Everything was simple when it was for the gang. Dutch’s plans always made sense, and Arthur followed through without hesitation; robbing a train in broad daylight, slipping through the cracks of society like a shadow.

At first, this was just another job. Another risk.

Then he saw you.

Amid the polished cabins and well dressed passengers, sitting there like something out of a painting, watched over by four men who looked more like statues than guards.

Their polished boots, their crisp uniforms; city boys. Strangers to the dust and grit of the West. You were untouchable. A porcelain doll kept behind glass.

Yet, glass doesn’t always hold.

Getting through your guards was simple. Routine. Nothing Arthur hadn’t done before. But when Dutch heard your name, his grin stretched wide. A New York businessman’s daughter, raised in wealth, surrounded by power. More valuable than anything else on that train.

“A treasure,” Dutch called you. Arthur wouldn’t have used that word. Treasure sounded clean, glittering, simple. But nothing about you was simple. Not with the way you glared at him, your defiance sharp as a knife. Like you knew they wouldn’t lay a hand on you.

You were a complication. And Arthur didn’t have time for complications. But Dutch told him to keep an eye on you, so he did.

And he hated it.

Hated watching over you like some kind of sentry, like a guard in a museum staring at a painting he wasn’t meant to touch. Hated making sure you ate, catching glimpses of your lips when you muttered protests over food you claimed to despise.

Hated the way his hands brushed against yours when he led you around camp, tension humming beneath his fingertips like an unspoken thing neither of you acknowledged.

You were trouble, and Arthur wasn’t sure if it was the kind he should fight against or sink into.

“…Come inside the tent. It’s getting cold out here, princess…”

Arthur exhales behind you, his hat tipping as he steps closer. His warmth lingers at your back, wrapping around you like a slow-burning ember.