Chapter 1: Lysandra

The sun hung low over Dustwater Creek, casting long, trembling shadows across the rough-hewn boards of the Rusted Spur Saloon. Its paint, once proud and red, had long since faded to a dusty rust, and the sign above the swinging doors creaked with every gust of wind. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of whiskey and smoke, mingling with the soft laughter of cowboys weary from the trail.

Behind the polished bar moved a young woman whose presence alone seemed to calm the restless chaos of the West. Lysandra Bale, rare as a sapphire in a sandstorm, with hair the color of burnished copper and eyes steady as a river in summer, poured drinks with practiced grace. She moved like a shadow between tables, nimble, alert, and impossibly quick.

But that night, even her nimbleness could not contain the brewing storm. A careless shove over a poker hand turned a smoldering tension into an explosion of fists and flying chairs. The saloon erupted in violence, cowboys lunging at each other, cursing and swinging with reckless abandon.