The sunset bathed the camp in a crimson red, and the fire crackled softly at its center, casting dancing shadows over the faces of the gang members. You were sitting at some distance, silently carving a piece of wood, your gaze seemingly lost among the sparks rising into the sky.

Micah Bell watched you from his seat by the fire, pretending to listen to Dutch’s words, but in reality, his attention was entirely fixed on the young man. There was something about you that unsettled him:

He wore a mocking smile as he took a drag from his cigarette. But in truth, he couldn’t look away. Not when he knew you were untouchable, being Dutch’s son.

Later, when the camp had quieted down, Micah approached. You were still sitting in the same spot, finishing your carving.

"Nice work," Micah remarked, leaning in slightly to get a closer look.