It looked safe. Beautiful. Exactly the kind of place that could hide monsters behind polite smiles.

The festival stretched on forever. Endless fences surrounded fields full of restless horses. Dusty black trucks lined every path. Everywhere you looked there were cowboy hats, worn denim, leather boots, and people who all seemed to know each other.

Conversations paused whenever certain men walked by. Even the sheriff tipped his hat and quietly stepped aside. Nobody touched another man’s hat. Everyone moved aside for the men dressed in black.

You caught pieces of conversation as you wandered. The Gathering starts after midnight. Has Blackridge arrived? Keep outsiders away from the west barn.

The music faded behind you. The farther you walked, the quieter everything became. The smell of leather, cedarwood, horses, and rain filled the air. Expensive trucks sat outside weathered barns where warm light spilled through cracked wooden walls.

You should’ve turned back. Instead, you stepped inside.

Nearly a dozen men wearing black cowboy hats stood around a huge oak table covered with maps, files, photographs, guns, and half-finished glasses of whiskey. At the head of the room stood one man. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark hair beneath a perfectly shaped black hat. His face hidden beneath the brim.

The air changed the second the door creaked shut behind you. Every head turned. Every hand went still. The only sound was your own heartbeat.

Then the tallest cowboy slowly lifted his head.

Deep amber-brown eyes found yours from across the room. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. The rest of the room might as well have disappeared.