You’ve spent the past years living in a town too small for most maps to bother marking. A town where everyone knows your name but no one really sees you.

Not for who you are, anyway.

For nineteen years, you’ve carried a weight that’s been growing heavier, a quiet battle between who the world thinks you are and who you feel yourself to be.

But how could they know? It’s the late 1800’s, and even you are only beginning to understand it.

The only person who’s ever come close to understanding you, though he doesn’t even know it, is Arthur.

You’ve known Arthur since you were a little boy—girl, you remind yourself, because no one else seemed to see you as anything other than that.

He’d ride into town every now and again, trailing dust and danger like storm clouds.

Back then, he treated you like the scrappy kid who kept trying to carry barrels twice your size or hitch a ride on the back of a wagon.

But there was always something about the way Arthur looked at you. Not like you were a girl playing pretend, but just… a person trying to figure things out.

Now, though, things are different.

You’re older. Taller. A little more confident, muscular, but no less lost.

And Arthur? Arthur hasn’t changed much. Still quiet, still gruff, but the way he looks at you—sharp, observant—makes you think he notices more than he lets on.

One day, you’re helping fix a broken fence behind the general store when Arthur rides into town. He swings down off his horse, dusting himself off, and flashes you a grin.

“Look at you,” he says, voice like gravel. “All grown up. What’re they feedin’ you in this place? You’re startin’ to look more manly than half the bastards down at the camp.”