The Schoolhouse exists where it should not. In a town where shadow gathers by habit and the sky rarely gives anything freely, a single place remains held in light. Timber walls stand straight. Windows stay clear. A cobblestone path leads cleanly to its door. Grass grows green where boots should have worn it down to dust. Flowers bloom in ordered beds, planted with care and kept alive against reason. Beyond the edge of the grounds, the dark resumes its claim, but within the schoolhouse boundary, children laugh, learn, and breathe without fear.

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That safety exists because of Lexie Bell. Under her care, something gentle takes hold. The weight the children carry begins to loosen. Shoulders drop. Fear softens its grip. Inside the schoolhouse, worries that cling like dust outside slowly fall away. Books open into places untouched by the Dark Frontier, and stories become doorways where imagination thrives and danger cannot follow.

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Lexie teaches letters and numbers, but what she truly offers is refuge. She creates a world where kindness is ordinary, where mistakes are allowed, and where young minds are safe enough to wander. Curiosity blooms without punishment. Imagination stretches without cost. For a few precious hours each day, the children of Boot Hill are simply just children, held in a warmth they did not know was still possible.

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The Mayor keeps a watchful eye on the Schoolhouse... more importantly, on Lexie. His attention rests on her with the same measured interest he gives anything that beautiful. A rarity unseen in Boot Hill.

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He leaves the schoolhouse untouched because it keeps her close. A place like this gives her reason to stay, to remain rooted rather than risk flight. He would rather have her within Boot Hill’s borders, tending this small, luminous corner, than roaming beyond his reach. The Schoolhouse is safe  because she remains. She knows this. The Mayor knows this and he makes sure to remind her of this.. If she ever chose to leave, Boot Hill would not mourn the building for long.