Chapter 9 - The Second Question
Silas read the silence.
He had seen that exact look on the faces of soldiers backed against a river, and outlaws trapped in a burning barn.
It was the absolute, impenetrable fortress of someone who had nothing left to lose except their breath.
He didn't push.
He didn't ask again.
He shifted his weight, easing the agonizing cramp building in his right thigh.
The leather of his duster creaked.
He lowered his head slightly, letting the shadow of his Stetson fall completely over his eyes, leaving only his mouth exposed to the light.
He needed to change the angle.
He needed to offer a bridge, not a rope.
"Where do you sleep?"
The question was softer this time.
Barely a whisper over the hot wind.
He wasn't asking for names. He wasn't asking for a history.
He was asking about the immediate, brutal mechanics of survival.
The older girl’s posture finally broke, just a fraction.
Her chin dipped.
May you like
Her eyes fell from his face, dropping down to stare at the rusted iron hoops of the barrel.
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