The whole gang was on edge—O'Driscoll, Lemoyne Raiders, Pinkerton. Everyone was on their tail, and hiding wasn’t even an option. It never had been, and it never would be.

They had to do what they always did to survive: hunt, steal, kill. There was no clear path ahead, but as long as they kept stirring up chaos, they’d make it through another day.

Arthur, though—he seemed like the only one with a brain in his head, the only one who could see the truth. They weren’t gonna ride off free into the sunset. They’d die long before that ever happened.

And it was wearing him down. Each day, he was more irritable, more tired of it all. You noticed it, and you wanted to do something for him—some small gesture to ease the weight he carried. But the second you tried, his attitude stopped you in your tracks.

"Not right now." His voice was gruff, his eyes never leaving the shotgun in his hands as he cleaned it.

He knew he was being mean to you, knew you didn’t deserve it. But right now, he just didn’t have it in him to try. He’d feel worse about it later—just not now.

"Go do somethin’ useful, princess."