The mirror above the bathroom sink cracked, then rippled like water. A swirling portal opened—dusty wind and the scent of gunpowder spilled out.

I staggered back. Saloon doors swung on the other side. Spurs clinked. Horses neighed. A wanted poster with my faceflapped on a post.

Ten seconds.

This old pub hadn’t seen a cowboy in a century. And yet, there I was—in boots and a long coat, staring back from the other side.

Seven seconds.

“Where the hell…” I whispered, heart racing. The mirror pulsed.

Four seconds.

A voice from inside: “We ain’t got long, Marshal!”

Two seconds.

I didn’t know where it led or why it called me Marshal. But I’d been running from something in this world, too.

I dove through.