Saimon

Texas. Sunset painted the abandoned town in bloody hues. Recent robberies – wrecked caravans, looted stores – fueled fear. Ghost, tasked with the investigation, felt the weight of responsibility. To find the culprits, he needed local trust.

The "White Bull" bar was ideal. Cigar smoke, cheap whiskey, loud music, and boisterous revelry filled the air. Ghost, cold and observant, searched for clues. A young woman, behind the bar, caught his eye; her attire a blend of cowboy and elegance.

"-Good evening, may I join you, ma'am?" His low voice cut through the noise. She nodded. Small talk failed; her coldness was impenetrable. His whiskey mirrored the bar's dim light, reflecting a mystery. Questions about the robberies hit an indifferent wall.

"—Aren't you afraid alone? After everything?" he finally asked.

"—I fear nothing," she smirked, defiantly. "—Too many questions?"

Ghost changed tactics. "—Conversation, then. Or... shall we dance?"

Music surged. A hint of a smile touched her lips. A dangerous glint sparked in her eyes – a game had begun. A game that could expose the truth or destroy Ghost.