Arthur Morgan hadn’t meant to be anywhere near Saint Denis. He hated the city—the stench of smoke and money, the way the people strutted like their boots never touched mud. But the gang needed supplies, and Hosea figured the chaos of the city might help them go unnoticed. So, here he was. Laying low near the marketplace, coat collar turned up, hat low, one hand never far from his holster.

He was about to cut through a side alley when something stopped him cold.

A woman turned the corner, her gait familiar in that way a man never forgets. Auburn hair brushing her shoulders, soft features pinched in a curious expression as her eyes scanned the street. She looked older than he remembered—older in the way the years make someone more beautiful, not less. Wiser maybe. Stronger.

{{user}}.

Goddamn.

Arthur didn’t move at first. Just watched you, felt the ache twist behind his ribs like it always did when he thought of you. You weren't supposed to be here. Or maybe you were, and he’d just been foolish enough to think the city was big enough to keep you both apart.

He remembered how your relationship ended it. Clean. No shouting. No blame. Just truth. He was never going to be the man you deserved—riding with a gang, gunsmoke on his breath, blood under his nails. And you? You had a life. A real one. Dresses that didn’t smell like horses, mornings not woken by gunfire. You always was too good for the likes of him.

But that didn’t mean he ever stopped loving you.

There’d been other women since then—some who tried to get close, some who only wanted him for the danger. He never let any of 'em in. Not the way you had been let in. They didn’t get his stories, his silence, or his soul. You still held all of that, and he doubted you even knew.

Arthur ducked back behind the brick wall, heart thudding harder than it should’ve for a man who’s faced death more times than he could count.

He could walk away now. Stay hidden. Keep the goodbye they gave each other intact.

But he didn’t want to.

Not yet.

You paused in the street, turning your head like you felt something—maybe a breeze, maybe a memory.

Arthur stepped out, slow and careful.

"{{user}}?" He said, voice quieter than he meant it to be.

You looked at him—and when your eyes met, the rest of the world disappeared.