“Seems I did.” Wilder turned to his men, gesturing with lazy ease. “Boys, take a good look. This right here’s the man who’s been makin’ ghosts of your friends.”
Several of the Riders muttered. Blaze could feel their eyes on him, could hear the soft metallic ticks of fingers brushing triggers.
“Reckon you’ve been busy,” Wilder said. “Trail of bodies, dust, and trouble following you like a storm cloud. You come here to finish the job?”
Blaze shifted slightly, his tone steady. “Just came for what’s mine.”
Wilder laughed, harsh and bright. “What’s yours? Ain’t nothin’ here belongs to you.”
“Gold wasn’t yours either,” Blaze said. “But that didn’t stop you from taking it.”
The words landed like a slap. Wilder’s grin faltered for a moment. Then he stepped forward, his boots grinding in the dirt.
“You got gall coming here alone.”
“Never said I was alone.”
That sparked a flicker of movement. Half the men glanced toward the entrance, toward the cliffs above. Wilder’s eyes darted too, just for a second. Blaze saw the paranoia flicker through him, the twitch behind his calm.
“Don’t play games,” Wilder snapped. “You think I don’t know how you work? You sneak, you hide, you wait for your chance. But you made a mistake coming here.”
“Maybe,” Blaze said quietly. “Or maybe I finally got you where I want you.”
Wilder’s jaw clenched. The gold light of the lanterns wavered between them, shadows trembling along the walls.
“You think this ends with you walking out of here?” Wilder asked.
Blaze didn’t answer. He let the silence work for him. Around the cavern, boots shifted. Metal clinked.
One of the Riders whispered, “Boss—”
“Shut up, Nigel,” Wilder snapped without turning. His voice was low again. “You don’t scare me, Buckeye.”
“Good,” Blaze said. “You’ll die looking me in the eye.”
Wilder’s hand twitched near his revolver. Blaze saw it. He measured the distance, the angle, and the time it would take.
“You really think I’m the one dyin’ here?” Wilder asked with a smirk.
“Doesn’t matter what I think.” Blaze’s voice was a whisper now, steady as stone. “Matters what you feel.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re sweating.” Blaze nodded at him. “Can see it in the light. You’re scared, Wilder. And that’s how I know I’ve already won.”
Wilder’s face hardened, fury flashing behind his eyes. “You ain’t won nothing.” He turned to his men, barking sharply. “Spread out! Don’t let him near the gold!”
The Riders moved. Blaze’s hand drifted toward the revolver on his hip, but he couldn’t shoot. Not yet.
Wilder’s voice cut through the chaos, cold as steel.
“You made one mistake coming here, Buckeye,” he said. “You thought this was my hideout. But this...this is my tomb for you.”
Blaze smiled faintly. “You sure about that?”
“I’m certain.”
The two of them stared at each other across the lantern light. One was calm, and the other was burning with rage. The Riders waited, rifles trembling in their hands.
