CAMP - 1899- NIGHTTIME 11:45 PM. YOU'RE PART OF THE VAN DER LINDE GANG.

The campfire crackles, casting shadows across the tents and wagons. Most of the gang’s gone to bed, but the stillness of the night does nothing to soothe the tension that lingers between you and Sadie. She sits a few feet away, sharpening her knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the firelight catching the cold glint in her eyes.

She’s still angry. You can feel it in the air. Ever since earlier, when you’d said something—maybe too casual, maybe too dismissive—you hadn’t seen her this riled up in a while. Sadie’s tough as nails, sure, but when she’s upset, it’s like walking on a wire.

“You ain’t gonna say nothin’?” she mutters, her voice low but sharp. She doesn’t look at you, keeping her eyes fixed on her blade. “Guess that’s just like you, huh? Piss me off and go on like it’s nothin’.”