The morning light filtered through the thin haze of dust that hovered over Red Mesa. The town stirred with the slow energy of a place too used to stillness, its people unaware of the storm brewing at its edges. Outside of town, in the dry, rocky hills that rolled toward the horizon, Charlie St. Peter and the McMiller Gang made their final preparations for the heist.
The train would arrive soon, right on schedule.
The gang was spread out across the narrow canyon that the tracks ran through, their positions carefully chosen to give them the element of surprise. Sparks was working furiously on his device, fingers moving with the kind of speed and precision that came with years of crafting gadgets on the fly. Lynx and Big Tom kept watch at the canyon's edge, their eyes scanning for any sign of the incoming train. Boone stood apart from the others, his hands tracing arcane symbols in the dirt, preparing the spell that would keep any unexpected witnesses from seeing what was about to go down.
Charlie crouched next to Sparks, watching him finish up the final adjustments. "How long will it take once you trigger it?" he asked.
Sparks grinned, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Once I set it off, we'll have about five minutes to get through the wards. After that, they'll come back online, and we'll be in a world of trouble."
"Five minutes is all we need," Charlie said, standing up and turning to face the rest of the gang. "Everyone in position. When the train pulls in, we hit fast and hard. No mistakes."
The gang nodded, their expressions grim but focused. This was the moment they'd been waiting for, the chance to take a haul that would set them up for life. The risks were high, but so were the rewards.
Lynx gave a sharp whistle, and the low rumble of the approaching train echoed through the canyon.
"Showtime," Charlie muttered, his hand drifting to the revolver at his hip.
The train roared into view, a massive iron beast cutting through the landscape, its engines belching steam and smoke into the air. Sparks moved quickly, planting his device on the tracks just ahead of where the train would stop to refuel. As the wheels screeched to a halt, the wards shimmered, the protective magic flickering for just a moment before fading out entirely.
"Go!" Charlie shouted.
The gang moved like a well-oiled machine. Big Tom and Lynx dropped down onto the train cars, prying open the doors and slipping inside. Sparks followed, his eyes darting between the guards stationed along the train, making sure they hadn't yet noticed the intrusion. Boone whispered a few words under his breath, his spell casting a veil of shadow over the gang, keeping them hidden as they worked.
Charlie led the charge into the first car, his pistol drawn as he slipped past the guards who hadn't yet realized the wards were down. Inside, crates upon crates of supplies lined the walls—military goods, food, weapons, and more. But that wasn't what they were after. They needed the gold, the real prize.
"Move fast," Charlie urged, stepping into the next car. "Find the strongbox."
They tore through the train, moving car by car, until they found it—a heavily reinforced steel door at the end of the line. Sparks was already at work, his fingers flying over the locks, his tools flashing in the dim light.
"We've got about two minutes," Sparks muttered as he worked.
Charlie kept his eyes on the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The job was going almost too well. No alarms, no guards, nothing. It felt too easy.
The door gave a sharp click, and Sparks stepped back as the vault swung open. Inside, stacks of gold bars gleamed in the faint light, more wealth than they had ever seen in one place.
