The tension in the saloon snapped like a pulled wire. Charlie St. Peter saw it in the stranger's stance before anything else—the subtle shift in weight, the tensing of muscles, the way his hand hovered over that rifle. Trouble was here. The stranger, who had to be Cassidy, was after him.
"Get ready," Charlie muttered to Big Tom, who grunted and cracked his knuckles. Lynx's fingers flexed near her pistol, Sparks started fidgeting with a small gadget, and Boone's eyes darkened, his lips moving in an unheard incantation. The McMiller Gang had been in enough tight spots to know when to start bracing for a fight.
Across the room, Cassidy stood still as stone, but something in the way he carried himself unnerved Charlie. The blind man didn't so much as twitch in reaction to the growing tension, but Charlie could feel it—some invisible force working around him, aligning every element of the room to Cassidy's favor.
The saloon, once alive with the hum of conversation, fell into an eerie silence, as though the air itself was holding its breath. Then it happened.
Cassidy didn't speak. Didn't warn. He moved with an effortless speed, his hand flying to his father's lever-action rifle. In the time it took Charlie to blink, Cassidy's first shot rang out, a crack of thunder that split the quiet.
Charlie flung himself to the ground instinctively, ducking behind the table as wood splintered above him. The shot hadn't been aimed at him—at least, not directly. But Cassidy's bullet ricocheted off a metal lantern hanging on the wall, then buried itself in the floor just inches from Charlie's boot.
"Damn, he's fast!" Charlie hissed.
Lynx had her revolver out in a flash, but she hesitated. "He's blind, Charlie! How's he shootin' like that?"
Charlie's breath came fast, his mind racing. He didn't have time to explain the stranger's luck, the way fate seemed to twist itself around him like a protective shield. "Just shoot!" he barked, but even as the words left his mouth, another shot rang out.
This time, Cassidy aimed low, toward the bar, where Boone was preparing a spell. The bullet struck the floorboards, causing them to split and buckle. Boone stumbled, his magic sputtering out as the wooden planks beneath him cracked and swelled with impossible precision.
"Damn you, Zodiac!" Big Tom bellowed, flipping over a table and ducking behind it. His massive frame made the cover almost useless, but Tom wasn't one to rely on stealth. He pulled his shotgun free and fired blindly toward Cassidy.
Charlie peeked over his own cover, watching in disbelief as Cassidy moved like a dancer through the chaos. He never saw the bullets coming—he couldn't have—but every shot seemed to miss him by a hair. He didn't flinch as the shotgun blast tore through the air, instead pulling the lever on his rifle and firing back in one fluid motion.
The shot pinged off a metal chair, deflecting at an angle that sent it straight into the chandelier hanging above. The heavy iron fixture groaned, its chains snapping one by one until it came crashing down onto Big Tom's cover, scattering wood and glass everywhere.
"Move!" Charlie yelled, scrambling to his feet as the McMiller Gang found themselves on the defensive.
---
From Cassidy's perspective, the world was nothing but sound, motion, and instinct. He heard the shifting weight of boots on wooden floors, the creak of furniture being overturned, the rapid thump of panicked heartbeats. It all flowed together, painting a picture in his mind more vivid than sight ever could.
The saloon's patrons had cleared out fast, knowing well enough not to get caught in the crossfire. All that remained was the chaos of the fight, and Cassidy's rifle seemed to know exactly where to send each shot.
He didn't think. He didn't need to. The trigger pulled itself, the lever worked as if by muscle memory. Luck guided his hand, just like it always did.
A shot from the corner rang out, and Cassidy's head tilted slightly. The bullet whizzed past his ear, but he already knew where the shooter was. Without hesitation, he fired toward the far end of the bar where Lynx had taken cover. His bullet ricocheted off a brass spittoon, bouncing upward to knock Lynx's revolver clean out of her hand.
Another shot came from Sparks, the tinkerer, his revolver crackling with energy from some magical mechanism. Cassidy ducked low, the bullet passing harmlessly over his head. In return, Cassidy fired, not at Sparks directly, but at the metal contraption he carried. The bullet struck the device, sending a shower of sparks flying and causing the gun to misfire in Sparks' hand, throwing him off balance.
Cassidy's heart raced, but his mind was calm. Everything moved in slow motion, each shot playing out like a preordained event. The McMiller Gang was skilled, no doubt, but they couldn't compete with what Cassidy had. Not when the universe seemed to bend itself to his will.
---
Charlie rolled to the side, his revolver blazing as he tried to pin down Cassidy. But it was useless. No matter how careful he aimed, no matter how fast he fired, Cassidy was always a step ahead. It was like trying to shoot at the wind.
"Fall back!" Charlie shouted. "He's too fast!"
Big Tom, now free of the wreckage from the chandelier, grabbed Charlie by the collar and yanked him toward the back door. "We ain't stickin' around for this!" he growled.
Sparks was already scrambling toward the exit, his hand smoking from the misfired gadget, and Lynx cursed as she dove after them, her pistol lying useless on the ground. Boone, muttering under his breath, finally conjured a small shield of shadow to cover their retreat.
Cassidy stood still in the middle of the saloon as the McMiller Gang fled out the back. His hand rested calmly on the lever of his rifle, but he didn't pursue. There was no need.
The moment they were out the door, Cassidy holstered his weapon and turned toward the bar. The fight was over. Luck had played its part.
---
Outside, the McMiller Gang gathered around their horses, breathless and shaken. Charlie leaned against his saddle, his hands trembling slightly as the adrenaline coursed through him.
"Who the hell is that guy?" Lynx spat, rubbing her wrist where Cassidy's bullet had disarmed her.
"Agent Zodiac," Sparks said, still nursing his wounded hand. "FBE's top gun. Never misses a shot."
Charlie clenched his jaw, wiping sweat from his brow. "He doesn't miss because he doesn't need to aim. It's all luck."
"Luck?" Big Tom grunted. "Luck's runnin' out for us real quick, Charlie."
Charlie nodded, his mind racing. Zodiac wasn't just another bounty hunter. He was something else entirely. And that meant their plans had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
"Let's get outta here," Charlie said. "We've got bigger problems now."
As the McMiller Gang rode out of Black Hollow under the cover of night, the sound of Cassidy's rifle still echoed in their ears. They had escaped this time, but they all knew the truth.
Cassidy would be coming for them again. And next time, they might not be so lucky.
