West. Ride with me that far. I’ll figure the rest.”

Lila tilted her head, considering. “You’re a stubborn bastard, huh? Alright—west, for now. But I ain’t dragging you out of every mess. Step wrong, and I’m gone.”

“Fair enough,” he said, though the words tasted like grit.

She smirked again, adjusting her scarf. “Then move it, Shen. Night’s coming, and these fools won’t sleep forever.”

Kade grabbed his pack, slinging it over his shoulder, and fell in beside her. The trail stretched ahead, a faint line swallowed by dusk, the peaks looming closer with every step. Lila Mei walked with a predator’s grace, her sticks tapping lightly against her belt. He didn’t trust her—not yet—but she’d saved his hide, and she knew more than she let on. For now, that was enough.

The wind picked up, carrying the faint scent of smoke and steel. Red Talon was out there, and Kade Shen was coming for them—one way or another.