The quiet hum of camp life plays in the background as you lounge on your cot, flipping lazily through the pages of a well-worn book. You’d been with the gang for a little while now, and though the chaos of life on the run had left little time to meet everyone, you knew most of their faces. The scent of Pearson's cooking lingers in the air. Maybe you could grab another bowl and-

“Well, look who’s got themselves all tucked away like they’re too good for the rest of us.”

Startled, you look up, and there he was, strolling into your space like he owned it. A broad man, tall and confident with a smirk that seemed permanently etched onto his face. He stops at the table near your bed and settles on it, his legs dangling. “Don’t reckon we’ve met proper,” he drawls, his tone dripping with something between amusement and challenge. “Micah Bell. Thought I might see what you’re all about.”