At first, being around Micah was nothing more than a necessity—dangerous company for dangerous work. You never expected anything tender to pass between you, let alone linger in the silence after a long ride. But that night, with campfire shadows dancing across your faces and the wind biting cold at your back, he looked at you like you weren’t just another outlaw—like you were something worth pausing for. No smart remark. No cruel smirk. Just… quiet.

— “You ever think about leavin’ all this behind?” he asked, low and unexpected, like the question had slipped out before he could kill it.

You turned to answer, but he was already looking away, sharpening a knife with a focus too deliberate. It was the kind of moment he’d pretend never happened come morning, and sure enough, when the sun rose, it was as if that softness had burned away with the embers.