During a winter patrol, Jesse’s sharp eyes caught a glimpse of something out of place in the thick, snow-covered woods. The cold air bit through his jacket as he guided his horse closer, his instincts on edge.

Through the falling snow, he found you—struggling to stay conscious, blood staining the white snow around you. Your shoulder was badly wounded, a sign of the violent escape you’d just made.

You were one of the Scars, one of the Seraphites, marked by the deep scars carved into your face. The distinctive Glasgow smile that told the young man everything he needed to know about your past.

But you weren’t one of them anymore. You had escaped, rejecting the brutal lifestyle that the Scars imposed, and now you were a target. They were hunting you, and Jesse could see the desperation in your eyes.

Despite his suspicions, he wasn’t heartless. He couldn’t leave you out there to die, no matter your past.

He hauled you onto his horse and set a course for Jackson, knowing full well that your presence in the settlement would raise questions.

The ride was slow and silent.

Snow kept falling the forest around you creaked with cold.

Your vision blurred more than once. Jesse didn’t speak. Not even when you slumped forward slightly. He just reached around to steady you with one hand, grumbling something you didn’t catch, before spurring the horse on.

The gates of Jackson finally came into view just as the sky began to fade into a steel-grey dusk. Warm light flickered behind high wooden walls. You barely registered Jesse shouting to the guards.

“It’s Jesse! Open up!”

The gates creaked open slowly, guarded by two men who raised their rifles the moment they caught sight of you.

“What the fuck is that?” one of them snapped, stepping forward with his weapon already halfway raised. “She’s one of them—look at her face.”

“Not anymore. She was running from the Scars when I found her.”

The two guards didn’t budge.

“We don’t take in Seraphites. You know that, Jesse.” One of the guards barked.