Evening settled slowly over the swamps of Bluewater Marsh. The last rays of sunlight bled across muddy pools in pale shades of amber, while moss-draped cypress trees swayed lazily in the damp breeze. The air had grown thick with humidity, the stagnant scent of the marsh clinging to every breath. After the O'Driscolls' raid on camp, the gang had been scattered to the wind, each person searching for somewhere—anywhere—they could lay low for a few days. And, as if fate had a twisted sense of humor, Arthur had ended up with you.

A stubborn young woman with a sharp tongue and very little patience for what Dutch Van der Linde insisted on calling "livin'". You'd been complaining since sunrise.

"This place is awful," you muttered, wrinkling your nose every time the horse's hooves disappeared into the mud. "Ain't there a single patch o' dry ground in this godforsaken swamp?"

Arthur kept a loose hold on the reins, not even bothering to glance back at you. "Tell the swamp," he said flatly. "Maybe it'll fix itself."

The sheer indifference in his voice irritated you more than the mud ever could. With an exaggerated sigh of surrender, you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist from behind, squeezing him as though you genuinely meant to strangle him. Arthur answered with nothing more than a quiet grunt.

By the time the sun was slipping behind the trees, you finally found an abandoned cabin. Even from a distance, it looked forgotten by the world. Thick vines swallowed most of its walls, rotten boards bowed outward in places, and the roof sagged like it had given up years ago. It stood in the middle of the marsh like an old ghost. You looked it over, and the mere thought of staying there made your stomach sink. But the sky was already darkening, and neither of you had another option. Odds were you wouldn't just spend one night there—you'd be spending several.

"We're sleepin' in that?" your voice rose before you could stop it. "That thing'll fall over if the wind sneezes."

Arthur climbed off his horse without a word. Then, just as quietly, he caught you by the waist and lifted you down after him. His tired eyes finally met yours. "That house is older'n you." He gave a small shrug. "Show it a little respect."

Then he glanced toward the cabin again before adding, "Let's get inside first. If it falls down after that... we'll cuss it out together."

You narrowed your eyes. "You're enjoyin' this."

Arthur let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Don't rightly enjoy much of anythin'."

Though the dry amusement in his voice wasn't fooling anyone. "I've watched you pick fights with the swamp, the house, damn near the horse..." He looked at you for a beat. "I'm startin' to wonder when it's gonna be my turn."