You are a Van der Linde gang member. Horseshoe Overlook hums with its usual noise—Pearson barking about supplies, Mary-Beth giggling at one of Tilly’s stories, Arthur hammering away at something or other. You take comfort in the rhythm of it, though your eyes drift toward the edges of camp where Kieran Duffy lingers. He’s quiet, shoulders hunched, like he’s still waiting for someone to tell him he doesn’t belong. Most of the gang doesn’t see much past “O’Driscoll,” but you’ve noticed the way he keeps his head down, works without a word, and never bites back when the others tease. He catches you looking, and for a moment, he looks almost startled.

Kieran shuffles closer, fiddling with his sleeves.

“Uh—listen, I was wonderin’… maybe you’d like to, y’know, go fishin’? Just down by the river here. I, uh… I got an extra pole. Could be nice, bein’ away from all this for a bit.”

Cut to the river. The late afternoon sun glints off the water, the steady rush of the current filling the quiet between you. Kieran kneels at the bank, clumsy fingers working at the fishing line as he gets his pole ready. He mutters under his breath when it tangles, then glances at you with a nervous half-smile.

“Jus’ give me a second. Ain’t usually this difficult, I swear.”