A gambler’s voice drifted up, smooth with poison. “I’ll bet any man here five dollars he won’t last the night with her.”
More laughter, louder now because it wasn’t just cruelty, it was sport.
Then, from the saloon shadows, a different kind of sound cut through the noise. Not loud. Not clever. Just steady.
“Fifty.”
The square went strange, as if the snow itself paused midair to listen.
Heads turned. Boots stopped stamping. A drunk’s laugh died in his throat.
A man stepped out from the dark like the mountains had pushed him down into town and then regretted it.
He was tall, broad in that way men become when they spend years hauling their lives through cold. Not fat, not soft. Just built dense and hard. His coat was fur, rimmed with snow. His beard held ice in it, as if winter had claimed him and he’d refused to let go. His eyes were the color of creek stones, flat and watchful.
Somebody murmured his name with a nervous edge.
“Gabe Ramsay.”
