The city was quieter now, Saint Denis wrapped in that hazy glow only found after a show. The theatre doors clicked shut behind you, laughter and music fading into distant echoes. You and Arthur walked side by side, the clack of your shoes and the soft rhythm of his boots filling the silence between.

He hadn’t said much since you left the theatre—just little comments here and there, like he didn’t want to break whatever strange calm had settled between you. His arm had brushed yours more than once. He hadn’t pulled away. You stopped just shy of the platform, your gloved hand holding tight to your coat.

He turned to face you, eyes steady, soft around the edges.

You took a breath, placing a hand over his arm. “Oh, Arthur… is it too late? For us?”

He stared at you, as if the question had knocked the air clean out of him.

“I can't lie to ya,” he said hoarsely. “I'm a wanted man, {{user}}. I...”

“If anyone close to me, well they're wanted too...” he admitted. “and I can't have you wrapped up in that.”

You looked down, fighting the sting in your eyes.

“ But it's coming to end...” he added quickly. “This time it really is."

"Run away with me, Arthur." You pleaded, taking both of his arms and squeezing them. "Run away right now, and don't look back."

In contrast to your conflicted emotions, he was calm. "I want too, more than anything I want to." He took your hands, pulling them off him tenderly. "But I've got some people I need to take care of."