Aiyana Morningstar knelt in the outlaw's empty camp and knew, at last, that she was too late. Ash filled the fire pit. His horse tracks led away and did not return. Her father had forbidden her to love this man, and now the territory had swallowed him whole. She wanted him back. She would not stop until she found him. But she could not chase a shadow, and she had no idea where the shadow had gone. She searched the camp for three days. A folded blanket. A broken spur. Nothing told her which way he rode. Her father's men expected her home. She did not go. On the fourth morning, a rider came slow across the flats. She recognized the brown vest, the red bandana, the easy way he sat the saddle. Isaiah Bennett. He had worked cattle near her father's land for two years. He was the only man in the territory who spoke to her as an equal and never once tried to stand over her. He reined up and looked at the dead fire. "You're chasing a ghost," he said. His voice stayed level, no cruelty in it. "I know whose camp this was." Aiyana rose to her feet. "Then you know more than I do." "I know he left," Isaiah said. "Rode out fast. A man doesn't burn his own camp unless he means to disappear." He climbed down. He did not crowd her. He stood a fair distance and let her keep her ground. "Your father put a price on him. That's why he ran." The words landed hard. Her father had not forbidden the outlaw with rules alone. He had made staying deadly. "Where," she said. It was not a question. It was a demand. Isaiah studied her. She saw him weigh what telling her would cost him. He worked her father's cattle. Helping her cut against the man who paid him. "I heard talk at the water station," he said finally. "A stranger bought supplies for a long ride. Traded a good rifle for silence about his direction." He paused. "South. Across the border, into the dry country where your father's men won't follow." Aiyana's chest went tight. South. A direction at last. A place with a name she could ride toward. "Why tell me?" she asked. "You lose your work if my father learns of it." Isaiah met her eyes. He did not look away. "Because you asked me straight," he said. "And because a man riding alone into that country doesn't come back without help." She understood the second half at once. The outlaw had fled somewhere she could not reach on her own. The blocker was gone. A harder one had opened in its place. Aiyana gathered her horse's reins. "Then I ride south," she said. "And I'll need a guide who knows the dry country." Isaiah did not answer right away. But he did not turn his horse home, either.