Cole expected heat.
Instead he got cold.
The kind that didn't belong in daylight. The kind that sank into bone too fast, like stepping from desert sun into a meat locker. Dusty felt it too—his fur bristled, tail stiff, a low growl building in his chest.
They were a mile north of the signal tower when the wind died completely.
Not slowed.Died.
Silence folded over the land in a way Cole didn't trust. A silence with weight. A silence that waited for something.
The kind the House liked.
Cole slowed the mule and dismounted. The ground here was wrong—smooth in places it shouldn't be, rutted where no wagon had been. Sand lay in long straight lines like it had been brushed. Even the rocks looked placed.
Dusty stopped dead.
His nose went up.Then down.Then he froze.
Cole followed his gaze.
A wreck sat ahead on the side of the road. Not a big one. Old sedan frame, half-buried, metal chewed by years of storms. Nothing unusual. Nothing threatening.
Except for the man standing behind it.
Dusty froze harder.
The dog went still like a thought cut off mid-breath. One paw lifted. Didn't come down.
Cole's hand drifted toward the revolver. Not touching it. Just acknowledging it.
The man didn't move.
He didn't posture.Didn't call out.Didn't raise a weapon.
He just stepped out from behind the wreck slow, like the land was letting him go reluctantly.
Dust slid off his coat in thin lines.
Cole felt the air tighten.Not louder.Sharper.
Dusty's ears pinned back. Not fear. Calculation.
Cole said, "Afternoon."
The man didn't blink.
He just watched.
Close enough Cole could make out the details—coat frayed but clean, boots cracked but oiled, hair cut recently. None of that should've been possible out here.
Travelers looked worn.He didn't.He looked… edited.
The air bent a little around him. Not visually. Cole felt it in his teeth. Like biting foil.
"Stop," Cole said.
The word fell flat. Didn't echo. Didn't carry.
But the man stopped anyway.
Cole's fingers brushed the revolver grip now. Gently. Just enough to feel real.
"Name?" Cole asked.
The man tilted his head like the question took too long to reach him.
Then he spoke.
Measured.Even.Too even.
"You shouldn't be here."
Dusty's growl deepened.
Cole shifted his stance, weight balanced. "Road's open."
"Not for you."
The way he said it wasn't a threat. It was a fact. Like noting the color of a stone or the direction of wind.
Cole scanned him again.
Face ordinary. Too ordinary. A face that could fit anywhere and nowhere. No scars. No anger. No exhaustion. Just a man-shaped placeholder.
Behind him, the wreck creaked as the sun heated metal. A small tick-tick-tick sound like cards slapping a table slowly.
Cole didn't like that.
"State your business," Cole said.
The man's eyes flicked to Dusty.
Not curious.Not afraid.
Recognizing.
Cole felt the pressure build behind his eyes. Subtle at first. The familiar early pull of system text forming just out of sight.
House attention.
The man stepped closer.
Dust rose in a line along the road and didn't cross. As if there was a border drawn in the dirt only the dust respected.
Dusty barked—one sharp sound.Warning.Final.
The man smiled.
Not friendly.Satisfied.
Like he'd been waiting for that bark.
Behind the smile, something moved wrong. Like watching a reflection shift after the face stops moving.
Cole raised the revolver.
The man didn't flinch.
"You brought the dog," the man said softly.
"Yeah," Cole said. "I did."
"He remembers me."
Dusty snapped his jaws once, teeth loud in the silence.
Cole's stomach tightened.
He didn't know many people Dusty remembered. And none that made him act like this.
Cole took a step sideways, shifting the angle, giving himself space.
"What do you want?" Cole asked.
The man looked at the sky. At the empty horizon. At the long straight cut of the road stretching behind Cole.
Then he looked back.
"Your next card."
Cole's grip tightened. "I didn't draw."
"You were dealt."
The pressure behind Cole's eyes surged. System text flickered faint but visible.
HOUSE OF RECKONINGPENDING HAND — ONE CARD DRAWDEALER: UNKNOWNODDS: CLASSIFIED
Cole exhaled slowly. "Not playing today."
"You don't choose," the man said.
Cole circled him slightly, Dusty mirroring.
The man didn't turn to follow. He let Cole move. Let Dusty move. Like none of it mattered.
"You're late," the man added.
"For what?" Cole asked.
"For the loss."
Cole cocked the hammer.
The man's smile widened. Cracked at the edges like dried paint.
Then the wreck behind him collapsed inward with a sound like a building inhaling. Metal folded. Dust shot upward. A harsh, sharp sound like someone shuffling a deck too close to an ear.
Dusty lunged, forcing Cole back another step.
The man didn't react to the collapse.
He just watched Cole.
"You can't avoid her," he said.
"Who?" Cole asked.
"You know."
The wind returned suddenly, blasting sand across the road. The man's coat whipped to the side. The shadows around the wreck lengthened in a direction that didn't match the sun.
Cole blinked.
And the man was gone.
Not ran.Not hid.Gone.
No footprints.No dust trail.No sound.
Dusty barked frantically at the empty space where the man had stood.
Cole scanned the road, the wreck, the ridges.
Nothing.
The pressure behind his eyes eased in a sudden drop, like the House got bored all at once.
The system text flickered and faded.
Cole lowered the revolver but didn't holster it.
"What the hell was that," he muttered.
Dusty pressed against his leg, shaking once, then settling.
Cole approached the wreck carefully.
He crouched.
Ran his hand across the collapsed metal.
Still warm. Too warm.
He stood again and scanned the horizon north.
A faint shimmer sat there.
A different shimmer than before.
A path.A pull.A direction he didn't want but would follow anyway.
Cole mounted the mule.
Dusty trotted ahead, cautious but determined.
They continued north.
Cole didn't look back.
He already knew the road would be different if he did.