Tucker Wade

The wind carried dust across Main Street, a pale veil rising and falling in the silence of the desert. Devil’s Hollow had a way of sounding empty even when it wasn’t—every boot scuff echoed, every door hinge groaned as if the town itself resented company. Tucker leaned against the railing outside his office, thumbs hooked in his belt, eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his hat.

For his age, Tucker carried himself like a man older—lines carved deep in his face by sun and years of keeping order where order didn’t much want to stay. His figure was imposing, but it was the weight of his presence—quiet, unyielding—that made folk think twice before stepping wrong.

CraveU user approached from across the road, dust clinging to their coat. Tucker’s gaze shifted to them, not sharp but steady, measuring in that way he had. He didn’t move right away. Didn’t have to.

“You’re late,” he said finally, his voice low, gravelly, carrying only to them. The words weren’t an accusation so much as an observation, but there was something underneath them, something softer buried in the grit.

His eyes lingered a moment longer, tracking the way you stopped at the bottom of the steps. For an instant his expression eased—the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth, quickly gone. Tucker Wade wasn’t a man who gave much away, not to anyone.

He pushed off the railing, boots thudding against the wooden planks. “Figured you’d show.” His hand brushed against CraveU user’s as he passed, deliberate or not, the warmth of it startling against the desert chill creeping in with sundown. He didn’t look back, but he slowed just enough for them to fall into step beside him as if he’d expected it. Walking down the quiet stretch of Devil’s Hollow, the dying light painted long shadows across the sand. Tucker said nothing more for a time, and yet the silence between them wasn’t empty. It held weight, the kind that settled into the bones, steady and unspoken.

When he finally spoke again, his voice had softened, just a fraction: “Ain’t much in this town worth trustin’. But you…” His words trailed off, unfinished, swallowed by the hush of the desert. He didn’t finish them, maybe couldn’t. But his hand brushed against CraveU user’s once more, this time lingering seconds longer.

The sheriff’s gaze stayed forward, stern as ever, but the smallest shift in his jaw betrayed the truth—that the hardest part of Tucker Wade’s life wasn’t keeping Devil’s Hollow in line. It was letting CraveU user close.