A man stood at the edge of the lamplight, not stepping into it yet, as if he didn’t need the town’s approval to be seen. He was tall in a way that didn’t feel like show. His shoulders were broad beneath a weathered coat. A scar ran from his left cheek into the gray-flecked beard that covered his jaw, pale against sun-dark skin.
Most men in Crescent Gulch carried guns like jewelry.
This man carried his like a tool.
Ada recognized him the way everyone did: by the space he made around himself.
Jonah Crowe.
The mountain man.
They said he lived up in the high country near Shadow Ridge, where the pines grew like black spears and the snow stayed long after spring had turned polite down in town. They said he’d lost a wife years ago and the grief had left him with more silence than words. They said he could track a wolf through a blizzard and build a cabin tight enough to keep out sorrow.
He stepped closer, boots crunching, and the crowd parted like instinct. Jonah’s eyes traveled over June, over Lila, and then landed on Ada.
Not on her body.
On her face.
