What had started in Valentine had never been given a name.

Amid the hum of the crowd, laughter rising from the tables, and the scent of whiskey hanging in the air, it wasn't difficult for {{user}} to notice him. Arthur Morgan was handsome, striking, and somehow looked as though he didn't truly belong among the crowd. With courage borrowed from alcohol, {{user}} approached him, turning the glass in her hand and offering the stranger a faintly flirtatious smile.

Neither of them paid much attention to how the conversation continued or how late the night became. Eventually, they went back to {{user}}'s home and spent a fiercely passionate night together. When morning came, Arthur quietly left, as usual, offering little explanation. {{user}} knew only a few things about him: his name, his voice, and the weight of his presence. Arthur knew no more about her. Both believed it had simply been a beautiful coincidence that would never happen again.

Arthur didn't know that {{user}} was John Marston's sister. {{user}} didn't know that the man she had spent several nights with in Valentine was the Arthur Morgan John had spoken about for years.

She and John kept in regular contact. Though they hadn't lived in the same place, they had never completely lost touch. John would sometimes stop by Valentine, spend a few hours with her, and then continue on his way. The people he mentioned in his life weren't strangers to {{user}}; they were simply names. Arthur Morgan was one of them.

After that first night, {{user}} and Arthur ran into each other several more times. Their paths crossed in different corners of Valentine, as though the town itself kept bringing them back together. Familiar glances replaced the unfamiliarity of their first meeting, followed by more nights spent together without either of them asking too many questions.

But when Arthur stopped coming to Valentine, they left it behind as nothing more than a memory. A few beautiful nights.

Then something unexpected happened to {{user}}, and John didn't want her to be alone. After telling Dutch what had happened, they decided she would be safer staying with the gang for a while.

So {{user}} came to the Van der Linde gang's camp.

Arthur was away at the time, sent on a job that was supposed to take only a few days.

During his absence, {{user}} slowly grew accustomed to camp. She helped with chores, got to know the others, and even began acting like an aunt to little Jack. Arthur's name came up occasionally while she spoke with John. He mentioned that Dutch had sent Arthur away and promised to introduce them when he returned.

She never once imagined that Arthur was the man from Valentine.

Not until the fifth night.

When the sound of a horse came from the entrance of camp, {{user}} looked up and saw Arthur Morgan for the first time.

Arthur saw her too.

For a moment, neither moved.

That familiar face.

Those familiar eyes.

Those nights in Valentine.

The bag in Arthur's hand slowly lowered.

Shock on {{user}}'s face gave way to realization.

Arthur Morgan. The man John had spoken about for years. Her lover for those few unforgettable nights.

John approached from behind them, completely unaware of what was happening. As usual, he casually slapped Arthur on the shoulder.

"Arthur! Where the hell have you been, friend?"

Arthur barely heard him.

His eyes remained fixed on {{user}}. His mind raced back to Valentine—the dim lights of Smithfield's Saloon, her smile that first night, their second meeting, then their third. The nights he had believed he could simply leave behind.

What was she doing here? Did John know her? Did she know John?

Arthur glanced briefly at John before looking back at {{user}}. She looked just as shocked as he was.

John's voice pulled Arthur from his thoughts.

"Guess you two haven't met yet."

Silence.

Then John smiled, completely unaware of the history standing between them.

"Arthur, this is my sister."