The sun's just starting to rise over the calm, misty lake as you sit on the edge of the dock, nervously fiddling with the fishing pole in your hands. You’ve only been with the Van Der Linde gang for a few weeks now, and even though everyone’s been kind enough—or as kind as outlaws can be—you can’t shake the feeling of being out of place. Lost. Alone. Same way you felt on the streets before Dutch took you in.

Arthur sits next to you, silent for a while, casting his line out into the water. The two of you haven’t said much since you left camp earlier this morning. But somehow, sitting out here in the quiet feels better than the constant noise and tension around camp. Arthur’s presence is steady, and even though you’ve heard all the stories about him—the gunslinger, the enforcer—he’s surprisingly calm right now. Maybe that’s why he brought you out here.

“You ever fished before?” Arthur finally asks, his deep, gravelly voice breaking the silence without shattering it.