Commander Edward Smith swung open the door of his office, the creaking hinges reminiscent of distant gunfire from the battles of the Civil War, fought only a few years before. The aroma of gun oil lingered in the air, an ever-present reminder of the frontier life in the 1870s. The flickering lamplight revealed Mister Blayke, seated at the sturdy wooden desk adorned with a tarnished brass oil lamp. His face, etched with weariness and fine lines of hardship, told tales of challenges faced on the frontier. Blayke's long white mustache and grey hair, held in place with pomade, gave him a distinctive appearance. His brown eyes shone with a quick wit, and experience radiated as if he had seen it all.

The raindrops clung to Smith's duster coat as he entered, tracing the outline of the Colt revolver holstered at his side – a faithful companion in times of uncertainty. The air in the room seemed to thicken with the unspoken weight of the past, and the ticking of a pocket watch on the desk served as a constant reminder that time marched on, but the scars of war lingered. Smith's misty blue eyes met Blayke's gaze beneath the brim of his Stetson hat. Brown hair framed a face that bore the hint of a man who may have indulged in a little too much last night.

"Why didn't you inform me about the murders, Smith?" Blayke's voice cut through the heavy air, resonating with the drawl of a man who had weathered more storms than Shadow’s End could count.

"They looked like accidents. Unfortunate events that occurred during the course of daily life here. There was no reason to believe they were anything more."

Blayke's expression tightened, revealing the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. The oil lamp flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls adorned with a few wanted posters, remnants of a time when justice was meted out by the barrel of a Colt .45. Before Smith could offer a more elaborate explanation, Blayke dropped the real bombshell. "Cord joined me. He's out at the crossing, investigating what happened this morning."

Dread settled over Smith like a thundercloud. The ticking of the pocket watch seemed to synchronize with the rhythmic drumming of rain outside, marking the passage of time in a land caught between the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of an unwritten future.

"Why Cord?" Smith's voice, laced with frustration, cut through the ominous air. "Why did the council send him?"

Blayke, weariness etched on his face, responded with a heavy sigh, "I don't know, Smith. It doesn't matter now. He's here. Tell me rather how long this has been happening?"

A flicker of realization passed through Smith's eyes. "Did Marshall Haynes send him?"

Blayke hesitated, neither confirming nor denying. "The murders, Smith, how long? And is there any connection between the victims?"

Smith's expression hardened as he convinced himself that the Council's enigmatic decision was somehow orchestrated by the man he once considered a father figure.

"Why can't Haynes let the past be the past?"

Blayke, sensing Smith teetering on the edge of despair, burst out, "Smith, damn it! Focus! We've got to solve these murders before Cord decides to take matters into his own hands. Wallowing in guilt won't change the past. We've got to deal with the present."

Blayke's words sliced through the air like a sharpened blade, leaving an unmistakable edge that pressed upon Smith. The oppressive atmosphere loomed, thickening with each syllable, as if the room itself were conspiring against him. The weight of guilt seized Smith. His inner demons clawed at the edges of his composure, but in the midst of the tempest, Blayke's unyielding determination became a lifeline.

"No, no connection between them." Smith slowly regained his confidence. "They're random townsfolk."

Blayke, persistent in his quest for information, took a deep breath, contemplating his next question carefully. "What about the feathers? I've heard whispers of feathers found with blood at the scenes."

Smith sighed, a weariness in his eyes. "It's true, some feathers were found. But I wouldn't jump to conclusions. We can't be blaming Indians without solid evidence."

Blayke nodded, noting Smith's commitment to principles and fairness. "And the curse? Voices with influence on the council claim Shadow’s End is cursed."

Smith scoffed, a bitter smile forming on his lips. "That's just a folk story, Blayke. A tale to keep the children in line. There's no curse here, just people trying to survive."

As the exchange between Smith and Blayke lingered in the dimly lit office, an abrupt, ominous knock echoed through the room, shattering the fragile sanctuary of secrets. The door creaked open, and both men tensed, fearing the intrusive entrance belonged to Cord, ushering in the imminent threat of the unknown.

As the door creaked open, the figures of Smith and Blayke stiffened, ready to face the storm they had been dreading. But to their surprise, it was not the ominous silhouette of Cord that loomed in the doorway but that of a young, overzealous figure named Jasper. The boy's eyes gleamed with an excitement that clashed starkly with the heavy atmosphere of the room, and Smith's eyes narrowed with a flicker of irritation.

"Commander Smith! You won't believe who I saw near the town!" Jasper burst out, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to share the news.

Smith's misty blue eyes bore into Jasper, and a shadow crossed his face. "Jasper, mind your manners. What's got you so worked up?"

Blayke, though also taken aback by Jasper's uncharacteristic exuberance, observed the scene with a concealed sense of relief. The tension in the room momentarily loosened as Smith's stern gaze bore into the young messenger.

"I... I'm sorry, sir. It's just... I saw him. Killer Cord. He's here!" Jasper blurted out, a mixture of excitement and embarrassment coloring his words.

The name hit Smith like a blow, and a shadow crossed his face. He shot a sharp glance at Blayke, who, despite himself, couldn't suppress a knowing smirk. Cord's arrival had been anticipated, but the unexpected manner of the announcement unsettled the delicate balance in the room.

Blayke, regaining his composure, fixed Jasper with a stern look. "You imbecile! There are proper ways to deliver news. This is not a saloon brawl; it's the commander's office!"

Jasper's enthusiasm waned as he realized the gravity of his mistake. His face reddened, and he stammered an apology, eyes darting between the two men.

Smith's patience wore thin, and he slammed his hand on the desk causing his arm to flare up with an old pain. "Enough! This is no time for your childish antics, Jasper. Learn to conduct yourself appropriately. Now, leave us. We have matters to discuss."

As Jasper hastily retreated from the room, Smith's eyes followed him, and the heavy silence descended once again. Smith's voice cut through the quiet, an edge of urgency in his tone, "Where did you see Mister Cord, Jasper?"

The young boy, still flustered, answered, "Near the crossing, sir. He's questioning the men that stand guard with the tilted cart, where the woman found the dead boy this morning."

With Jasper out of earshot, Blayke wasted no time in expressing his dissatisfaction. "Smith, you allow a child, barely experienced, to serve under your command? And does he not know who Cord is?"

Before Smith could offer a reply, Blayke pressed on, his voice taking on a more ominous tone. "And what about the child's loose tongue? With his enthusiasm, he's likely spread the news of Cord's arrival all over town. Not everyone will welcome the bloodhound with open arms, and you know it." The gravity of the situation settled like a lead weight between the two men, the specter of Cord looming larger with each passing moment.

Smith leaned forward. "You're dead-on. Action's needed. We can't afford some hot-headed local starting trouble. That'd be the council's golden ticket to a good old hanging."

Blayke, eyes always on the political tightrope holding Shadow’s End together, nodded in agreement. "Support in the council is dwindling. Their pockets might be full, but who knows for how long. We need a plan."

Smith's eyes narrowed. "Cord's visit needs to be short. He's after the murders, and we know he's relentless. Solving them has to be the top priority."

Blayke leaned back, his gaze steady. "He needs a window to work. Your people need to keep their heads down. Let Cord do what he's good at."

"If he starts prying..."

"Then make sure he sticks to the murders. Time's ticking. Cord could ride in any minute."

Smith rubbed his temples, the burden of leadership etched on his face. "I'll round up the influential ones nearby. They can spread the word. And we need a town meeting. Best shot at controlling the tale and keeping Cord's arrival from sparking chaos."

“I'll help you spread the word. No room for errors now. And your captain, Morrow, he can point out the right men to inform. Gives you the chance to extend a 'welcome' to Cord."

Blayke rose from the chair, his eyes holding a stern gaze. "Smith, one more thing. Lay off the bottle while Cord's breathing our air. The man could smell you from miles away. We can't afford any missteps now." With that, Blayke left the office, leaving the oppressive air and Smith's troubled thoughts behind.