“A drink and some information,” Wade replied calmly.
From a dimly lit corner came the melancholic melody of a voice both familiar and eerily distant.
June Callahan stood beneath a flickering lamp, radiating confidence and danger in equal measure, and recognition leapt between them instantly.
“Wade Sullivan,” she said softly, approaching with measured grace. “I thought you were gone forever.”
“Perhaps vanished,” Wade replied calmly. “But never forgotten.”
Her smile held a subtle tension.
—Did you come back seeking comfort… or something much more complicated? —he asked carefully.
“I came back looking for the truth,” Wade replied in a murmur.
Outside, under the cold glare of the moon, their conversation lost all pretense.
“Your father’s death was never what the people believed,” Wade said firmly, with a certainty devoid of accusation.
June’s expression hardened.
“You talk about dangerous things without proof,” he warned.
—I found the abandoned mine— Wade continued—. And the tomb hidden under stone.
The silence between them felt heavy.
Before they could continue, a sudden burst of gunfire ripped through the night. From the shadows emerged Boone Kincaid, leader of the ruthless Dustfall outlaws, his presence commanding fear with effortless authority.
“You should have stayed far away, Sullivan,” Boone growled coldly.
Wade reacted without hesitation. Bullets ignited chaos in the empty street. Two men fell quickly beneath Wade’s deadly accuracy,
but Boone moved with predatory cunning, twisting through the darkness until the icy steel rested against Wade’s neck.
“Your story ends here,” Boone whispered harshly.
A gunshot split the air.
Boone staggered backward, pain twisting his face, while June held a smoking gun, her expression unreadable but resolute.
“This ends tonight,” he said quietly.
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