Blue-eyed Headhunter
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 7: The Price of Silence
A month passed beneath the same blazing sun and brittle stars. The hut sank deeper into the dust, its walls weathered by wind and the smell of smoke. Mia healed slowly. The splints held her legs straight, and she learned to drag herself from the bunk to a chair, then to stand with makeshift crutches fashioned from broom handles and rope.
The Barton brothers no longer rode together into the hills. They kept to different corners of the hut, their laughter gone, their talk short and sharp. Jealousy had begun to eat at them like rust.
Mia had planted it there with patience. A quiet word to one about another’s greed. A sigh, a glance, a whispered promise that faded just before it could be trusted. She never lied outright—she only let them believe what they wanted to.
Tom brought her food first, smiling shyly as he set the bowl down. Wade saw and scowled.
Eli fixed a saddle one afternoon, and she told him softly he was the only one who worked without complaint. Later, Tom caught the look they shared and went red with anger.
Small sparks in dry grass. All she had to do was wait.
By the time autumn dusted the sage with gray, the brothers had turned on each other completely. Shouting filled the hut most nights. Accusations. Shoves. The creak of gun belts being unbuckled and then buckled again.
Mia watched from her bunk, silent, her hands gripping the crutches that leaned against the wall. She didn’t sleep much anymore. She just listened.