In the vast, unforgiving expanse of the American Southwest, where red rock canyons claw at the sky and the horizon stretches like an endless accusation, the desert has always been more than scenery—it’s a character, whispering secrets and swallowing sins whole. For three mesmerizing seasons, AMC’s Dark Winds has captured this elemental tension, transforming Tony Hillerman’s beloved Leaphorn & Chee novels into a noir thriller that pulses with the raw authenticity of Navajo life in the 1970s. Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, the stoic guardian played with granite-jawed intensity by Zahn McClarnon, and Officer Jim Chee, his idealistic counterpart embodied by Kiowa Gordon, have navigated a labyrinth of murders, cultural clashes, and personal tempests. The series, with its sun-bleached vistas and moral ambiguities, earned perfect Rotten Tomatoes scores for its first two outings and a devoted following that spans binge-watchers and literary purists alike. When Season 3 wrapped in early 2025—delving into ritualistic killings and corporate greed that scarred the reservation—it left viewers breathless, pondering if justice could ever truly bloom in such barren soil.

But the winds are shifting again, fiercer and more treacherous than before. Renewed in February 2025 just ahead of Season 3’s March premiere, Dark Winds: Season 4 storms onto AMC and AMC+ on Sunday, February 15, 2026, at 9 p.m. ET/PT, delivering eight hour-long episodes that promise to blur the fragile line between justice and vengeance. Filmed amid the spring and summer dust devils of Santa Fe, New Mexico—standing in for the Navajo Nation’s haunting isolation—the season adapts Hillerman’s The Ghostway, a tale of a missing girl whose disappearance unravels a tapestry of obsession, betrayal, and ancestral ghosts. No full trailer has dropped yet, but a tantalizing first-look teaser, unveiled in late October 2025, sets the tone: Leaphorn’s gravelly narration cuts through flickering desert footage—”I had my badge for four years before I saw a murder… now it feels like every day”—as a trail of corpses litters the frame, hinting at a killer whose fixation runs deeper than any case file. This isn’t just another investigation; it’s a maelstrom where the desert’s dangers feel palpably alive, turning every shadow into a suspect and every gust into a harbinger of doom.

At the epicenter stands Joe Leaphorn, the Navajo Tribal Police veteran whose unyielding sense of duty masks a well of private grief. McClarnon, a Lakota actor whose riveting turns in Fargo and Westworld have made him a force in Indigenous storytelling, elevates Leaphorn from Hillerman’s page-bound stoic to a fully fleshed icon of quiet fury. In Season 4, Leaphorn grapples with the vanishing of a young Navajo girl from a remote trading post, a case that drags him into the underbelly of urban Los Angeles—a jarring shift from the reservation’s red dust to the city’s concrete sprawl. The trail leads to a serial predator, an obsessive killer whose methodical brutality echoes the ritual horrors of prior seasons, but this time laced with personal stakes that force Leaphorn to confront his own ghosts: the unsolved echoes of his son’s death, the erosion of tribal sovereignty, and the temptation to bend rules for retribution. McClarnon’s directorial debut in one episode adds a meta layer; behind the camera, he infuses scenes with an intimate eye for cultural nuance, drawing from his heritage to capture the subtle rituals—a whispered prayer over a crime scene, the flicker of a hogan fire—that ground the thriller in profound humanity.

Flanking him is Jim Chee, the Harvard-educated skeptic wrestling with his traditional roots, portrayed by Kiowa Gordon with a brooding charisma that crackles against Leaphorn’s restraint. Gordon, a Navajo and Nez Perce actor whose breakout in The Twilight Saga belies his depth here, brings Chee into sharper focus this season. As the duo pursues leads from windswept bluffs to seedy L.A. motels, Chee faces his own crossroads: a budding romance tested by the job’s relentless pull, ethical dilemmas over using “skinwalker” lore in interrogations, and a rift with Leaphorn over whether vengeance can masquerade as justice. Their partnership, forged in the fires of Seasons 1 through 3—where they dismantled a cult in Listening Woman and exposed oil barons in People of Darkness—frays under the weight of betrayal. A mid-season twist reveals an insider leak within the force, turning colleagues into potential adversaries and forcing Chee to question if the real monsters lurk in badges rather than the badlands.

Rounding out the core is Bernadette “Bernie” Manuelito, the resilient sergeant whose street smarts and unshakeable faith have become the show’s emotional lodestar. Jessica Matten, of Red Pheasant Cree Nation descent, imbues Bernie with a fierce tenderness—handling forensics in blood-soaked arroyos one moment, cradling her infant daughter the next. Season 4 thrusts her into the heart of the hunt, partnering with Chee on a parallel probe into ritualistic symbols etched at crime scenes, symbols that dredge up her own buried traumas from boarding school scars. Deanna Allison returns as Emma Leaphorn, the lieutenant’s steadfast wife whose quiet strength anchors the family amid the chaos; her scenes this season, laced with marital strains over Leaphorn’s obsessions, add poignant domestic layers to the procedural pulse.

The influx of new blood invigorates the ensemble, injecting fresh tensions into the reservation’s tight-knit web. Franka Potente, the German powerhouse from Run Lola Run, steps in as Irene Vaggan, a enigmatic L.A. informant with ties to the killer—her steely poise and hidden agendas spark uneasy alliances that test Leaphorn’s trust. Isabel Deroy-Olson plays Billie Tsosie, a sharp-witted young journalist whose dogged pursuit of the story uncovers corporate land grabs threatening sacred sites, echoing real-world fights over uranium mining legacies. Chaske Spencer, a Twilight alum with Lakota roots, embodies Sonny, a charismatic but volatile ex-con whose redemption arc intersects the case in explosive ways. Luke Barnett arrives as FBI Agent Toby Shaw, a buttoned-up outsider whose jurisdictional clashes with the tribal police ignite jurisdictional fireworks, while Titus Welliver—Bosch himself—lends gravitas as Dominic McNair, a shadowy fixer whose loyalties blur the line between ally and antagonist. A. Martinez reprises his role as Acting Chief Gordo Sena, the Scarborough PD liaison whose folksy wisdom hides a growing weariness with the escalating violence.

What sets Dark Winds Season 4 apart is its unflinching fusion of genre thrills and cultural reverence, helmed by showrunner John Wirth and creator Graham Roland. Drawing from The Ghostway, the plot spirals from the girl’s abduction into a cross-country odyssey: Leaphorn and Chee chase phantom sightings from Monument Valley’s monoliths to L.A.’s underbelly, unearthing a conspiracy involving black-market antiquities and a killer who weaponizes Navajo folklore for sadistic ends. Brutal crimes—a throat-slit elder in a sandstorm, a poisoned well tainting a chapter house—pile up like storm clouds, each revelation peeling back hypocrisies: corrupt councilmen siphoning aid funds, outsiders profiting from “exotic” rituals, and the insidious creep of assimilation that erodes traditions. The script weaves in haunting events—visions of skinwalkers under blood moons, ancestral chants echoing in stakeout silences—that honor Hillerman’s blend of mysticism and mystery without veering into caricature.

Cinematographer Joseph Valesco’s work remains a revelation, his lenses drinking in the desert’s stark beauty: golden hour washes over buttes like spilled honey, only to yield to inky nights where isolation amplifies dread. Filming in Santa Fe lent an elemental authenticity—cast and crew braved 100-degree heat for chase sequences across mesa trails and monsoon-lashed hogan exteriors, mirroring the characters’ survival ethos. The score, a haunting fusion of traditional Navajo flutes and electric guitar wails by composer Clinton Shorter, underscores the theme: every decision exacts a price, every secret pulses with a heartbeat. Executive producers Robert Redford and George R.R. Martin—whose involvement since Season 1 has ensured a commitment to Indigenous voices—championed McClarnon’s directorial bow, a milestone that infuses the season with insider passion.

Fan fervor has been a whirlwind since the renewal hit. Season 3’s Netflix surge in October 2025 reignited the blaze, propelling the series to top streaming charts and spawning viral threads dissecting Leaphorn’s rules of the rez. The October teaser drop sent social media into overdrive: #DarkWindsS4 trended with fan edits splicing trailer clips over Hillerman quotes, and Indigenous creators praised the show’s respectful gaze—”Finally, a Western where we’re not the sidekicks,” one TikTokker noted, amassing millions of views. Critics who lauded prior seasons as “riveting” and “spectacular” are already buzzing; early whispers from set visits hint at Rotten Tomatoes contention, with outlets like The Hollywood Reporter calling it “the most intense yet—a powder keg of emotion and power.” Veterans of the fandom, hooked since the 2022 debut, are breathless: “This season feels like coming home to a reckoning,” a Reddit user posted, capturing the blend of nostalgia and nerves as the premiere looms.

Yet Dark Winds: Season 4 transcends escapism, serving as a vital mirror to the Southwest’s enduring struggles. In an era of land rights battles and cultural erasure, the series amplifies Navajo voices—consulting with tribal elders for authenticity, employing local crew, and spotlighting issues like missing Indigenous women with unflinching gravity. Leaphorn’s hunt isn’t mere detective work; it’s a meditation on honor’s cost, where faith clashes with fury, and survival demands confronting the beasts within. As the credits roll on that final episode, the desert wind will carry questions: Can vengeance heal, or does it only scar deeper? Justice, honor, survival—they collide here in a symphony of sand and soul, leaving viewers haunted, hopeful, and hungry for more.

In the end, Dark Winds reminds us that the Southwest’s beauty is as deadly as its dangers—a place where storms brew unseen, and only the resilient endure. Saddle up for February 15; the reservation awaits, and this time, no one outruns the gale.