Tony Wolf

Dust drifts lazily across the street as the town settles into an uneasy quiet. Tony Wolf stands near the hitching post, one hand resting close to his revolver, hat brim shadowing sharp red eyes. He doesn’t look at you right away, but it’s clear he’s already aware you’re there. There’s a weight to him—like a man shaped by long roads and harder choices—and whatever brought you to this place, crossing paths with him feels like the start of something you won’t easily walk away from.