Clara stepped off the stagecoach as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the dusty town of Red Creek. The air smelled of pine and burnt wood, a sharp contrast to the saltwater tang she’d known all her life. She adjusted her bonnet, squinting at the wooden sign above the general store: *Pop. 1872*. A lie, she thought. Maybe 300 at best.
The town was a hodgepodge of sagging buildings and half-finished structures, their paint peeling like old skin. Children darted between wagons, their laughter mingling with the clatter of hooves. Clara’s boots crunched over gravel as she walked, her fingers brushing the faded photograph in her pocket—a man with a scar running from temple to jaw, his eyes hollow. Her husband, Thomas. Killed two years ago in a mining accident, or so they said.
A voice cut through the noise. “You lost?”
She turned. A man stood at the edge of the boardwalk, his hat low, coat worn at the elbows. His face was unreadable, but his eyes—dark and sharp—held a flicker of recognition. Clara hesitated. “I’m looking for work.”
He tilted his head. “This ain’t no place for women, unless they got a knife and a mean streak.”
She met his gaze. “I’ve got both.”
His lips twitched, almost a smile. “Name’s Jarek. You’re Clara, then? The widow.”
She stiffened. How did he know? “I don’t recall giving you my name.”
“Word travels fast here. You’re the reason the sheriff’s been sweating his boots off.”
Clara’s pulse quickened. She’d heard rumors about Red Creek—miners disappearing, claims being seized, a shadowy figure pulling strings. But she hadn’t expected to be the center of it. “I didn’t come here for trouble,” she said, voice steady.
Jarek studied her, then nodded. “Come on. Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”
He led her through the town, past a saloon where a piano played a mournful tune and a barkeep shouted over the din. The air grew cooler as they entered a side street, where the scent of coal smoke and damp earth filled Clara’s lungs. Jarek stopped at a door marked *Black Diamond Mine*.
“This is it,” he said. “You’ll work the shift with the others. But watch your back. Not everyone’s friendly here.”
Clara stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. Men in soot-streaked overalls moved like ghosts, their faces lined with exhaustion. A woman stood near the entrance, her hair tied back, a rifle slung over her shoulder. She glanced up, then nodded at Clara.
“New meat?” the woman asked.
“Something like that,” Jarek said. “She’s got a spine.”
The woman smirked. “Hope it’s strong enough.”
Clara didn’t respond. She’d survived worse than this. But as she followed the woman into the mine’s depths, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Red Creek was hiding something far darker than dust and diamond.
