The morning was supposed to bring relief. A few precious hours where the Ghost Riders couldn't come for them.
But Jesse wasn't feeling safe.
The words from the lead Rider still echoed in his mind.
"Enjoy your powers while they last… because soon, they'll take everything from you."
He didn't like threats. Especially ones that felt like promises.
The gang packed up camp in tense silence. The only one who didn't seem rattled was Clint, who kept tossing a flicker of blue fire between his fingers like a gambler testing his luck.
Zeke frowned. "You ever gonna put that out?"
Clint smirked. "Ain't hurtin' nobody."
Maggie shot Jesse a look, her frustration bubbling up. "We gonna talk about this or just pretend it ain't happenin'?"
Jesse tightened his saddle straps, pretending not to hear her.
Maggie wasn't having it. "Jesse."
He sighed, finally turning. "What do you want me to say? Yeah, Clint's got fire hands. I don't know how, I don't know why, and I sure as hell don't know what's next."
Maggie folded her arms. "That ain't good enough."
"It's gonna have to be."
She looked like she wanted to argue more, but Cooper suddenly cursed.
"Son of a—!"
Everyone spun.
Cooper was holding up his right arm, staring at it in horror.
Black veins had spread across his skin—jagged, ink-like, twisting up to his elbow.
The same way Clint's had before the fire came.
"Oh, hell," Zeke muttered.
Cooper was breathing hard, panic creeping in. "No. No, no, no. I ain't—this ain't—I don't want no damn fire hands!"
Jesse grabbed his wrist. "Calm down."
"Easy for you to say! You ain't—" Cooper winced as a pulse of something ran up his arm.
Then the ground cracked beneath him.
A jagged split ran through the dirt, like something had just punched the earth from below.
Maggie took a step back. "What the hell was that?"
Cooper looked at the crack, then at his hand. "I... I don't know."
Zeke eyed Jesse. "I think we just figured out his power."
Jesse's stomach dropped. The curse was still spreading.
And it wasn't stopping at Clint.
The gang rode on, faster than usual. None of them wanted to be caught out when night fell.
But Jesse couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something.
The Ghost Riders weren't just tormenting them. They weren't just killing for fun.
They were waiting for something.
Hours later, they reached a small, half-buried cabin at the base of a ridge. Looked abandoned. Probably was.
Jesse dismounted, knocking his knuckles against the door.
Silence.
Then—a whisper.
"…go away…"
Jesse's gun was in his hand before he even thought about it. "Who's there?"
The voice was hoarse, broken. "You don't wanna be here…"
Maggie stepped beside him, rifle raised. "Too bad. We ain't leavin'."
Slowly, the door creaked open.
Inside, an old man sat hunched at a table, his eyes sunken, his skin stretched tight over bones too thin.
And on his neck?
The same black veins that now curled up Cooper's arm.
Jesse's blood ran cold.
The man stared at him, something haunted in his eyes.
"You opened it, didn't you?"
Jesse didn't answer. Didn't have to.
The man let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
"You're already dead."