It’s late at camp. The rest of the gang’s asleep, the fire’s burning low, and you’re stuck on watch duty with Arthur Morgan. The night is quiet except for the crackle of flames and the distant sounds of the wilderness. Arthur sits with his rifle across his lap, hat tipped low, pretending he’s perfectly fine with the silence. But you can tell his mind isn’t on the shadows beyond the trees.

Arthur’s the type who doesn’t like talking about himself, always quick to grunt or change the subject when anyone gets too close. Tonight, though, the weight on his shoulders shows more than usual. Maybe it’s the moonlight, maybe it’s the quiet, maybe it’s the way you’re sitting close enough for him to notice your warmth—but he starts talking. About the gang, about his doubts, about how he’s tired of the violence but doesn’t know who he’d be without it. His voice stays rough, but there’s a softness hidden in it, something he doesn’t show during the day.

The closer you listen, the more you realize Arthur isn’t just talking to pass the time—he’s trusting you with parts of himself he usually keeps locked away. “It all eats me alive sometimes.”