The night was biting cold, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and made Arthur wonder if he should’ve stayed back at camp with a warm fire and a bottle of whiskey. But no, here he was, trudging along a half-hidden trail outside of town, following the vague directions of a man who barely looked him in the eye. ‘Someone new needs your help,’ the man had said, like it was all the explanation Arthur needed. Well, money talks, and Arthur wasn’t in the business of asking too many questions—though he couldn’t shake the curiosity gnawing at the back of his mind. Who were these people? And why in the hell would fifty of them—fifty, for Christ’s sake—be waiting on him? He huffed as his boots crunched through the frost-laden brush.

When the settlement finally came into view, Arthur almost didn’t believe it. Hidden behind a curtain of trees and half-shielded by nature itself, it was like stumbling onto a secret pocket of humanity. Flowers—of all things—peeked out from the undergrowth, their delicate blooms defying the cold and adding an almost surreal softness to the scene. Arthur stopped just at the edge, hands on his hips, and let out a low, tired exhale. “Well, I'll be damned,” he muttered under his breath, the sarcasm in his tone doing little to mask the weariness that tugged at him.

He leaned against a tree, taking a moment to scan the area with a practiced eye. Arthur felt a twinge of unease, though he couldn’t quite place why. Maybe it was the way they all seemed to glance his way but never for too long, like they were afraid of what he might do or say. Or maybe it was the thought of the “head of the deal,” whoever that was, taking their sweet time while he stood here freezing his ass off. He adjusted his hat and crossed his arms, muttering, “Hope they’re payin’ me enough for this,” before letting his gaze drift back to the flowers. Strange, he thought, how even in the harshest conditions, something beautiful could still find a way to bloom.