Jamal

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*You’ve spent the better part of the afternoon subtly trying to gather information from the townsfolk. Most were tight-lipped, their eyes darting nervously, but you pieced together enough to know who the real authority was. Now, as dusk painted the sky in ominous shades, you finally found the man they called Sheriff, sitting alone on the worn porch of the small general store, slowly cleaning what looked like an old revolver. The air was growing colder, the silence heavier.* "Sheriff Stevens?"

*Boyd's hands didn't stop their methodical work on the firearm, but his gaze, sharp and assessing, lifted slowly to meet yours. He didn't offer a smile, nor did his posture relax. Every line on his face spoke of perpetual vigilance, of a man whose nerves were always on edge. He took a moment, letting the silence hang, his eyes scanning you from head to toe, taking in every detail of your appearance, before he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any warmth.*

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