Eliza’s wagon creaked like a wounded animal as she guided it through the jagged silhouette of the Sierra Nevada. The air reeked of pine and dust, a dry, acrid scent that clung to her throat. Her hands, calloused from weeks on the trail, gripped the reins tighter as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the cracked earth. She hadn’t spoken in hours, not since the tire had split on the northern ridge, leaving her stranded with nothing but a half-empty canteen and the growl of her own hunger. The mountains loomed behind her, their peaks sharp as broken teeth, while the valley ahead stretched in a haze of heat. She didn’t know if it was the distance or the silence that gnawed at her, but the weight of it pressed against her ribs like a second heartbeat.
A flicker of movement in the sagebrush made her freeze. Her fingers brushed the revolver beneath her coat, its cold metal a comfort. The brush rustled again, and then he emerged—tall, lean, his face a map of sun-worn lines. He wore no hat, his dark hair tied back with a strip of leather. His eyes, a sharp gray-blue, held hers without flinching. “You’re far from the trail,” he said, his voice low, rough as gravel.
Eliza didn’t answer. She studied him, noting the way his fingers twitched near his belt, where a knife hung in a worn sheath. He wasn’t a traveler. His clothes were too clean, his boots too well-worn for a wanderer. She’d seen men like him before—those who knew the land better than they knew themselves.
“I’m not looking for trouble,” she said finally, her voice hoarse from the dust.
He tilted his head, a slow, deliberate motion. “Then you’re a fool. This country don’t give second chances.” He stepped closer, the scent of tobacco and sweat rising from him. “You lost?”
She hesitated. The truth was a blade she didn’t want to wield. “I’m going to Red Rock,” she said, lying through her teeth. It was a town she’d never heard of, a name she’d pulled from the air. But the man didn’t flinch. He only nodded, as if he’d expected it.
“That’s a long way from here,” he said. “You’ll need a guide. Or a body to bury you.” He turned, his boots crunching against the gravel. “Come on. I’ll take you as far as the river. But don’t expect me to carry your weight.”
Eliza watched him go, her pulse a frantic rhythm in her ears. She didn’t trust him, but she didn’t have a choice. The sun was sinking, and the cold would come fast once it vanished. She climbed into the wagon, her legs stiff, and followed.
The river was a silver thread in the dusk, its surface broken by the flicker of fireflies. Kaitan knelt at its edge, filling a tin cup with water. The sound of it, soft and urgent, filled the space between them. Eliza sat on a rock, her back to the fire, and watched him. He didn’t speak again until the cup was empty.
“You’re not from around here,” he said.
She didn’t look at him. “No.”
“Where then?”
“California.” A lie, but it felt heavier than the truth. She’d left San Francisco two months ago, fleeing a name she couldn’t utter, a past that clung to her like tar. The city had been too loud, too full of faces that mirrored her own. She’d needed silence, and the West had offered it—until she realized it wasn’t silence at all, but a kind of waiting.
Kaitan exhaled, a sound like wind through dead leaves. “You’ll find plenty of that here.” He stood, stretching his long limbs. “We should move. The night’s colder than it looks.”
They traveled in silence after that, the only sounds the creak of the wagon and the occasional call of an owl. Eliza kept her eyes on the road, but she felt Kaitan’s presence like a shadow at her back. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t offer false comfort. That made her uneasy. People who spoke too little often had too much to hide.
Three days later, they reached the edge of the desert. The air was thick with heat, the horizon a wavering line of gold. Kaitan stopped at a cluster of boulders, his expression unreadable. “This is as far as I go,” he said. “You’ll need to find your own way from here.”
Eliza turned to him, her throat dry. “Why?”
He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “Because I’ve seen what happens to people who come looking for something they don’t understand.” He glanced at the distant mountains, where the first stars were blinking into existence. “You’re not the first to walk this path. And you won’t be the last.”
She wanted to press him, to demand answers, but something in his face stopped her. It was a look she’d seen before—on soldiers after battles, on women who’d lost too much. He wasn’t just guarding a secret. He was protecting her from it.
“Thank you,” she said, though the words felt hollow.
He gave her a small nod, then turned and disappeared into the dust.
Eliza stared after him, her fingers curling around the reins. The desert stretched before her, vast and unyielding. She didn’t know what she’d find in Red Rock, but she knew one thing: the journey had only just begun.
