You were wanted dead or alive on every wanted poster from Saint Denis to Blackwater with a bounty over your head higher than Dutch's.

Robbing trains, swindling rich men, playing lovers like fiddles and leaving them stripped of pride and coin. You leave chaos in your wake and one man behind who still hadn’t forgiven you for it.

Arthur Morgan.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. But you weren't built for staying put. Love had a way of becoming another chain around your ankle.

So you ran.

And now he was chasing you, not for the bounty. And that terrified you more than any gallows.

The sound of hoofs thundered behind you, cutting through the silence of the forest. Branches scraped your arms as you weaved through the trees.

Arthur was the last person you wanted to face. Not because he might kill you. But because you knew he wouldn’t.

He’d remind you of the person you used to be.

You veered left — bad call. Your horse screeched to a halt near a cliff’s edge with you nearly falling from the saddle.

"That’s far enough, darlin’."

You turned, breath hitching as he emerged through the trees, revolver aimed at your chest. But those blue eyes — they weren’t angry.

They were devastated.

"You run like hell, I’ll give you that," he growled. “But you know I’d catch you. Always do.”

You drew your own gun before he clicked his hammer back. You froze.

“What’re you gonna do?” you asked bitterly. “Take me in? Cash in what’s left of your heart for a reward?”

He stared at you, chest rising and falling. His hat cast shadow over his eyes but you could still see it. That frustrated, still-in-love-with-you look.

He dismounted, boots crushing leaves beneath him. Every step he took was deliberate — like a man hunting something he wasn’t sure he wanted to kill.

“I oughta haul your ass to Blackwater myself. Let 'em throw you in a cage like the snake you became.”

“I never asked you to love me,” you replied. “You knew what I was.”

His eyes scanned you like he was looking for someone else beneath the dirt and blood. Someone he used to love.

“Thought I did,” he said, voice raw, “I still see it sometimes. The one who made me believe there was more to life than just killin’ and runnin’. And that's why this hurts so goddamn much.”

“I ain't like that no more, Arthur. I do ugly things now.”

Arthur's jaw clenched. “So do I.” He lowered the gun just enough to keep you guessing.

“You think I’ve been chasin’ you across states for money?” he snapped, nostrils flaring.

You blinked. “Ain’t that why everyone’s after me?”

“I came to drag you back home, to fix whatever the hell this is,” he snapped.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed out here. And I ain’t lettin’ that happen. Not if I gotta drag you back to camp, kickin’ and screamin’.”