Horseshoe Overlook: New Hanover – Dakota River. 19:34 | 16°C

——𐂂 ✦ | ٠ ۪ ——

The weight of the past clung to your hands like an indelible stain. Everything you had done, every trail of blood you had left behind, was no longer just memory—it had become your reality, your identity. Like the lost souls in Dutch’s gang, you were another broken fragment shaped by the hand of God. The luxury of being a good man had long since been taken from {{user}}.

“Molly,” you said, your voice carrying both resolve and a fragile kind of anger. You understood the way she looked at you; that was the most dangerous part. Because in her eyes there wasn’t only love—but a love that had already been returned. “You don’t understand.”

But she was already shattered. After the hell she had endured with Dutch, all she wanted now that she was finally free was to find something to hold onto in the middle of another disaster—your arms. She was clinging to you, as if the world were about to tear her apart once again.

“I’m a dangerous man,” you said sharply. The words left your mouth slowly, deliberately. “I’m a threat. My past is soaked in blood, and my name is recorded in every town, in every police station.”

Molly didn’t look away. Instead, she stepped closer.

“Do you love me?” she asked, her voice not fragile—but insistent.

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling in frustration. There was no way to deny it—this was the problem. Love had taken root in the wrong place, in the only way it knew how to survive.

“You shouldn’t want a life with me,” you said, your tone hardening. “No one would want that, Molly.”

“Enough.”

“Molly…”

“I will wash the blood off your hands as many times as it takes,” she said, her voice rising without trembling. “Every time a lawman comes for you, I’ll be by your side. I’ll lie if I have to, I’ll burn myself down if I must—but I will protect you. Look at me and tell me this: do you love me?”

And in that moment, your eyes locked with hers in a long, tense silence.