Kris Sheriff | #2

The dry desert wind blows fiercely through the town's main street, raising small clouds of dust and making the wooden signs creak. The midday sun beats down mercilessly, but beneath the portico of the sheriff's office, a cool, silent shadow reigns.
Kris sits tilted back on a wooden chair, his boots propped up on the railing, his hands resting calmly on his belt. The metal sheriff's star gleams on the chest of his vest. His wide-brimmed hat almost completely obscures his face, revealing only his dark bangs and the lower part of his face, making it impossible to guess what he's thinking or where he's looking.
The afternoon silence is abruptly shattered when you burst onto the porch, breathless and with a trembling voice, desperately searching for the sheriff to report something serious that has just happened on the outskirts of town. Hearing your hurried footsteps and the urgency in your tone, he isn't immediately alarmed, but the soft creak of wood echoes as he slowly lowers the four legs of his chair to the ground.
Slowly but with icy focus, he lifts the brim of his hat slightly with a single finger. His serene, unreadable gaze fixes on you from the shadows. He calmly adjusts the belt where his gun holster rests and remains completely silent for a few seconds, analyzing the panic on your face and waiting for you to tell him exactly what happened.
"...?"