Daf gritted his teeth as he realized what Arrokas had done. “That wasn’t me, Buck,” he called, hearing boots stomp closer behind him. It was obvious who had thrown the bottle, but it was also just like Buck to ignore the obvious whenever it suited him.

Arrokas leaned back against the bar and raised his hands.

“Turn around,” Buck ordered. His voice was uncomfortably close; the smoke on his breath wafted down Daf’s spine.

“I’m not going to fight you today,” Daf said coolly. “This pirate scum threw the bottle.”

Arrokas’ eyes flitted up past Daf’s shoulder. “He was just telling me how close the two of you used to be. I thought we could reignite that spark.”

Before Daf could ponder how he could possibly know that, something cracked against the back of his head.

He stumbled forward as black spots ballooned in his vision. A wild swipe of his hand was able to catch the fleeing pirate’s arm, jerking him to a stop but pulling Daf off balance. He caught himself against the bar and ducked in time to avoid Buck’s second blow.

Daf spun in the direction that pulled Arrokas behind him, coming face-to-face with Buck and catching the third swing in an open hand with a smack. He blinked to clear his vision. “This is about to end the same way it always does, Wesson.”

The larger man mirrored his scowl, tugging his fist back and throwing a kick at Daf’s groin. Daf knocked it aside with a swipe of his leg and drove an uppercut into Buck’s chin. As his opponent stumbled back, he growled,  “One more chance to back the fuck off.”

Buck spat on the floor, massaging his jaw. “I dunno, Carter, it seems like you’re at a disadvantage here.” He nodded past Daf’s shoulder to where the pirate was held against the bar.

Daf shrugged, gaze sharp as a knife. “That’s never stopped me before.”

Buck wavered. Doubt seeped into his expression, pulling apart his tight scowl. “I’m pretty sure I just heard otherwise,” he pointed out, but he didn’t sound sure of himself anymore.

The legend was working its magic, only now, it felt like a lie.

“Then go ahead and try,” Daf said evenly.

Something clicked behind him.

Daf froze, and Buck’s reply blurred into static. He’d heard that exact clicking sound hundreds of times before. In his own hand, as he cocked his own gun.

Daf wasn’t the sort of person who froze. Arrokas wasn’t even the first person who’d held a gun to his back with no reason not to end his life. But he’d always expected to die some sort of hero, not humiliated in a saloon fifty miles from his town.

Think. When you can’t move, you think.

The rest of the crowd hadn’t moved. Buck was staring at him with growing fury. No one else could see the gun; Arrokas must have hidden it on one of the bar stools and then backed into it on purpose. He’d perfectly tricked him into this position, but still, he hadn’t pulled the trigger. That meant there was some reason he didn’t want Daf dead.

He wasn’t even drinking. Why is he in this saloon in the first place?

A breath in. That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Arrokas would hesitate to shoot, and Daf could move very fast when he wanted to.

Buck narrowed his eyes at Daf’s lack of response. “You gone crazy-”

Daf whipped around, swiping an arm ahead of the movement. His forearm impacted metal, and the gun went flying straight out of the pirate’s hand. Daf’s other hand grabbed the man’s arm before he could pull it back.

Arrokas swung his free fist at Daf’s face, but the movement was so clumsy that Daf barely had to move to dodge. Before the pirate could swing again, Daf slid around him, twisted his arm behind his back, and stepped in front of his foot just as he fell off balance.

Arrokas hissed in pain, barely stopping himself from falling to the floor. He started to move, but stopped dead when his shoulder popped a little further out of place.

“Got any more tricks?” Daf growled in his ear.

There was a long moment of silence. The pirate’s back rose and fell in jagged motions like he was fighting to keep his breath steady.

Someone cheered. Buck huffed in response.

“Tell me why you’re here,” Daf ordered.

“Needed iron and wood for a ship repair.” His voice was infuriatingly calm, even if strained with pain.

Daf grabbed Arrokas’ shoulder with his free hand and pulled him upright until he could see his face, keeping his arm bent behind his back. “Why you’re here in this bar.”

Arrokas met his gaze with those eerily piercing eyes. “Take a guess, Sheriff.”

Daf stared at him and let out a long breath.

No one else from the Starwatch was in this bar; they’d come to Tarriva to steal supplies. Daf had come to stop them, and then spent the last hour playing back-and-forth with a singular man who didn’t even seem to want anything from him.

Another trick. He felt so fucking stupid.

“You could probably still catch them on the way out,” Arrokas noted, but his voice was finally starting to shake. His eyes darted over Daf’s face.

“Fuck off,” Daf told him simply, grabbing his free arm and twisting it behind his back the same way.

Arrokas yelped in pain, tripping into Daf’s foot again. Daf pulled it back before the pirate fell over, a little surprised. For someone who’d outsmarted him twice, Arrokas was insultingly uncoordinated.

Sound stirred through the crowd, a rustle and then a torrent, and someone yelled, “Sheriff Carter-”

Click.

Daf spun around, pulling Arrokas in front of him as a shield, and again found his own gun pointed in his direction. This time, the wielder was a woman who looked to be around Arrokas’ age. There was a holstered single-shot flintlock pistol secured at her hip over a bright blue sash. Her soft blue eyes flicked to Arrokas, to Daf behind him, and then over Daf’s shoulder.

Daf ducked.

There was a loud bang behind him, deeper and hollower than the snap of a revolver. A spot on the far wall splintered. Arrokas had ducked too, and now scrambled away from Daf, stumbling before running toward the woman holding Daf’s gun. Arrokas leaned in and said something to her, but Daf’s recovering hearing was filled with screams from the onlookers as they stampeded for the door, fleeing now that firearms were actually involved.

Hands closed around Daf’s face and jerked the back of his head into something bony. He fought down the resulting nausea and grabbed his attacker’s arms, yanking down and leaning forward as hard as he could. The person fell into his back and tumbled over his shoulder, but Daf’s head was swimming, and he wasn’t able to keep hold of them as they rolled away and jumped to their feet.

Daf’s eyes focused on his attacker’s face. Close-cropped curly hair, dark brown skin, and a look of restless excitement in his eyes.

It was Sterling. The same bastard he’d had locked up not two days earlier.

And the bastard tried to shoot me.

Daf struggled to his feet and flicked his gaze around the room. Arrokas and the woman had disappeared into the crowd.

He was not going to be tricked again.

He drew Wyatt’s revolver and leveled it at Sterling, quickly backing toward the exit. Sterling looked disappointed, but didn’t pursue as Daf was swallowed into the crowd of terrified Tarrivans pushing through the door.

Daf burst out onto the street, the bright afternoon sun glancing off of the red stone and into his eyes. He spun in a circle, looking for a black ponytail or a blue sash among the crowd, but even as the people spread out down the street, he didn’t see anyone familiar.

“They’re still inside, jackass.”

Daf squinted at Buck, who stood in the street with his arms crossed.

“I saw them go up the stairs while you were getting beat up.” Buck smirked at that.

Daf stared at him. Then he muttered, “Thanks,” and ran back into the saloon.

The main room was now completely empty as Daf charged through it. He leapt up the stairs, which creaked dangerously beneath him, and threw open the door to the first room above. Empty. Other side of the hall. Empty. He made his way down the entire hall, first in a frenzy, then back down more methodically, checking any space that could possibly conceal a human.

Most of the rooms were storage, but a few looked to be living spaces, furnished with little more than a bed, a chest of drawers, and a window.

None of them contained any pirates.

Daf took a long breath, his vision spotting again as his heartrate began to slow. He sat on one of the beds and let the hot, humid air from the open window brush over him.

He was too tired to even feel angry that Buck had betrayed him. The two of them weren’t exactly on good terms, but he’d never thought Buck would side with literal pirates over Daf. But there was no other way to look at it; Daf had searched everywhere the pirates could have gone in this building, and they simply were not there.

And again, Daf had lost.

Arrokas Rhotar was young. He wasn’t a child—realistically, he was probably only a few years behind Daf’s 24—but he was obviously inexperienced, couldn’t fight to save his life, and hadn’t even shot Daf when he had the chance. Yet somehow, he’d won anyway.

Daf had never even heard his name before today, and he’d won.

Twice.

If Daf wanted to catch him, he needed to take this a lot more seriously.