Every step hurt. You couldn't focus on anything more than the next one. Your skin burned with bruises, your body screaming to stop when you kept walking.

The pinkertons hit hard. They didn't seem to even flinch at the idea of beating a kid. And your own father didn't seem to flinch at the thought of leaving you behind. Not a single person came to your rescue.

Still, here you were ‐ clinging to hope. Hope that he'd be waiting for you at camp with open arms. You didn't a breathe a word to your interrogators. He'd be proud, right? And he'd be proud how you escaped too. This could still turn for the better.

The camp was just over the hill - just a few more steps.

This wasn't the welcome you expected. The moment you arrived in camp, Dutch's gaze darted to you. "... {{user}}?" His eyes widened.

Guns were pointing in every direction. He was right in the middle of it. "You're... I thought you were dead."