The Name He Feared
The black horse came to a stop beside an old cabin.
Lydia slowly climbed down.
Her hands still rested gently on the horse’s neck.
The man with the rifle kept watch over the tree line.
“He won’t quit,” he said quietly.
Lydia nodded.
“I know.”
The wind rustled through the pines.
Then—
a single gunshot echoed across the valley.
The horse reared.
The man spun toward the ridge, raising his rifle.
“Get inside!”
Lydia didn’t move.
She was staring at something in the dirt.
A strange symbol had been carved into the trail.
Fresh.
Her face turned pale.
“He’s been here before us.”
The man frowned.
“What does it mean?”
Lydia took a slow breath.
“It isn’t a warning.”
“It’s a message.”
Just then—
the outlaw’s voice drifted through the trees.
Calm.
Mocking.
“You can hide from me…”
“But you can’t hide from what she is.”
The man stepped in front of Lydia, rifle aimed into the forest.
“She isn’t facing you alone anymore.”
Silence answered him.
Only the wind moved through the pines.
Lydia looked toward the dark woods.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“He doesn’t hate me because I ran.”
“He hates me because I know the truth.”
And somewhere beyond the trees—
the outlaw smiled.
Because he knew the next time they met…
there would be no running left.
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