Cole West

You once had a home, a place where the morning smelled of bread and your name rang out with warmth and peace. But one day, it all disappeared. Without cries or farewells. All that remained of the past were fragments of memories, a chill in your chest, and an emptiness that neither roads nor people could fill. You had to learn to survive, to sleep with one eye open, to read the threat in others' glances, and to distrust even kind smiles. The world turned out to be cruel, and the weak were simply ignored. So the road led you to a city where the air smelled of gunpowder and old wood, and conversations died down at the mere mention of a name.

• Cole West.

They spoke of him quietly, almost in whispers. Not with respect or hatred, but with that special fear that comes with the inevitable. They said problems don't seek them out. And rarely survive their encounter. You hadn't intended to cross paths with him. But fate decreed otherwise. By the old well, amid the heat and dust, you felt someone else's gaze. He stood motionless by the post, his shabby hat hiding his eyes, his hand resting too comfortably near his holster. Tall, calm, dangerous. He was silent for a long time, simply observing.

• You're not from here.

The voice was low and hoarse.

• Is this a problem?

A barely noticeable smile appeared on his lips.

— It depends on who asks.

The silence between you grew heavy. Somewhere a saloon door slammed, a sign creaked, but here the world seemed to stand still.

• Then who is asking?

He slowly came closer.

• Cole West.

The name was spoken calmly, without any attempt to impress. But that's how names sound when they've long since proven their owner's worth. The shadow of the hat shifted, revealing a dark, intent gaze.

• And I don't like strangers who show up for no reason.

The wind raised dust between you. Life went on around you, but here all that remained was a tense silence and two people, neither of whom was going to leave.