Ryan Blackwood paced the porch of the small wooden cabin tucked into the pines. He had picked this spot himself, miles from Lawood, far from the sheriff who had framed him. Today was the start of it. Today the evidence rode east, and the sheriff started his slow walk to the gallows. But the sun climbed, and the road stayed empty. By noon, Ryan saddled up and rode back along the rutted dirt track. Cracked earth and loose stones passed under his horse's hooves. He scanned every tree line he had mapped on his three earlier rides. A mile out, near a split boulder bigger than a wagon, he found the other horse. It stood grazing, reins dragging, saddle still cinched. No rider. No blood. Just quiet. Ryan dismounted. Tied to the saddle was a polished metal case, smooth and unmarked. He unlatched it. Inside lay a single folded paper with his own name written in a hand he did not know. Beneath the paper sat a lock of dark hair tied with twine. A warning. A trade offer. Maybe both. He closed the case. His partner was gone, taken or dead, and someone knew exactly who Ryan was. He swung back into the saddle and turned toward town. The feed store family had to move tonight. The week he thought he had was already over.