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Chapter Text

As Nerissa came into this world, her beauty and grace were adored by all. Her curly hair flowed down to her tanned skin, and her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. Born in the Arabian world to aristocratic parents, she was raised in a life of privilege and luxury. Her father, a skilled archer and horseman, took her on long rides across the vast desert, teaching her the ways of the bow and the horse. Her mother, a knowledgeable herbalist, imparted wisdom about the forest, its secrets, and the importance of taking pride in one’s body and sexuality. Nerissa, in turn, grew to be a reflection of her parents—strong, graceful, and filled with wisdom.

They named her after the sea nymphs of Greek mythology—the fifty daughters of the sea god Nereus and his wife Doris. A name fit for someone as free-spirited and enchanting as she was.

When Nerissa turned ten, her parents decided that the life they had carved out in the east was too small for their daughter, that the world was too wide and grand for her to remain confined. So, they set off westward, dreaming of new horizons and possibilities. But they quickly realized their mistake. The lands they entered were unfamiliar and harsh. The Western world, filled with strange customs and prejudices, was not kind to outsiders. They struggled to find work, and the hatred toward them soon turned violent. One night, the town’s cruelty struck, and Nerissa’s parents met their tragic end. Alone and devastated, Nerissa was left to fend for herself in a world that was both unforgiving and cold.

The streets of Blackwater were where Nerissa’s life took a turn. She found herself in a city bustling with activity, yet it was a place where survival was a constant battle. The rich paraded around with their wealth, while the poor were left to scrounge. It was here that Nerissa learned the art of pickpocketing, a skill that would keep her alive. The art of deception, of winning trust only to betray it for personal gain, became second nature to her. She moved through the streets like a shadow, her light feet making little noise as she took from the wealthy to fill her stomach.

However, as time passed, Nerissa felt the absence of her parents like a hollow ache in her chest. The faces of her mother and father began to fade from her memory, and with each passing day, the emptiness inside her grew. She was alone in the world, a ghost wandering through the bustling city.

One fateful day, when Nerissa was just twelve years old, she made a dangerous mistake. In her usual hustle, she tried to scam a man—a man who, unbeknownst to her, was just as skilled as she was. He had been watching her for weeks, intrigued not only by her talent but by the way she carried herself. He was a conman, too, but one with a better sense of morality than the streets would have you believe.

She had lifted his watch and his wallet, as she had done countless times before, but this time, something was different. He had been watching her, waiting for the moment to strike.

“Ah, what do we have here?” a voice spoke from behind her as she ducked into a dark alley near the butcher’s shop.

Nerissa froze. Her heart skipped a beat. The voice wasn’t angry, it wasn’t accusing. It was... intrigued. She turned slowly, meeting the gaze of the stranger.

“My, my, my, you’ve got some skill, girl. How old are you, ten?” The man’s kind eyes twinkled with a strange amusement.

Nerissa, her fingers still gripping the stolen goods in her pocket, felt her stomach twist. She was wary but intrigued by the man’s demeanour.

“Twelve, sir,” she replied softly, still suspicious but taken aback by his warm tone.

The man took a step closer, studying her with a gentle curiosity. “Where are your parents, might I ask?”

That question hit Nerissa like a punch to the gut. She flinched, looking away. “That’s the very same question I want answered,” she said, her voice tight, before she attempted to walk away.

But before she could take another step, the stranger’s hand gripped her arm, not tightly, but firmly enough to stop her. “Wait,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I can offer you something. A way out. Food. Shelter. Come with me.”

Nerissa hesitated. She looked down at her feet, wondering if this man was another predator like the ones she’d met in the streets before. But something in his eyes made her pause. He wasn’t like the others.

She turned to face him fully, studying him more closely. His expression was kind, even fatherly. There was no malice in him, just a deep curiosity about her.

“Why should I come with you?” she asked, the suspicion still thick in her voice, though she felt the temptation to trust him.

The man’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Firstly, you’ve stolen my watch and money,” he said, gesturing to the items she still held in her pocket. “Secondly, you look like you need food and a roof over your head.” His gaze softened, noticing her gaunt appearance. She had lost weight in her months of struggle.

Nerissa felt the weight of his words. She was hungry, colder than she had ever been, and desperately alone. She had nothing left to lose.

“I’ll come with you.” She said after a long pause

Nerissa hesitated, a bit of doubt still lingering in her mind, but she finally agreed to follow Hosea. As they walked toward his horse, she turned to him, curious.

“May I ask,” she started, her voice hesitant but earnest, “what is your name?”

Hosea’s smile grew brighter at the question, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. “Hosea,” he replied warmly, offering his hand in a gesture of trust. “Hosea Matthews. And yours?”

“Nerissa,” she said, glancing at him, “I don’t remember much of my parents... only the memories we made.”

His expression softened at her words, and for the first time, Nerissa felt like someone truly saw her, not just the girl who had been on the streets surviving, but as someone deserving of care.

“Well then, Miss Nerissa,” he said with a nod, his tone filled with gentle assurance, “I will raise you as my own. You’ll have a home, and you’ll never have to steal again.”

The tears that had threatened to spill finally fell. Not from fear, but from the strange, comforting feeling of being cared for.

Nerissa looked up at Hosea, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You mean it?”

“I do,” he replied with a bright smile, the first real kindness she had experienced in far too long. “You’ll never have to steal again. You’ve got a name now, and a place.”

She nodded, a weightlifting from her shoulders. “Nerissa Matthews,” she whispered, trying out the name. It felt strange but beautiful. “The daughter of a conman.”

Hosea chuckled. “Well, I’m sure you’ll do well with that name. And you’re much more than just that, trust me.”

For the first time in years, Nerissa felt like she belonged. The warmth of his offer, the promise of a new life, made her believe that perhaps there was more to her story than just survival. With Hosea, maybe, just maybe, she could finally find a place where she was more than just a lost orphan.

As they rode together through the streets of Blackwater, Nerissa’s heart, though still scarred, began to heal. She was no longer alone in this harsh world. And for the first time, she had hope again.

For years, Nerissa had travelled with the famed Van Der Linde gang, a tight-knit group of outlaws who had become her family. Among them was Dutch Van Der Linde, a man whose idealism and dreams she revered; John Marston, her closest companion who had become the brother she never had; Arthur Morgan, a quiet and reserved man she admired from afar; and Hosea Matthews, her father and mentor, whose wisdom had shaped her view of the world.

Dutch had always encouraged Nerissa to embrace her parents' values, to hold fast to the ideals of freedom and loyalty, the ones they’d forged in the fires of hardship. John, ever the practical one, had taught her to shoot, to handle a gun with precision and confidence. But it was Nerissa who had shared her knowledge with John, teaching him the art of hunting and how to properly skin an animal. They had become inseparable, their bond deeper than blood.

Arthur, however, was different. He had tried to teach her things, but Nerissa had always known what he had to offer. She didn’t mind; in fact, she admired his quiet nature, his tendency to observe more than speak. He always seemed to be a little distant with her, as if some unspoken barrier existed between them, a façade he felt compelled to uphold. But she had noticed the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. His eyes softened in a way that no one else’s did, and she couldn't help but be drawn to him.

What she didn’t know was that Arthur had secretly spent countless nights attempting to capture her beauty on paper, sketching her likeness, trying and failing to do justice to the depth of her soul. He cared for her deeply, but he was terrified of expressing it. She was Hosea’s daughter—too precious, too dear. It would ruin everything. So, he kept his feelings locked inside, never daring to speak them aloud.

Hosea, wise as always, knew exactly how Arthur felt. He knew the quiet affection Arthur had for his daughter, and though he never spoke of it, he understood that Arthur would carry those feelings until his last breath. To Hosea, Nerissa was everything. She was like his own child, and the love he had for her was boundless. Nerissa returned that love wholeheartedly. It was a bond forged in trust, in shared history, in years of living the outlaw life together.

But things were about to change.

One night, Nerissa was sent on a mission that would take her away from her family for years. As she lay on the grass, her back pressed into the cool earth, staring up at the starry sky, she felt a strange emptiness settle in her chest. She knew that what she was about to do would separate her from the people she loved. And despite the excitement that had always accompanied her wanderlust, a part of her hesitated.

“Would you care for a walk with me?” a voice broke through the quiet night, tinged with concern.

It was Dutch. She hadn’t heard him approach, but she wasn’t surprised. Dutch always had a way of appearing when he was needed most.

“Of course,” Nerissa replied, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her. She sat up and followed him as they walked away from camp, the sound of crickets and rustling leaves the only noise in the still night.

“Now, child,” Dutch began, his hand resting on her shoulder, “I want you to go out and explore this country. See the world for what it is. Learn to live on your own, make a name for yourself. It’s time for you to step out and find your own path. In a few years, you’ll come back, and we’ll be waiting for you, waiting to hear all your stories. I promise you; we’ll be here.”

Nerissa swallowed hard, feeling her heart ache. “I won’t lie, Dutch. I’ve been wanting to go, to see the world... but how will I find you? How will I know where to look?”

Dutch stopped walking and turned to face her, his expression softening as he cupped her face gently. “You’ll find your way back to us, Nerissa. Blackwater. That’s where you’ll come back to us in a few years’ time. Don’t worry about that now. For now, I just want you to promise me that you’ll take this time for yourself. Go, see, and live.” He placed the reins of her horse into her hands, along with a letter from Hosea.

Nerissa stared at the reins for a moment, then back at Dutch. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the reins. She knew what this meant. It wasn’t just a farewell. It was a turning point in her life.

“I... I’ll come back, Dutch. I will,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Dutch smiled faintly, giving her a reassuring nod. “I know you will. We can’t wait to see you again.”

With a final, lingering look, Nerissa swung her leg over the saddle and urged the horse forward. As she rode into the unknown, the weight of her departure sank deep into her bones. The camp behind her, the people she loved, the life she’d known—it all felt like it was fading into the distance.

Yet, as the wind carried her farther away from home, Nerissa couldn’t shake the feeling that her journey had just begun. She didn’t know what lay ahead, but she knew that this chapter would shape her future, one way or another.

1899

Verily, the name of Nerissa Matthews did travel far and wide in those parts. Tales were told of her, for she was known as the shadow, a woman draped in a long black duster coat with a black Big Valley Hat that obscured her emerald eyes. Her steed was a swift, black Arabian stallion, a creature as fast and untameable as she. She had taken up the trade of a bounty hunter, her unparalleled dexterity with weapons earning her a fearsome reputation. Once she read a name, their fate was sealed. The hangman’s noose awaited, and no bounty ever eluded her. The men who had the misfortune to cross her path never forgot her – for her beauty, though captivating, was the last thing they saw before the end.

Her travels had been long, and the weight of her solitude heavy. Yet after many months, Nerissa found herself drawn back to West Elizabeth, yearning for the warmth of family. The thought of her father's laughter, his hearty voice echoing in the old homestead, filled her with longing. And then there was Arthur—dear Arthur. That boy, how he set her heart racing. A fleeting thought of him caused a pang of hope in her chest, the kind she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time. He had always treated her differently, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding. But that was before. She hoped, in vain perhaps, that his affection for her had not changed.

She arrived at the spot where Dutch had promised to meet her, yet her heart sank when she found no sign of the gang. Her keen eyes scanned the surroundings—nothing. She urged her horse forward, a sense of unease prickling her skin, and rode toward Blackwater, hoping for answers. Upon inquiry, the only thing she learned were whispers—rumours of the Van Der Linde gang having fled Blackwater, heading north toward the Grizzlies. Her pulse quickened, but the path to the north was long and treacherous, and it was not a journey she could take lightly.

Still, a part of her clung to the hope of finding them. It was not for the bounty this time, but for the promise of them—her family, her people.

As her travels took her further, she did not find herself in the Grizzlies, but rather at the edge of Cumberland Falls. She had stopped to rest, the roar of the waterfall in the distance a comforting lull, when she heard it. A voice. Familiar, too familiar.

“I broke the goddamn wheel!” the deep, weathered voice rang out, laced with frustration and something more—humour, maybe. Two other men grumbled in response; their voices too muffled for her to make out.

Nerissa froze, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that voice. The rough, commanding tone belonged to none other than Arthur—Arthur Morgan. The realization hit her like a thunderclap. She had found them. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked down upon the camp below from her position atop the cliff, hidden in the shadows. They were too close. Her pulse quickened as she watched them struggle with the wheel. The warmth of recognition flooded her, but so too did a sense of dread. What was she to do now?

She knew better than to reveal herself. She wasn’t sure if they even remembered her, if they had moved on from the shadow she had been. But she could watch. She could learn their plans, their movements, and—perhaps—find a way to reconnect, to understand where she stood with them now.

She followed them from a distance to their camp, the flames of their fire flickering in the night. As she approached the Horseshoe Overlook, a place her father had once spoken of with nostalgia, she was reminded of the years spent in their company—before everything had fallen apart.

The laughter that filled the air as they gathered around the fire seemed like a distant echo, a reminder of the bond they had shared. But now, that connection felt like an illusion. Had they truly forgotten her? Or had they merely moved on, content in their own world, without a thought for the woman who had once fought alongside them? The melancholy that gripped her heart was sharp, heavy, unrelenting.

Her mind whirred as she weighed her options. She knew she couldn’t simply wander into their camp. She was no longer part of their world, not in their eyes, not with the bounty hunter’s reputation she now wore like a second skin. She set up her own camp at a distance, careful to remain unseen, yet close enough to hear their voices—hear their laughter, their jokes. Her gaze lingered on the flickering flames as she gathered her thoughts, the warmth of the fire reminding her of the days when they had been a family, a team.

But how could she face them now? How could she make herself known when all she was now was a shadow of the past?

Hours passed, and the laughter of the camp below began to settle into a comfortable silence. Nerissa could not sleep. She lay awake, her eyes tracing the stars above, thoughts tumbling in her mind. Arthur's voice still echoed in her ears, and she wondered if he remembered the last time they had shared a quiet moment. The memory of their conversations, their shared glances, the way he’d looked at her as if there was more to say, weighed heavily on her heart.

As the night deepened, Nerissa’s resolve hardened. She could no longer wait in the shadows, caught between the past and the present. She would have to face them—her family, if that was even what they still were. But one question lingered in her heart, a question that gnawed at her with each passing minute: Did they still want her back?

The answer, she knew, could change everything.

Days and nights passed, long and restless, until finally, one of them ventured out to hunt. The night hung heavy, cloaking his movements, but Nerissa knew better. She watched him from the shadows, the moonlight catching the glint of his rifle, unaware of the trap she was about to set.

Unbeknownst to him, he was the one being hunted.

She waited, her fingers wrapped tight around the ebony grip of her Evans Repeater, the cold metal a familiar comfort. Every muscle in her body was poised, ready. Then, with practiced precision, she raised the gun and pointed it at the base of his skull. A smile played at the corner of her lips, an unsettling calm in the midst of her heart’s thunderous beat.

“What’s this? A gunslinger caught off his guard?” Nerissa’s voice cut through the stillness like a blade, taunting him, daring him to make a move.

The man froze, his breath shallow and quick. His eyes darted to her, his hand instinctively hovering near the knife at his side. "No ma’am, I’m just hunting," he answered, voice steady despite the situation. Slowly, he reached for the blade, but Nerissa could see the hesitation in his movements. She could read him like an open book, every shift of his stance telling a story she already knew.

“Nice try, Arthur,” she retorted, her voice low and mocking. Before he could react, she moved like a shadow herself, her boots silent against the dirt. A swift strike from behind left him disoriented, his body crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Nerissa stood over him, breathing deeply, savoring the moment. There was a strange sense of relief in capturing him—Arthur, the most prized of the bunch. He had always been a stubborn one, loyal to the cause, a man of principle, but now, he was nothing more than a pawn in her game.

With a glance toward the trees, she called for her horse. “Noir,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, and from the edge of the clearing, the black stallion appeared. His sleek coat shimmered in the moonlight as he trotted toward her, his hooves silent on the earth.

She moved quickly, tying Arthur’s hands and feet with swift, practiced motions. There was no need to be gentle. This was business, not mercy. And as she finished securing him, she thought of the sheriff. He wouldn’t get his hands on this one. Not yet. Not unless she could see her family again. They had to want her back, she told herself. This is the only way.

Noir snorted, his restless energy matching her own. She mounted the horse, her eyes locking on Arthur’s prone form. “You’re going to help me, Arthur,” she muttered, as though the man could hear her words. “Whether you like it or not.”

With a sharp tug of the reins, she set off toward her campsite. It wasn’t far, but the ride felt longer in the silence that wrapped around her. She wondered, not for the first time, what she would find when she returned. Was it too late? Had they forgotten her? Or would they see her for who she really was—someone who was still part of the family, despite the years that had passed?

When they arrived at her small, secluded camp, she carefully dismounted and unceremoniously dragged Arthur to the fire pit. She didn’t make a fire yet. That could wait. She had time to think, to gather her thoughts, to remember who she was before the world had torn her away from them. She dropped to the ground, wiping the sweat from her brow, eyes hard as she stared into the flickering shadows.

Minutes passed like hours, and still, Arthur didn’t stir. Nerissa leaned against a nearby rock, her fingers tracing the worn wood of her rifle, her thoughts running in endless circles.

Would they still want her back? Would he?

She looked at Arthur again, the man who had always been a part of the life she was torn from. Her heart twisted at the thought that she might never get the answer she longed for. But I have to know. I won’t let fear stop me.

Chapter Text

The man awoke with a throbbing pain in his head, disoriented and confused. As he struggled to sit up, he found that his hands and feet were bound by coarse rope. His breath caught in his throat as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Tall grass stretched far in every direction, and above him, the stars twinkled like cold, distant eyes. The scent of burning wood filled his nostrils, familiar yet ominous. His hands brushed the grass beneath him, sharp blades cutting into his fingers as he tried to break free from his restraints.

“What the hell…” he muttered through clenched teeth, trying to squirm out of the ropes. He was too weak, too disoriented.

From behind him, a voice pierced the silence, cutting through his panic. "No use struggling, mister," the voice said, laced with a strange mix of amusement and authority.

A woman appeared from the shadows, her figure partially obscured by a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over her face. She grinned at his futile attempts to escape. "You're mine now."

Arthur’s mind raced, a thousand questions flooding his thoughts. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, voice thick with anger and confusion. "Why'd you capture me?"

The woman didn't flinch, only cocked her head slightly. "You're gonna distract the folks at your camp for me. Give me a chance to make my escape." Her hand rested on the handle of a cocked repeater, the barrel gleaming under the moonlight, its message clear. "Do what I say, or I’ll shoot."

Arthur’s eyes widened, fury mixing with the fear starting to creep in. "Boy, if you don’t untie me, I’ll shoot ya myself!" he spat, trying to put some bravado into his words, but it was hard with his hands bound like this.

The woman smirked, her expression unreadable. "I’d like to see you try, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur could feel it—she had the upper hand, and she knew it. With no choice but to comply, he swallowed his pride. 

As Arthur entered the camp, his eyes scanned the familiar faces of his comrades, but his thoughts were elsewhere. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over him as he heard a voice—a voice he hadn't expected, a voice that felt oddly familiar but out of reach, like a distant memory he couldn't quite place.

He tugged at the ropes around his wrists, frustration building. "Someone cut these damn ropes!" he yelled, his tone sharp and impatient.

Dutch, with his brow furrowed in concern, approached him quickly. "What happened, son? Where's the horse from?"

Arthur took a deep breath, still processing the strange situation. "Some boy tried to capture me, but he... he let me go. Don’t know why," he muttered, his voice quieter now, as if the tension had started to ease. He walked toward the campfire, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag, the embers glowing in the night air.

The members of the camp, who had been watching closely, exchanged worried glances. The sudden appearance of Arthur, bound and captive just moments ago, raised more questions than answers. Some whispered about the Pinkertons, others about enemies they might have made along the way. But Dutch just stayed quiet, studying his son, his mind racing with possibilities.

In the shadows, Nerissa was already moving with quiet precision. She stepped lightly, extinguishing fires and covering her tracks with sand, making sure no one saw her approach. The air felt thick with anticipation as she made her way toward Dutch’s tent. Inside, she found the gramophone, and with a quick twist of the dial, the haunting notes of L'amour est un oiseau rebelle began to play, filling the air with an otherworldly tone.

The music caught the attention of everyone in the camp. They turned, confused, searching for the source of the mysterious melody.

"What the hell?" Dutch barked, his voice echoing across the camp. "Who's there?"

A few of the men scrambled toward the sound, but Nerissa, silent as a shadow, appeared behind Arthur. Her hand was steady as she pressed the cold barrel of her gun to his chest. The camp seemed to still at once, the tension in the air palpable.

"Now, Dutch," Nerissa said, her voice calm but with an edge of authority, her face hidden by the brim of her hat. "I think we both can come to an agreement."

Dutch's eyes narrowed as he processed the situation, his hand instinctively moving toward his gun. "I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding," he said, trying to keep his composure as he moved closer to her. He didn’t know who this woman was, but the situation had escalated quickly.

Nerissa slowly lifted her face, revealing her piercing green eyes, locking them with Dutch’s. Arthur, still facing away, couldn’t see what was unfolding, but he felt something shift in the air. When Dutch’s face went from tense to sad, Arthur knew something was off. It was as though Dutch had seen a ghost.

"May we talk in private? Along with Mr. Morgan and Mr. Matthews, of course," Nerissa’s gaze never left Dutch’s, her voice soft but commanding.

"Of course," Dutch said reluctantly, signaling for Arthur to follow. As they moved toward the tent, the air was heavy with anticipation. Hosea, who had been out hunting with Charles, had no idea what was unfolding back at camp. He had heard rumors of a woman with green eyes, but surely that couldn't be—could it?

Inside the tent, Nerissa’s eyes scanned the room for her father, but he wasn’t there. Her heart beat faster, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. She had been hiding for so long, never daring to make contact for fear of being discovered. The longing to see her family again was overwhelming, but now she needed their help, more than ever.

Inside the tent, Nerissa’s eyes scanned the room for her father, but he wasn’t there. Her heart beat faster, the weight of the moment pressing on her chest. She had been hiding for so long, never daring to make contact for fear of being discovered. The longing to see her family again was overwhelming, but now she needed their help, more than ever.

"Where's Hosea?" she asked Dutch, her voice filled with barely contained emotion.

"He should be here any minute," Dutch replied, his voice low, his eyes betraying a mix of emotions as he glanced at her. He couldn’t deny the stirrings of admiration, even awe, as he looked at Nerissa, though he quickly masked it with his usual demeanor.

The sound of hurried footsteps outside the tent caught Nerissa’s attention. The door flapped open, and there, standing in the doorway, was Hosea. His face was etched with both age and wisdom, but when his eyes locked with Nerissa’s, all those years seemed to melt away.

"Hosea!" Nerissa exclaimed, her heart swelling as she lifted her hat, revealing her face fully for the first time.

For a long moment, Hosea stood frozen, unable to believe what he was seeing. There, before him, was his daughter—the same young woman he had lost so many years ago. The tears welled up in his eyes, and he crossed the room in an instant, pulling Nerissa into a tight embrace. "My child, how I've missed you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"I've missed you too, father," Nerissa replied, her voice breaking with the weight of the years. "I wanted to write, but I wasn't sure if you would receive my letters... or if they'd even reach you."

Hosea pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands gently cupping her face. "My dear, it doesn't matter. You’re here now. That’s all that matters. I can't wait to hear everything. I’ve missed you more than you could know."

Nerissa nodded, feeling the comfort of her father’s presence, the warmth of his love. But she couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in her chest. There was someone else she had to face—the man she had loved, the man she had left behind.

Arthur had been standing off to the side, watching the reunion with a mix of emotions. His heart was heavy with confusion, anger, and longing. He had never expected to see Nerissa again, not like this, not after all these years. The hurt was still there, buried deep, but there was something else—a pull toward her he couldn’t explain.

Nerissa turned to Arthur, her heart pounding as she stepped toward him. "Arthur," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Can we talk outside?"

Arthur met her gaze, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Anger swirled inside him. She had disappeared without a word, without even a goodbye. But there was something in her eyes, something that made his resolve falter.

He nodded, his voice hoarse. "Yeah. We need to talk."

As they walked along the riverbank, the air thick with the lingering heat of the day, they arrived at the still waters of the Dakota River. The sun had already dipped below the horizon, leaving only the fiery remnants of the sky, casting deep orange and purple shadows on the land. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze and the low murmur of the river, running relentlessly onward.

Nerissa stopped at the edge of the water, her hands resting at her sides, fists clenched as if to keep her emotions in check. Her voice, steady but firm, cut through the silence.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she said, not looking at him. The apology wasn’t weak or frail, but there was an undeniable weight behind it. She’d been carrying this burden for far too long. “I left without a word, and I know that was wrong. I should’ve told you. Should’ve been honest. But I didn’t. I was selfish.”

Arthur stood still behind her, his posture rigid, his hand resting on his gun as though it was a comfort. He stared out at the river, the sunset casting long shadows across his face, hiding the emotion in his eyes. His voice was cold, rough—almost like the wind before a storm.

“You think I don’t know that, huh? You think I don’t remember how you just walked off like nothing mattered? You left me with nothin’, Nerissa. Not even a goddamn reason.” His words came out clipped, his jaw set in a tight line. “I don’t know what the hell was going through your mind, but you didn’t give a damn about what I felt.”

Nerissa turned slowly, facing him for the first time, her eyes unwavering despite the storm brewing in his. Her voice remained firm, though there was no denying the guilt that tinged her every word.

“I never meant for you to feel like that,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I’m not going to make excuses for what I did. I was wrong. I thought I needed to go. Thought I needed space to figure things out. But all I did was run from what mattered. From you.”

Arthur’s face twisted with frustration. He took a step toward her, his boots crunching against the dirt with a quiet menace. “Space? That’s what you call it? You left me high and dry, without a word or a damn clue. You don’t just walk away from someone, not without leaving a hole behind. I waited, but you never came back, did you? No note, no nothing. Just gone. You know what that did to me?”

Nerissa’s heart clenched at the coldness in his tone, but she stood her ground. She could see the man before her—the tough outlaw who had built walls around himself, too afraid to show the cracks. He’d been hurt, and he was hiding it under layers of bitterness and anger. But she wasn’t afraid of that. She wouldn’t back down.

“I’m here now,” she said, her eyes locking with his, intense and unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere this time. And I’m not asking for forgiveness, Arthur. I’m asking for the chance to make it right.”

Arthur laughed darkly, the sound bitter, almost cruel. “You think I’m gonna let you just waltz back into my life like nothin’ happened? You don’t get to do that, Nerissa. You don’t get to come back after you left me like that and expect things to just fix themselves.” His hand tightened around the grip of his revolver, not in threat, but in frustration, the weight of it comforting him in his anger. “I’m no fool. You don’t get to walk in here with that look on your face and act like you didn’t leave a scar.”

Nerissa’s gaze didn’t waver. She could feel the weight of his anger, the bitterness, but she refused to let it break her. “I’m not asking you to forget, Arthur. I’m asking you to give me a chance to prove I’m not the same person I was when I left. I’m not that woman anymore. I know what I did, and I know it’s not something you can just forgive easily. But I’m here, and I’m not leaving without you this time.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference. But the tension in his jaw betrayed the conflict within him. “You’re a hell of a woman, Nerissa. I’ll give you that. But I’ve spent too many damn years putting myself back together to let anyone in. Least of all someone who ran when it got tough.”

Nerissa took a step forward, her voice quieter but no less determined. “I didn’t run because it was tough. I ran because I was scared. Scared of what I felt, of what I was becoming. But I’m not scared anymore, Arthur. I’m here. And I’m not leaving. Not without you.”

Arthur’s lips curled into a half-smile, but it was as empty as the desert wind. “You don’t know what you’re asking, do you?” His voice was lower now, more dangerous. “You don’t know what happens when you start trusting someone again after they’ve broken you.” He stepped closer, his presence imposing. “You’re playin’ with fire, Nerissa. And fire burns.”

Nerissa stood her ground, refusing to flinch. “Then let it burn, Arthur. Let it burn if it means we finally figure this out.”

The silence between them stretched on, thick with unspoken words, each one heavy with the weight of their past. Arthur stared at her, his gaze as hard as the land they stood on. But beneath it, a flicker of something—something he wasn’t ready to face—moved through him.

“I don’t trust easily,” Arthur muttered, his voice tight. “But you better be damn sure you mean this, Nerissa. Because once I let you back in, I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

Nerissa nodded, her voice steady. “I mean it. And I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the river, its current relentless and steady. Neither of them spoke, but the weight of what had just been said hung between them, a fragile understanding born of pain and unspoken yearning.

As the couple made their way back toward the camp, the flickering light of the fire in the distance painted long, dark shadows across the dusty plains. The soft crackling of the flames reached their ears before they even stepped into view, signaling the warmth and bustle of the camp. The familiar sounds of camp life—a voice here, a laugh there—welcomed them home.

The camp had gathered around the fire, the flickering flames casting eerie shadows that danced on the weathered faces of the outlaws. The air felt thick with anticipation, and even the crickets seemed to hush in the presence of the old campfire ritual.

Hosea stood, his usual mischievous grin replaced with a more serious look. He gestured toward Nerissa, sitting next to him. "Everyone, this here is Nerissa Matthews," he said, his voice commanding attention. "She used to ride with us back in the day, when it was just me, Dutch, Arthur, and John."

Nerissa gave a soft smile, her heart warm at the familiar faces of her old gang. But she knew Hosea well enough to know he wasn’t just introducing her. He had something up his sleeve.

“Now, sit down, folks. I’ve got a story for y’all. A tale to tell in honor of our guest,” Hosea continued, his voice dropping to a lower, more haunting pitch. “It’s an old one, one I’ve only shared with a few of you. Some folks say it’s just a story, but I believe there’s truth to it, something real lurking in the dark.”

The fire crackled loudly for a moment before silence overtook the group, everyone leaning in closer, eyes fixed on Hosea. Even Nerissa, who had heard this tale countless times, felt a shiver crawl up her spine as Hosea’s voice grew darker.

"In the old days of the Wild West, when the frontier was wild and unforgiving, there was a figure that haunted the hills and the open plains," Hosea began, his eyes scanning the camp, catching each person’s attention. "People called him the Shadow Man. And let me tell you, this wasn’t just some bandit or outlaw you could outrun or kill. No, this man was something else—something darker."

He paused, letting the tension build in the air.

“They say he came from the north, from the desolate mountains where the wind howled like a wolf. They say he was a man who knew no mercy. But that ain’t the truth.” Hosea’s voice dropped even lower, his words barely a whisper. “The Shadow Man wasn’t a man at all.”

The camp leaned in, the crackling of the fire now the only sound.

“No,” Hosea continued, his voice now carrying a heavy weight. “The Shadow Man was a woman. A woman so fierce, so terrifying, that even the bravest of men wouldn’t dare cross her path. They say she had the kind of beauty that could stop a man dead in his tracks—eyes that glittered like a starless night, dark as coal, with a hunger in them. But it wasn’t the beauty that made her a legend. No, it was what she did with it.”

Hosea’s gaze grew intense, locking with each of the gang members, as if daring them to doubt him. "The Shadow Woman didn’t just kill. She hunted. She stalked her prey with a patience and precision that made even the most skilled hunters nervous. No one ever saw her coming, not until it was too late."

He let the story hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

"She would slip through the shadows like smoke in the wind, never seen but always there. She didn’t wear the usual garb of an outlaw—no, she dressed in black, as dark as the night itself, and her movements were as quiet as a whisper. No boots clinking. No spurs jingling. Just silence. And then… death.”

A cold wind swept through the camp, sending a shiver through the group. Even the fire seemed to flicker more violently, as if the flames themselves were afraid of the story.

Hosea leaned in closer, his voice soft but full of menace.

“They say she never left a trace. She didn’t leave behind bodies to mourn, only the blood of her victims, staining the earth, and the faintest scent of something burning in the air, like wood caught in a blaze. And sometimes, if the wind was right, you could hear the whispers in the night—the sound of her laughter, low and haunting, echoing off the cliffs like a ghost.”

Hosea paused again, letting the weight of his words settle over the group. The camp was deathly still, the only sound now the occasional crackle from the fire.

“Some say she was just a myth, a tale told by frightened men who never wanted to face her. But others… others swear they’ve seen her. Some claim they saw her silhouette at the edge of their campfires, watching them from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. And when they tried to run? They say she was already there, waiting in the dark, and they never saw the morning sun again.”

Hosea’s voice dropped to a whisper. “But there’s something else. A curse, if you will. They say, if you cross the Shadow Woman and survive, she will haunt you. She’ll follow you until you can’t tell where the shadows end and where you begin. She’ll whisper in your ear at night, remind you of every wrong you’ve ever done, and you’ll never know peace again.”

The camp was silent, everyone caught in the grip of the tale. For a moment, no one spoke, as if afraid to break the spell Hosea had cast.

Finally, Abigail, her voice shaking with a mix of amusement and nervousness, broke the silence. “Hosea, you old fool,” she said, laughing nervously. “It’s just a story, ain’t it? There’s no such thing as a Shadow Woman, right?”

But Nerissa, her smile fading as she watched the fire’s flickering light, couldn't help herself. She’d been silent through the whole tale, caught between nostalgia and something far more unsettling. Her eyes locked on Hosea, and with a soft, amused chuckle, she said, "Sorry, Miss, but that story? It's true. And Hosea’s got the right idea, though he likes to add some extra flair. The Shadow Woman was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a ghost. And if you knew how to listen to the wind, you’d hear her, too.”

As Hosea's and Nerissa's tale came to a dramatic end, the camp sat in a tense silence. Even the fire seemed to crackle a little softer, as if it too was trying to make sense of the chilling words that had just been spoken. Everyone’s eyes were wide, hearts racing, the lingering sensation of fear hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, the silence broke with the sound of a single, unexpected burst of laughter.

Nerissa, her hand covering her mouth, was laughing. The sound wasn’t just a chuckle—it was full-on, hearty laughter, shaking her shoulders as she tried to catch her breath.

The camp turned to her in confusion, some of them blinking, unsure of what to make of this sudden outburst. Hosea raised an eyebrow, and even Arthur, who had been lost in thought, glanced up with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Oh, come on, Hosea,” Nerissa finally said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "That’s one hell of a story, but you really think we’re all just gonna sit here and believe you? You’ve got some nerve, old man."

Her laughter echoed through the camp, the tension from Hosea’s tale melting away like snow under the sun. She shook her head, still grinning.

"Shadow Woman? Please," Nerissa continued, her voice still full of laughter. "I think I’d remember if I had an alter ego running around the wilds of the West, sneaking up on folks. But I appreciate the flair you put on it, Hosea. I really do."

She glanced around at the gang, who were still processing her outburst. "Look, we all know the Shadow Woman was real enough—hell, I was part of that tale—but if you think anyone here could haunt you after you’ve already spent half your life with us, you’re kidding yourself."

Hosea, unable to keep a smile off his face, raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright, you got me. Maybe I spiced it up a bit, but that don’t mean it ain’t based on some truth."

Nerissa winked at him, her smile still lingering. "No harm in a good story, Hosea. But I think the only thing lurking around these parts is you, old man, trying to scare the newcomers with tall tales."

The group erupted into laughter, the tension of the moment evaporating like smoke in the wind. Arthur chuckled too, shaking his head at the playful banter, while even Abigail rolled her eyes, trying to hide her smile.

Nerissa leaned back, her laugh dying down, but a glint of mischief still twinkling in her eyes. "Guess it’s good to be back with y’all," she said, feeling a warmth spread through her chest as the familiar sounds of camp life resumed.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Nerissa settled back into the rhythm of life with the gang, feeling the familiar weight of the saddle beneath her once more. She rode alongside her father and Charles, the three of them combing the rugged land for game and herbs. The wind caught in her hair, the sun warmed her skin, and for a moment, it felt like the world had slowed down to a comfortable pace.

She found solace in the quiet camaraderie of the women in camp. Abigail, with her steady presence, and Tilly, with her sharp wit, had become the friends she never realized she’d missed. By the fire, they shared stories of their pasts, of their dreams for the future, and the flickering flames cast a warm glow on their faces. Nerissa felt a gentle sense of belonging again—something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel for so long.

But that peace was quickly shattered by the rapid thudding of hooves in the distance. A horse galloped into the camp, its rider a young black man, was gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling in desperate rhythm. His words came out in a frantic rush, almost as though he feared the very air would steal them from his lips.

“Dutch… Arthur… They got Micah,” the boy gasped, his voice ragged with panic. Nerissa couldn’t place the boy’s face, but Abigail muttered low, her eyes flickering towards him. “It’s Lenny. He was sweet on Jenny. You remember?”

Lenny’s eyes were wide with fear, his panic nearly palpable. He looked every bit the part of someone barely holding on to their grip, caught between the terror of what he’d seen and the horror of what might happen next.

“What’s going on?” Dutch demanded, his booming voice breaking the tense silence as he emerged from his tent, Arthur at his side. Molly trailed behind them, her expression unreadable, still distant and cautious around Nerissa.

“They got Micah. He’s in the sheriff’s office in Strawberry. Arrested for murder... and there’s talk of hanging him,” Lenny blurted out, fear twisting his features as he darted his gaze from one person to the next, looking for reassurance.

“Take a breath, son,” Dutch said softly, placing a calming hand on Lenny’s trembling shoulder, a rare moment of tenderness that barely registered in the boy’s frantic mind.

Lenny's breath was uneven, as he struggled to gather himself. “They nearly lynched me, Dutch. They got him locked up tight… The sheriff’s talking hangin’, and I don't know what to do.” His voice quivered, an unmistakable note of helplessness cutting through.

Nerissa watched with a mix of sympathy and disdain. Micah’s name was enough to stir something ugly inside her—she had read about his exploits, seen the messes he’d left behind. His reckless, violent nature was a festering wound that seemed to never stop bleeding.

Arthur’s snarl broke through her thoughts. “Here’s hopin’ they do,” he muttered under his breath, eyes cold with disdain.

Nerissa stifled a small laugh, her eyes glinting with shared sentiment. She knew Arthur’s feelings for Micah ran deep, as did hers. The man was poison, a dangerous presence that had caused nothing but chaos.

As the men spoke in hurried tones, trying to figure out their next steps, Nerissa’s focus shifted. The air was thick with dust and tension, the scent of the West clinging to everything. Her wide-brimmed hat shielded her eyes from the lowering sun as it beat down upon the camp. Just as she was about to turn away, she heard a voice, smooth and unsettling, cutting through the din.

“Excuse me, Fräulein Matthews,” the voice purred, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. She recognized the voice immediately. Strauss, whose presence always made her stomach tighten. His beady eyes glimmered with greedy intent.

Nerissa’s gaze narrowed instinctively, her posture stiffening. She had little love for the man or the filthy work he did for the gang, but she knew she couldn’t refuse him entirely—not without consequence. “How can I help you, Herr Strauss?” she asked, her voice firm and measured.

“There’s a matter to be settled,” Strauss continued with a disingenuous smile that made Nerissa’s skin crawl. “A preacher by the name of Downes, up in Valentine... he owes us a great deal of money. Perhaps you could see to it that he pays his debt.”

The thought of debt collection soured Nerissa’s stomach. She hated the thought of forcing people—especially innocents—into something like this. But she couldn’t afford to refuse, not if she wanted to maintain any semblance of her place here. "And you want me to handle it?" she replied, her voice colder than before.

"Exactly, Fräulein Matthews," Strauss replied, a hint of smugness in his tone.

With a sigh, Nerissa nodded, her expression hardening. “I’ll take care of it.”

Just as she turned to make her way towards her horse, she spotted Arthur, already preparing to mount his own steed.

"Where you headin’?" he asked, his tone casual, but his gaze lingering on her, as though he already knew the answer.

"Off to Strawberry to help with Micah, or see him hang, depends on how it goes," he said, a grim smile tugging at his lips. Nerissa could hear the venom in his voice, a deep-seated resentment for the man who had caused so much trouble in their lives.

“I’ll ride with you,” she said, giving him a smile. "I have to stop at the Downes ranch on the way."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, but didn’t protest. The idea of riding out with him appealed to her far more than dealing with the oppressive heat and Strauss’s request. Besides, this would be a rare opportunity to spend some time alone with him, away from the chaos of the camp.

With a swift motion, she mounted her horse and set off beside him. The sound of their horses' hooves echoed through the open plains, the wind whipping through their hair as they rode together. The thrill of the ride, the solitude of the wide-open land—it made Nerissa feel alive again, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The horizon stretched out before them, wide and unforgiving, and Nerissa couldn’t help but wonder what other trials lay ahead. Would they be able to save Micah from the noose? Or would the choices they made this day come to haunt them all?

Arthur didn’t speak for a while, the only sound between them the rhythmic beat of their horses’ gallops. But she could feel the weight of his thoughts, the tension in the air as he processed everything.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low but firm. “Just so you know, I ain’t gonna lose no sleep over Micah. He’s trouble, and I’m more than ready to see the back of him.”

Nerissa smiled softly, but her thoughts were elsewhere, already turned towards the road ahead, both literal and metaphorical.

“I know,” she replied quietly. “But we still have to do what we can. It’s who we are.”

The wind picked up, carrying with it the dust of the Wild West, and with it, the promise of whatever was to come. Together, they rode forward, side by side.

The warm sunlight bathed the plains of New Hanover in a soft, golden glow as Arthur and Nerissa rode side by side, their horses’ hooves crunching against the earth. The scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze, mingling with the rich smell of the grass and earth beneath them. Cattle dotted the hillsides, grazing lazily, while the horizon stretched out endlessly, offering nothing but wide-open space.

As they approached the Downes Ranch, Nerissa noticed a lone figure laboring in the fields—an older man, bent low over the soil, his movements slow and deliberate. The humble wooden house in the distance seemed to shrink under the weight of the land around it.

Her eyes narrowed as they drew closer, her instincts bristling with unease.

“Arthur,” she began, her voice laced with caution. “You sure this is the place?”

Arthur didn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the man in the field. When he finally spoke, his tone was sharp. “It’s him. The man who owes us money. We need to deal with it.”

Nerissa’s heart sank as they dismounted, the familiar, uncomfortable tension of dealing with debt weighing on her.

As they approached the farmer, Nerissa’s eyes flicked over him, noting the way he staggered slightly as he wiped his forehead with a ragged handkerchief. His clothes were threadbare, and his face, drawn and pale, bore the unmistakable signs of illness.

“Are you Mr. Thomas Downes?” Nerissa asked, her voice soft but firm, cautious as always, yet trying to keep the situation civil.

“Yeah, that’s me,” the man replied, his voice raspy, with a faint wheeze in each breath.

“You owe us money,” Arthur growled, his tone leaving no room for pleasantries. His fists were clenched at his sides, and Nerissa could feel the tension radiating off him. “Time to pay up.”

The farmer’s face shifted, his lips trembling as he wiped more sweat from his brow. His eyes darted between Arthur’s imposing presence and Nerissa’s softer, more measured stance.

But it wasn’t just fear Nerissa saw in his gaze. She saw pain. The kind of pain that comes from sickness too far gone, the kind that leaves a person too weak to even fight for their own survival.

“Arthur, wait.” Nerissa stepped forward, placing herself between him and the farmer. “Look at him—he’s sick, for God’s sake. We can’t just shove him into a corner like this.”

Arthur’s face twisted with frustration. “He owes us, Nerissa! That’s the bottom line. We need that money. Now.”

Her hand went to his arm, her touch gentle but firm as she tried to keep him grounded. “You’re not listening to me. The man’s dying. What’s wrong with you?”

Arthur’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening. “I’m doing what needs to be done, Nerissa. You think I’m happy about this? You think I wanna be here?”

Nerissa’s frustration rose to a boil. “No, Arthur, you’re not happy. You’re pissed off, and for what? Because you’re not getting your way?” Her voice wavered, but she wasn’t about to back down. “This is a human being we’re talking about here. He’s barely hanging on, and you want to make it worse. What happened to you, huh? You’re a better man than this!”

Arthur’s eyes flared with anger, his face darkening. His voice rose sharply, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “I’m not the one who left and came crawling back, Nerissa! Don’t you dare turn this around on me.”

Nerissa took a step back, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind reeling from the harshness of his words. “Forget it,” she muttered, her voice bitter and filled with hurt. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

Arthur didn’t respond, his back already turned as he mounted his horse with a muttered curse under his breath.

“We’ll be back for the money,” he called over his shoulder, leaving Nerissa standing with the farmer, her stomach twisted with anger and sorrow.

She turned slowly toward the man, her gaze softening. “Mr. Downes,” she said gently, her voice a balm to the tension that had built in the air. “Is there anything we can do to help you? You look like you’re in a bad way.”

He looked up at her, surprise and gratitude in his eyes, as if no one had ever bothered to ask him that question before. “I... I appreciate it, miss,” he wheezed, his voice barely above a whisper. “But there’s nothin’ you can do. My time’s just about up.”

Her heart twisted with sadness at his words, the weight of the world pressing down on her. She’d seen too many people like this in her travels, struggling with nothing but a slow, painful decline and no one to help them.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but the words felt inadequate. She gave a final, gentle look to the farmer before she turned to mount her horse and catch up with Arthur.

As she rode to him, fury and hurt mixing in her chest, Nerissa couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Arthur!” she yelled, her voice sharp with frustration. “What the hell is wrong with you? You just left that man to rot!”

Arthur was already on his horse, not even looking at her as she caught up. His expression was hard, closed off. “He borrowed money, Nerissa. He has to pay it back. We’ve got our own problems.”

“You’re really gonna justify this?” Nerissa’s words came out through gritted teeth. “He’s dying, Arthur. How can you be so damn cold?”

Arthur’s head snapped toward her, his eyes flashing with anger. “I’m cold? I'm not the one who ran away. I’m the one who’s been keeping us alive out here, trying to make sure we’ve got what we need. You think I like doing this? I don’t. But that man needs to pay up, just like anyone else does. Ain’t no room for sentiment in this life.”

Nerissa’s heart pounded in her chest, the hurt and betrayal mingling with her anger. “I’m not saying you’re wrong about the debt, Arthur. I’m saying you’re wrong about everything else. When did you become this person?” She shook her head, her voice shaking. “When did you lose all of your damn heart?”

Arthur’s eyes darkened, and he turned away from her, not offering any answer.

“Forget it,” Nerissa muttered again, her voice brittle, her heart heavy. “I don’t even know you anymore.”

The ride was thick with silence, the anger between them hanging like a storm that hadn’t yet broken. The world seemed to hold its breath as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the land. The fading light painted everything in hues of orange and purple, but there was nothing warm about the air between Arthur and Nerissa. The once familiar closeness now felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

As they finally reached a clearing to camp, Arthur dismounted with a sharp movement, his jaw clenched, his back stiff with unspoken words. The fire crackled to life, its glow dancing across his face but doing little to soften the hardness in his expression. Nerissa, too, remained quiet, her heart racing with a mix of frustration and regret. She couldn’t stop the flood of thoughts crashing through her mind, the things they had said, the things they hadn’t. The words felt like stones lodged in her chest, too heavy to move, too sharp to forget.

Arthur set up a bedroll for himself, his actions brisk and impersonal, as though he were simply going through the motions. His back was turned to her as he settled onto the ground, the tension in his posture clear even in the dark. Nerissa, unable to escape the weight of the silence, sat by the fire, staring into the flames, her mind still reeling. The stars above seemed colder than usual tonight, distant and uncaring, much like the gulf that had grown between them.

She finally lay down, the rough earth beneath her pressing into her skin. She stared up at the sky, the vastness of it mocking her sense of helplessness. The moon hung high above, casting a pale light across the land, but the darkness inside her felt much heavier. Everything about tonight—the fight, the distance, the quiet that followed—felt like the end of something, something she wasn’t sure she could fix.

“Arthur...” Nerissa began, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she were afraid even the wind might carry her words away.

His breath came slow and steady beside her, but he didn’t respond. His silence was louder than anything he could have said. She swallowed, turning her head slightly to meet the line of his back, her heart aching with every beat.

“We’ve still got a long way to go,” she murmured, her words hanging in the air, not meant to be answered, just something to fill the hollow space between them.

But Arthur didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The words felt useless now, hollow and frail against the wall of quiet that had settled over them. He had already said all he needed to say earlier, and Nerissa had said too much. The hurt was done. The gap between them was so wide now that no amount of apologies, no words at all, seemed capable of bridging it.

Nerissa shifted, her thoughts a swirl of regret and uncertainty. Had they ever been this broken before? Had the cracks always been there, hidden beneath the surface, just waiting for the right moment to splinter them apart? She closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come, not with the storm inside her heart still raging.

The minutes stretched on, each one heavy with the knowledge that things would never be quite the same between them. And as she lay there, side by side but miles apart, Nerissa realized with a bitter twist in her chest that sometimes, no matter how much you want to fix something, there’s just no going back.

As they rode towards Strawberry, the trail ahead was a blur of dust kicked up by their horses' hooves. The hot sun beat down relentlessly, a constant reminder of the harshness of the Wild West. The only sounds were the rhythmic trot of the horses and the occasional rustling of the sparse trees that dotted the landscape. The town of Strawberry lay ahead, small and nestled between the rugged terrain. It had always struck Nerissa as a peaceful little place, but she hadn't paid much attention to it when she rode through, her thoughts occupied by the gang and their pursuit of freedom.

As they neared the sheriff’s office, a loud, obnoxious voice rang out from the side of the building. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening in recognition.

“Hello, old friend. Had a good time, did you?” Arthur called out tauntingly, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Arthur, you gonna get me outta here?” The voice was rough, strained, as if Micah had spent the better part of the day yelling. Bruised and beaten, Micah’s usual swagger was nowhere to be found.

Nerissa remained silent, her gaze fixed firmly ahead, her lips pressed into a thin line. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel any sympathy for the man. In fact, every fiber of her being wanted to leave him there to rot. Micah jeered, begging for release, but it only made Arthur’s eyes harden more. He was in no hurry to help someone like him.

Arthur turned to Nerissa, his tone casual but with an edge of playfulness. “I ain’t decided yet. What you think, miss?”

Nerissa didn’t answer right away. She stayed quiet, staring ahead as the heat of the moment gnawed at her insides. Her feelings toward Arthur were tangled, unresolved. She had so much to say, but Micah wasn’t worth her time. Not anymore. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.

“Real funny. Who’s the lady?” Micah sneered, his gaze sliding over Nerissa. He let out a sharp laugh, clearly amused by the situation, but Arthur didn’t flinch.

“Don’t worry about her,” Arthur said, his voice low, menacing. He wasn’t in the mood for Micah’s games.

“Oh, I ain’t joking, cowpoke. I’ve heard so much bluster outta your mouth these last six months. Now’s the time we get to see you be silenced,” Arthur taunted, his grin widening.

Arthur’s fingers twitched at his sides, but he kept his composure. The last thing he wanted was to give Micah any more satisfaction. “Well, you gotta do something,” Micah practically begged, desperation creeping into his voice, but Arthur just shook his head.

"Why? I always looked up to you, Arthur," Micah said, trying to appeal to Arthur’s sense of loyalty, to the past they shared. His words were empty, meaningless.

Arthur’s expression hardened, and he shot a look at Nerissa before speaking. “Well, that’s your first mistake.” He paused, his voice firm. “Listen, there’s one little problem... there’s only one of me, and there’s a whole town full of people wanting to see you swing. Including me and the lady.”

Arthur gave a small nod toward Nerissa, who was still silent, her eyes cold. It was clear she wanted nothing to do with Micah’s pleading. He needed to face the consequences of his actions.

Despite Nerissa’s apprehension, Arthur found a nearby steam donkey, the machine’s mechanical growls echoing through the area. He used it to rip out the bars of Micah’s cell, freeing him from his captivity. The moment the metal twisted and the bars clattered to the ground, the air around them seemed to crack with tension. A gunfight exploded around them, chaos erupting in an instant as the town seemed to descend into madness. Nerissa, her heart hammering in her chest, didn’t reach for her guns. Instead, she instinctively took a step back, trying to stay out of harm's way. Her mind raced as she searched for a way out—away from the violence, away from Micah’s taint.

But Micah, ever the troublemaker, had other ideas.

Without a second thought, he turned, his eyes gleaming with a wild recklessness. “We’re headin’ to a nearby house,” he growled. “Got a score to settle with an old friend. Name’s Norman—took something of mine. And I aim to get it back.”

Nerissa’s stomach churned as she watched him, disbelief washing over her. The man she had read about in the papers—the one whose name was whispered with disgust—was now standing before her, alive, real, and filled with a sickening malice. He was nothing but a horrid rat with no conscience, no humanity. The thought of what he had done, of the innocent lives he had destroyed without a second thought, made her blood boil.

“You disgust me, Bell,” she spat, her voice thick with revulsion. The urge to pull her own gun and end his life right then and there was almost overwhelming.

Micah sneered, his lips curling in a vicious grin. “Quiet, woman,” he snarled, his voice dripping with venom, but before the situation could escalate any further, Arthur stepped in.

“Shut it, Micah,” Arthur growled, his voice like steel, cutting through the tension. He placed a firm hand on Nerissa’s shoulder, as if to steady her, though his touch didn’t provide much comfort. “We’ve got other business to attend to.”

The anger in his voice was unmistakable, and it made Nerissa pause, just for a moment. She had never seen him like this before, but now, with the weight of his frustration and disappointment hanging heavy in the air, she knew they had to leave. Without another word, she followed Arthur’s lead as they made their way back toward camp.

But as they walked, Nerissa’s fury bubbled up, her heart pounding in her chest. It felt as if the flames of rage were consuming her from the inside out, threatening to explode. The thought of returning to camp with Micah still in the picture, with that vile man walking free, made her feel sick.

She couldn’t take it any longer.

"Do excuse me," she said, her voice taut with emotion, her hands trembling slightly from the depth of her anger. "I need some time to myself, to clear my head and rid myself of that massacre."

Arthur didn’t say anything at first. He simply nodded, his expression unreadable. But Nerissa knew—he was still angry with her. Angry for leaving, for making him believe that he wasn’t good enough.

She couldn’t blame him.

Nerissa turned her horse toward the hills, away from the camp, her mind racing as the familiar landscape of New Hanover stretched before her. The small clearing she sought was just beyond the horizon, a place she had found before in her travels—a place of solace amidst the vast wilderness. As she rode, the quiet of nature enveloped her, the distant calls of birds and the whisper of the wind through the trees offering her a small semblance of peace.

But as she reached the clearing, the weight of the day—the violence, the anger, the bitterness of Micah’s presence—settled over her like a heavy shroud. She dismounted, leading her horse to a patch of grass, and took a deep breath as the sun began to set, its golden light casting long shadows across the parched earth. It was as if the day itself was fading, but the ache in her chest remained.

Nerissa sank down onto the grass, her journal in hand. Her fingers gripped the pen tightly, the weight of her emotions pulling her in every direction. She felt angry, hurt—betrayed by Micah’s actions, by the violence she couldn’t escape, and by the distant ache of Arthur’s disappointment.

With every word she wrote, her feelings poured out onto the page—frustration, regret, fury, and the raw, unspoken truth of what she had witnessed. What had been done in her name, and the names of others, in the pursuit of greed and revenge.

Her hand shook as she wrote, the ink smudging slightly on the paper. She didn’t know what she was hoping for, but it didn’t matter. There was no turning back now. She was trapped in a world of bloodshed and betrayal, with no easy way out.

And though she knew Arthur might not forgive her, not yet—not after everything—she couldn’t stop the words from flowing. She just needed a release, a way to make sense of the pain that gnawed at her soul.

The sun dipped lower, its light beginning to fade into the evening. Nerissa could feel it in her bones—this was just the beginning. Whatever came next, she knew the weight of it would stay with her forever.

Chapter Text

The weeks bled into each other at Horseshoe Overlook, a quiet camp nestled in the hills of New Hanover. The camp had the beauty of nature around it—tall trees swaying in the wind, the sun dipping behind the mountains at dusk—but for Nerissa, it felt suffocating. Every day she stayed, she longed to show Arthur that she was there, truly there, not running this time, but it felt impossible. He still looked at her with eyes that could burn through steel, eyes full of resentment and anger.

Arthur. Her Arthur. The man she’d once adored with every fiber of her being, the one whose heart she knew beat for her—he now saw her as a stranger, someone who’d left him behind. And she couldn’t blame him. She’d left, after all. She’d vanished when he needed her most, and the guilt that gnawed at her grew stronger each day.

Each morning, as the camp awoke with the first light of dawn, Nerissa would search for Arthur, hoping for some sign of him. She’d watch him from a distance, waiting for the fleeting moments when their eyes might meet, and yet, every time, when their gazes locked, he would quickly turn away, the cold edge of his expression biting into her heart.

But it was when she slept, her exhaustion finally taking over, that she’d sense him, feel his eyes on her, burning into her from across the camp. His presence lingered even when she wasn’t awake, and for all the anger he carried, she knew his heart still beat for her, still carried the love he couldn’t let go of. But that love was mixed with fear—the fear that she might leave again, that she might break him for a second time.

The morning was busy, just like any other. Arthur was out again on one of those dangerous missions Dutch loved to send him on, and Nerissa was left to tend to the more domestic chores. As much as she wanted to be out there with him, as much as she longed for him to look at her the way he once had, she had a responsibility. She wasn’t the same woman who had left him. She was determined to prove that.

Her skill with the bow had not dulled in her time away. In fact, she had become even more precise, more ruthless when it came to hunting. She tracked the deer through the brush with a quiet intensity, her eyes sharp, her movements fluid. With a swift pull of the string and the sharp twang of the bow, a buck fell to the ground. She had become good at this—too good at taking life. But it wasn’t a victory. Every life she ended, no matter how necessary, made her feel further from the woman she once was.

She carried the deer back to Pearson, her mind heavy with thoughts of Arthur. She couldn’t stop thinking about the man who used to be her home. She saw the way he looked at her, his gaze cold and filled with accusations. She knew he blamed her.

Dutch always gave her a knowing glance when she passed him, a silent acknowledgment of the strength she possessed. He’d seen Nerissa struggle with violence, never being able to fully accept the darker parts of the life they led. But he also knew the value of her heart, and that heart was as gold as any treasure. She never hesitated to help those in need, to offer sage advice when Dutch sought it. Her wisdom had been a quiet beacon in the chaos, guiding the gang through the muck of their lives.

Despite the wariness she carried, Nerissa had found her place among them. The laundry, the cooking, the cleaning—she did it all with grace and diligence. She offered her knowledge freely, hoping, somewhere deep down, that it would earn her forgiveness from those who had seen her as more than just a fleeting shadow.

Horseshoe Overlook, despite its beauty, had become something else entirely in Nerissa’s eyes. It was a place to hide, a quiet corner in the vast Wild West where she could attempt to bury herself from the rest of the world. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the weight of her absence from Arthur’s life still clung to her like a heavy fog.

The woman she once was—strong, bright, and full of life—felt like a distant memory. Her skin, once sun-kissed from her travels, had lost its warmth, turning pale and drawn. Her eyes, which had once sparkled with adventure, now held shadows that never seemed to leave. Her body had grown thinner, as if each day without Arthur chipped away at her soul.

But no matter how tired she grew, how hollow she felt, Nerissa’s heart never stopped searching for one thing: Arthur’s forgiveness. She couldn’t help it. She had left him once before, and no matter how much she tried to justify it, there was no excuse for abandoning him the way she did.

As Nerissa busied herself with small chores around camp, trying to earn her place back with the others, she couldn’t help but feel his eyes on her. Arthur hadn’t said much since her return. He kept his distance, his gaze sharp, and every time their paths crossed, there was a tension in the air that made it hard for her to breathe.

Arthur watched her from afar, leaning against the cabin post, his arms crossed, eyes hard as stone. There was a part of him that was furious—furious at her for leaving, for making him believe that somehow he wasn’t enough to keep her close. But then there were moments, fleeting moments, when the old spark of the woman he had once loved would break through. He saw the way she would carry herself, the quiet strength in the way she moved, how her gaze would soften whenever one of the camp members spoke to her with kindness.

It was a bitter feeling, this watching from the sidelines, this dance of wanting to pull her close and push her away all at once.

Nerissa felt the weight of his stare on her, even though she couldn’t bear to look in his direction for too long. She couldn’t. Not when she knew how deeply she had hurt him.

She didn’t know what to say to him anymore. What words could bridge the gap between the woman who had left him and the woman who now wanted nothing more than to stay? Every time she tried to speak to him, her voice would catch, the shame of her departure still clinging to her like a second skin.

Arthur, in his quiet resentment, had begun to watch her. He couldn’t help it. At first, he’d tried to avoid her—tried to bury the hurt she’d caused him—but it wasn’t that simple. His eyes followed her as she moved through the camp, her every gesture still graceful, still the woman he’d loved, still the woman who had left him all those years ago.

There were times, late at night, when he’d be sitting by the fire, staring into its flames, and he would catch a glimpse of her—Nerissa, her silhouette framed by the glow of the lanterns, still as beautiful as he remembered. His chest tightened in a way he hadn’t expected. He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to scream at her for making him feel worthless, for abandoning him. But every time he saw her, those old feelings crept back in, making him feel more confused than ever.

He couldn’t bring himself to confront her. Not yet. Not when the pain of her absence still hung over him like a storm cloud, ready to burst. But slowly, imperceptibly, he began to notice the little things—the way she would help Miss Grimshaw without complaint, the way she’d speak softly to the children when they needed comfort. He remembered the Nerissa he had once known, the one with the heart of gold, the one who never hesitated to help, even when it hurt. And though he was too proud to admit it, Arthur’s heart began to soften.

Maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t changed as much as he thought.

It was a scorching afternoon in the rugged wilds of the American frontier, and the Horseshoe Overlook camp was alive with the buzz of activity. The crackling of the fire, the clatter of pots, and the chatter of the gang filled the air. Nerissa had just returned from a successful hunting trip, her bow and quiver slung over her back, the fresh kill of deer meat a bounty that would earn Pearson's approval.

As she passed by Dutch and Arthur's tent, a familiar, playful voice caught her attention, and she slowed her pace, not wanting to interrupt.

“Ah, my dear boy, you are sweet on her,” Hosea’s voice rang out with a knowing chuckle. 

"Not anymore," Arthur muttered, the bitterness in his voice sharp enough to cut through the camp's noise.

Nerissa’s chest tightened at his words, and she couldn't stop herself from glancing toward the tent. It felt like the world had just shifted beneath her feet. She continued walking past, keeping her eyes ahead, but the pang of his indifference hit harder than she expected. It was like a thousand little cuts all over again.

She had left him once before. She had run—chasing her own freedom, her own need to wander—and now, she was back. But she could feel the weight of his silence and the wall he'd built between them.

“I don’t buy it,” John said, his tone sharp with suspicion.

“Shut it, Marston,” Arthur growled, his voice low with frustration, his eyes cutting over toward John, who was watching them closely.

“I can feel it—there’s tension between you two. It’s not just me, Arthur.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he turned away from the table, his anger bubbling just below the surface. “I said, shut it.”

Nerissa's eyes lingered on Arthur as he walked away, his back stiff and shoulders set in a way that made her heart ache. She felt a tightness in her throat, the sting of shame creeping over her like a suffocating fog. She had abandoned him once, and no matter how many apologies she offered, she couldn't undo the hurt she'd caused. She knew he was angry, and maybe, maybe he had every right to be. But seeing the way he avoided her, the coldness in his gaze—it made her feel smaller, like she was a ghost in her own skin.

Arthur tried to focus on other things, throwing himself into his work or his whiskey, but he couldn't shake the image of Nerissa, standing there so quietly, so distant. He’d seen her slip back into camp, almost like she was trying to slip under the radar. But there was something in the way she moved, something in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t watching, that kept pulling him in.

It made him angry. Angry that she was back, angry that she left, angry that the years had done little to erase the ache in his chest when he thought of her. But it also made him... confused. The truth was, no matter how much time had passed, she was still the woman he’d fallen in love with, still the one who made his heart beat faster even when he wanted it to stop.

So, he watched her. From a distance at first, just observing her in the camp as she moved about—always polite, always helpful, but never fully connecting with anyone. He noticed the way she would linger by the fire when Pearson was cooking, or the way she spoke to John, her voice softer than usual. It hurt. But there was something else too. Something he didn’t want to admit. She wasn’t the same woman who had left him so many years ago, lost in the wilderness. She had changed, sure—but so had he. And maybe, just maybe, she was trying.

Her eyes met his once when she didn’t know he was looking. For the briefest moment, the distance between them collapsed, and he saw the regret there, plain as day.

But just as quickly, she looked away, her shoulders slumping slightly, like she couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze.

Arthur didn't know what to feel anymore. Anger, betrayal... maybe even love. He couldn't tell if she had come back because she missed him or because she was lost. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he even knew what he wanted from her.

But he watched. And he waited. And he tried not to feel too much, even though every time she moved, every time she spoke, his heart fought against him, desperate to believe in the possibility of them again.

Nerissa, for her part, could feel it. The pull between them that was both a comfort and a torment. She had always known he had a way of watching her without saying a word, a way of making her feel seen in a way no one else could. But this time was different. There was an edge to his gaze, a sharpness that reminded her of the hurt she had caused.

And she hated herself for it. The shame weighed heavy, and the guilt gnawed at her. She had left him once, and now, no matter how much she tried to make it right, she knew it would never be the same. She wanted to reach out, to beg for his forgiveness, but something inside her kept her back. She was afraid he’d shut her out completely. That he had finally learned how to forget her.

The morning light filtered through the canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns across the dusty campgrounds. Nerissa wandered through the camp, her boots crunching softly on the dirt, when she spotted Charles by the fire. He was hunched over, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully crafted arrows, the slender shafts being shaped with precision. The rhythm of his movements drew her closer, her curiosity piqued by the quiet craftsmanship.

"Whatcha doin' there, Charles?" she called out, her voice carrying an easy interest.

Charles looked up, offering her a small but warm smile. "Preparing arrows for hunting," he replied, his hands still steady with his work. "The right arrow can make all the difference. It's about more than just the shot—it’s about making sure the deer doesn’t suffer, and the pelt comes back clean. Takes patience."

Nerissa nodded thoughtfully, a spark of excitement in her eyes as she watched him. "That sounds like something I could learn. You planning on hunting soon?"

"Sure am," he said, meeting her gaze. His smile turned into a knowing grin. "I reckon I could use some company. You got a taste for hunting, do ya?"

Her lips curved into a playful smirk. "I’d say I do, if it means I get to learn from the best."

Charles chuckled, pushing himself to his feet and giving her a once-over. "Let’s go then."

Within moments, they were saddling up their horses, the sounds of hooves thudding against the earth as they rode side by side, the wide open land stretching before them like a vast canvas. The Heartlands, wild and free, had always held a certain magic for Nerissa. The air felt different out here—fresher, cleaner. It was as if the land itself was alive, breathing alongside them.

As they rode through the winding trails, the soft rustling of the trees and the occasional call of a bird overhead were the only sounds to break the silence between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. There was something calming about the way they both existed in that space—quiet, aware, and yet not needing to fill the air with words.

"Quite a place," Nerissa said softly, breaking the silence. "There’s something about this land, something that calls to you."

Charles looked over at her, a glint of understanding in his eyes. "You learn to hear it after a while," he said quietly. "The land speaks to you, shows you its secrets if you’re patient enough. Most folks just ride through, too busy with the world to listen. But out here, you can feel it... the pulse of it all."

She nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle in her bones. They continued on, the sun climbing higher in the sky, until they reached a clearing. A small herd of deer grazed peacefully in the distance, the soft flick of their tails and the rhythmic movement of their bodies grounding Nerissa in the moment.

Charles pulled his horse to a slow stop and dismounted, his movements fluid and practiced. "Here we are," he said, his voice lowered now, almost reverent. "Stay low, keep your distance. Don’t rush."

Nerissa followed his lead, dropping down beside him and carefully adjusting her bow. Her heart pounded in her chest, but there was no fear. There was only focus, the sharpness of her senses tuning in to the delicate dance of the hunt. She felt the cool breeze against her skin, the steady rise and fall of her breath, and she let it all flow into her aim.

With a slow, measured pull, she drew the string back, her eyes locking onto the deer she had chosen. A sharp twang echoed through the clearing as the arrow shot through the air, slicing the silence with precision. The deer scattered, but the arrow found its mark. Nerissa felt the rush of triumph pulse through her, a sense of satisfaction as she watched the animal fall gracefully.

Charles gave her a nod of approval, his expression serious but impressed. "Well done, Nerissa. You’ve got the hands of a seasoned hunter."

She smiled, the thrill of the hunt still singing in her veins. "Thanks," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Couldn’t have done it without your guidance."

As they made their way back to camp, the weight of the day’s hunt settling between them, Nerissa felt a quiet contentment. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the plains, and the world felt still, as if the earth itself was exhaling a deep breath.

The soft crunch of hooves on gravel was the only sound as they rode back in silence for a time, both of them lost in thought. Finally, Nerissa broke the stillness.

"So, Charles," she began, her voice casual but laced with curiosity. "How long have you been running with Dutch and the gang? Seems like you’ve been with them a while."

He took a long moment to respond, his gaze forward as they rode. "Five or six months, I reckon," he said, his voice steady. "Why do you ask?"

Nerissa's gaze drifted to the horizon, her thoughts turning inward. "I’ve been wonderin'... what happened in Blackwater? What went wrong?"

Charles's face tightened at the mention of the town, a shadow crossing his features. "It was a trap from the start," he said quietly, the weight of the memory heavy in his voice. "Micah had a lead, but it turned out to be a damn lie. We barely got out with our lives. A lot of good folks didn’t."

Nerissa swallowed, the knowledge of that day stirring a deep pit in her stomach. She couldn’t help but feel the remnants of regret—regret for getting mixed up in a life like this, regret for the choices she had made. But still, she pressed on. "Why’d you stay, Charles? I mean, you could’ve gone off on your own. You’re a hell of a lot more capable than most folks here."

Charles let out a quiet laugh, the sound devoid of humor. "I did that for a long time. Always worried someone’d put a bullet in my back." He glanced over at her then, his eyes steady. "But Dutch and the boys, they’ve treated me right. They ain't perfect, but they’ve got my back. And for a feller like me... that's more than I can say for most folks."

Nerissa nodded, the truth of his words resonating deep within her. She had struggled to find her place, too, always feeling like an outsider. But in the gang, she had found something close to belonging.

"But don’t you miss the freedom?" she asked, genuinely curious. "Don’t you miss being able to go wherever the hell you want, without looking over your shoulder?"

Charles thought about it for a moment, the answer coming slowly. "I did. At first, it was all I could think about. But now... now I realize the freedom I thought I had wasn’t really freedom at all. You spend too much time alone, and you start thinking you’re better off that way. But when you’ve got folks watching your back, when you’ve got a reason to stick around... it makes it worth it."

Nerissa smiled, her heart swelling with an understanding she hadn’t expected. "I get that," she said softly. "I’ve been where you are. Felt that way. But sometimes, it’s the people who stick by you that make all the difference."

They rode in silence for a while, the conversation lingering in the air between them like an unspoken bond. As they returned to camp, the night settling in around them, Nerissa couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the man beside her. Charles was a reminder that there was still goodness in the world, even if it was hidden beneath layers of dust and scars.

Chapter Text

As the sun began to rise over the horizon, casting a golden light across the rugged land, the gang was already up and moving. Arthur and John were out early, headed to rustle up some sheep for an auction in Valentine, leaving Nerissa with a rare moment of peace. She found herself sitting by the campfire with Abigail, both women quietly sewing as the morning breeze danced through the air.

Nerissa had always been close to Abigail, the two of them bound by more than just their survival in this harsh world. To Nerissa, Abigail was family—the kind of friend who didn’t need to be asked to understand, who saw through her tough exterior to the vulnerability she often hid. But even with all the closeness between them, Nerissa couldn’t escape the constant ache in her chest, the gnawing feeling that something, or rather someone, was missing.

She let out a long breath, her fingers pausing in their work as her eyes wandered over the land. "How do you do it?" she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

Abigail looked up from her needlework, raising an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Stay here. With John. With Jack," Nerissa murmured, her hands moving absently over the fabric. "Don’t you ever... want more? Want to leave all this behind?" Her eyes flicked over to the camp, the life they had all built here, but it didn’t feel like home to Nerissa anymore.

Abigail sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line. She looked out over the horizon for a long moment before replying. "Of course, I’ve thought about it. But where would we go? John won’t leave this life. And Jack... he deserves some stability. I can’t just wander off and drag him along, not like you, Nessie," she said with a small, tired laugh.

The mention of leaving hit Nerissa harder than she expected. She had spent so many years chasing the horizon, trying to find something to fill the hole inside her, and yet here she was—aching to be a part of something, someone again. The worst part was knowing that she had left Arthur behind when she needed him most.

Before Nerissa could respond, little Jack came running toward them, holding a wildflower in his tiny hand. "Momma! Look! I found this for you!" His excitement was infectious, his little face glowing with pride.

Nerissa’s heart softened at the sight, and she reached out to take the flower. "A wildflower, huh? They symbolize happiness, joy, and remembrance," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Jack. It’s beautiful."

"It’s for you, Momma!" he said, his eyes wide with wonder.

Abigail took the flower from Nerissa, her own eyes misting as she looked at her son. "Thank you, honey. I’ll treasure it forever," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Now run along and play near the chickens, alright?"

Jack scampered off, and as he did, Dutch rode into camp, his usual commanding presence now filled with urgency. His face was tense, and as he dismounted, his words were quick and sharp. "Miss Grimshaw! Pack up everything, we’re moving out!"

Abigail looked up in surprise, but Nerissa’s heart skipped a beat. The familiar weight of tension was already building in her chest. As Dutch and Hosea disappeared into Dutch’s tent, Nerissa exchanged a quick glance with Abigail before excusing herself.

She approached the tent with the familiar dread swirling in her stomach. 

Hosea’s voice was edged with sarcasm. "So... we keep heading east? Is that the plan?"

Dutch, as always, was resolute. "For now," he said flatly.

"And when do we stop, Dutch? When we hit Paris?" Hosea replied with a wry smile, his skepticism clear.

Dutch's expression didn’t shift. "We stop when we find somewhere safe. We lay low until the heat dies down. We need to shake off anyone following us, and that means we have to keep moving."

Nerissa could hear the undercurrent of doubt in Hosea’s voice as he responded, "Lying low? We’re killers now, Dutch. Ain’t no going back."

Dutch’s tone softened slightly, but the resolve never left his words. "We’re doing what we must to survive. This won’t last forever, Hosea. Trust me."

Hosea left the tent, and Nerissa entered just as Arthur stepped inside. Dutch barely acknowledged her presence, his usual comment hanging in the air. "Constipated as usual, Arthur."

Nerissa cut through the tension, her voice firm but tinged with concern. "So, we’re moving?"

Dutch nodded. "Micah found a place. Dewberry Creek. We’re going to clear it out before we move everyone in. You, Arthur, and Charles will go check it out. Get rid of anyone we don’t need hanging around."

Nerissa’s stomach twisted at the thought of more bloodshed, but she couldn’t argue with Dutch. Her eyes flicked to Arthur, his expression unreadable. She felt the weight of the unspoken words between them—his anger, her shame.

"I’ll stay with Miss Grimshaw," Nerissa said quietly, her voice trembling as she spoke the words she knew would hurt him. She wasn’t sure if it was out of guilt or fear, but she didn’t look him in the eye.

"Nonsense," Dutch interjected, pointing a finger at Arthur. "You, Arthur, and Charles. No arguing."

Arthur huffed in response, but Nerissa could see the tension in his shoulders. He hadn’t forgotten. Neither had she.

"Alright, we’ll clear anyone out and be back soon," Arthur muttered, his voice low and tight as he avoided looking at Nerissa.

Without another word, Nerissa walked over to Noir, her body heavy with the weight of her decision. She mounted him without a word to Arthur, her head hung low, her heart aching as she tried to ignore the pang of guilt gnawing at her. She couldn’t look at him—not now. Not when everything felt so broken.

Charles joined them, and the three of them rode out to Dewberry Creek, the silence between them heavy. Every mile felt like an eternity, and Nerissa couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter what they did, she couldn’t undo the hurt she had caused.

The three riders cut through the wild terrain, the thundering hooves of their horses echoing across the vast expanse of the Heartlands. Nerissa, however, was a woman pulled in two directions. Part of her craved the open land, the rush of wind through her hair, the silence of nature. The other part, the part that had kept her tethered to Arthur all this time, felt torn.

“I’ll scout ahead,” she called back, her voice steady, the adrenaline of the ride already flowing through her. “Meet me at the train tracks.” And with that, she urged her horse into a gallop, pushing ahead as the rest followed at a slower pace.

The landscape around her was peaceful, unspoiled. The only sounds were the faint rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds as she pressed on. But her quiet time was abruptly shattered by a distant crack of gunfire—sharp and unnerving. Instantly, Nerissa’s instincts kicked in, and she drew her gun. Her eyes darted through the woods, and there, in the distance, she saw a man training his rifle on Arthur.

Without hesitation, Nerissa fired. The shot rang out, echoing through the trees, and the man crumpled to the ground instantly. But in the chaos that followed, a bullet grazed her cheek, then her arm, and finally her forehead. Blood trickled down her skin, yet she didn’t flinch. Nerissa kept moving, her mind focused solely on the mission. She had to keep going. There was no time to stop now.

Arthur was alive. That was all that mattered. But in her desperation to protect him, she didn’t see the gun aimed at her until it was too late. Before she could react, Arthur had fired, taking down the shooter.

"Nerissa?" Charles’s voice rang out, urgent and strained, his eyes scanning for her amidst the smoke and chaos.

Nerissa stumbled out from behind the trees, her face a mask of determination. Yet the blood smeared across her skin was undeniable, streaking down her cheek and neck in crimson rivers. She moved slowly, her body betraying the toll of the wounds she’d taken.

“Reckless!” Arthur’s voice snapped through the air, cutting the tension like a knife. He stormed toward her, fury boiling in his chest. The blood on her skin didn’t matter to him; the only thing he could see was the reckless woman who had put herself in harm’s way again. “You’re many things, Nerissa, but you ain’t stupid, and you sure as hell ain’t reckless!”

Nerissa froze, the fire in her chest stoking a burning fury. She couldn’t stand there, couldn’t take another second of him talking to her like this. Not after everything. Not after what she had done to save him.

“Are you kidding me?” she snapped, her voice shaking with rage and adrenaline as she shoved him hard. Her hands landed on his chest, pushing him back. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?! I just saved your life, Arthur!”

Arthur stumbled back, his chest tightening, but his anger didn’t falter. He wanted to snap at her, tell her she was out of line, but something in her eyes stopped him. The truth of her words hung heavy between them, making him hesitate for a moment longer than he wanted to.

“No,” he growled, stepping forward again. His voice was thick with frustration. “No, Nerissa, I saved your life. You shouldn’t have been out there in the first place! I don’t need you playing hero!”

“You’re unbelievable!” she screamed, her voice rising, shaking with everything she had kept locked inside for years. “How blind are you, huh? How long are you gonna keep throwing this in my face? Do you really think I wanted to leave? That I just packed up and walked away because I didn’t love you?!” Her breath came in ragged gasps, her words torn from her like jagged stones.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. He couldn’t. Because she was right. The pain of her leaving had never been fully understood. But the anger... it had never really left either.

“You think you’re the only one who’s been hurt?” Nerissa’s voice cracked as she shouted, her blood staining her skin like a badge of her sacrifice. “I didn’t leave on my own, Arthur! Dutch told me to leave. Told me it wasn’t safe for you... that you’d be better off without me. He lied to you! I never wanted to leave, I never chose this!”

Her words rang out in the air like thunder, and Arthur took a step back, the weight of her confession hitting him hard. The storm of emotions that had built up in him over the years didn’t know where to go now. There were too many feelings, too many questions he had locked away, and yet... he was left speechless.

“You think I don’t regret it?” Nerissa continued, her voice raw with the bitterness of unspoken years. “You think I’m not ashamed of what I did? Of leaving you behind? Every damn day, I’ve carried this with me, Arthur. I’ve carried the regret of what I did to you, to us.”

Arthur’s face was tight with emotion. The years of silence between them felt like an ocean, and he was drowning in it. But he didn’t know what to say. What could he say? Every word seemed hollow, every apology too late.

Nerissa’s hands shook, but her anger steadied her. She pulled the gun from her holster with a snap, the metal gleaming even as blood dripped down her face. She aimed it at him, her breath coming fast, heart racing with fury and a desperate kind of madness.

“Do you know what it feels like?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous, her words sharp as daggers. “Do you know what it feels like to risk your life, to save someone, only to have them turn around and tell you you're being stupid?!” Her hand didn’t waver, though the anger in her eyes could have burned a hole through him. “I’m not some damn fool, Arthur. I saved your life today. And if you don’t stop running your mouth...” She raised the gun slightly higher, pointing it directly at his head. “You won’t have it for much longer.”

Arthur’s heart hammered in his chest, but he didn’t move. He knew she wouldn’t shoot. She couldn’t shoot. But the pain in her eyes was real. Her words cut deeper than any bullet could. And the truth in them... it felt like a weight he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Nerissa...” His voice cracked, desperation creeping in. But it was a mix of anger and fear. He was still angry, but there was something more—something that twisted inside of him when he saw how broken she was.

“Don’t,” she spat coldly, her voice like ice. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t see me, Arthur. I’m tired of begging for your forgiveness. I’m tired of being the one to apologize while you hold your pain over me like some goddamn sword. You’re so goddamn angry, you don’t see me at all, do you?” Her eyes burned with fire. “You don’t see what I’ve suffered to be here, what I’ve bled to get here. You don’t see how much it’s cost me to come back to you.”

Her eyes burned with fury, the rage inside her so fierce that if it weren’t for Charles stepping in, she might’ve put a bullet through Arthur Morgan’s head.

"Arthur… You selfish, goddamn bastard!" Nerissa spat, the words laced with venom as she pointed the revolver straight at him. Her hands trembled, but it wasn’t fear. It was anger—raw and unforgiving. Every inch of her body screamed at him to feel her wrath, to feel how deep the betrayal ran.

Arthur stood frozen, his jaw clenched as he met her eyes. He’d seen rage before—hell, he’d lived with it all his life—but this… this was something different. This was betrayal, not just from her, but from him too. The weight of it was suffocating.

"Go ahead, Nerissa," Arthur growled, voice thick with frustration. "You think it’ll make you feel better? You think killing me will fix all the shit you’ve done?"

His words cut like daggers, but it only made Nerissa’s grip tighten around the gun. Her heart was racing, her emotions a whirlwind of hurt and betrayal. She wanted him to understand, wanted him to see the pain he’d caused her too.

But before she could react, Charles was there. He moved swiftly, placing his hand on the barrel of her gun, his touch firm but gentle, stopping her before she could pull the trigger.

"Nerissa," Charles said, his voice steady, like a calm breeze in the middle of a storm. "Go wash the blood. This ain’t gonna solve anything."

Nerissa stared at him, chest heaving as she struggled to control her breathing. Her hands shook from the adrenaline, her body still wound tight with anger. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell at Arthur that this wasn’t just about him—it was about everything. But she couldn’t. Charles was right. This wasn’t the moment.

Reluctantly, she lowered the gun, the weight of it still heavy in her hand as she turned away from Arthur. Charles mounted his horse, his gaze never leaving her, as he spoke again in that same calm tone.

"I’ll ride out to Dutch," Charles said, his voice a steady anchor in the storm. "Tell ‘em where to meet us."

Without waiting for a response, Charles rode off, his figure quickly disappearing into the distance.

Nerissa stood there, the world feeling strangely silent around her. She looked down at the river before her, the water reflecting the turmoil in her chest. She wanted to let it all go—to wash away the guilt, the anger, the hurt. But it wasn’t that easy.

Nerissa knelt at the water’s edge, her breath ragged as she splashed her face with the cold, rushing stream. The water was soothing against the heat of her skin, but it didn’t quite numb the burning rage that still simmered deep inside her. Her fingers trembled as they skimmed over the blood-streaked cuts on her arm, forehead, and cheek. The bullet had grazed her skin, but it wasn’t the pain from the wound that made her chest ache. It was everything else. Everything she’d done and didn’t do, everything she had left unsaid.

Her reflection in the water barely resembled the woman she once knew. Her eyes were red, swollen from holding back tears she couldn’t afford to shed. Her face, pale and drawn, carried the weight of her choices, the hurt of years spent running from the very thing that mattered most to her.

For a long while, she stayed kneeling there, letting the current wash over her hands, soothing the sting in her cuts, if only for a fleeting second. But the ache in her heart remained, unrelenting. She knew Arthur was watching her, though he hadn’t spoken. His presence loomed behind her like an unsolved puzzle, his silence heavy with regret. She didn’t need to look at him to feel it.

But at least now, at least now, he knew. He knew why she had left. The truth she’d kept locked away for so long was finally out in the open, hanging between them like a delicate thread. If he could ever find it in himself to forgive her, if he could finally understand that she hadn’t wanted to hurt him... then maybe—just maybe—they could start over.

Arthur’s voice broke the silence, soft, almost tentative. "You’re not wrong," he said, the words slipping out like they were meant for no one but the wind. "I ain’t proud of the things I’ve said... ain’t proud of how I treated you."

Nerissa didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready to face him fully, not yet. She wasn’t sure she could stomach seeing the pain in his eyes, or the anger that still lingered there. Instead, she kept her focus on the water, her hands still trembling, her heart pounding in her chest.

Slowly, she stood, wiping the wetness from her face with the back of her hand. The blood was gone now, but the ache in her chest wasn’t. It would take more than a stream to wash that away.

"You’ve got your chance to say what’s been on your mind, Arthur," she said, her voice calm but firm, no longer laced with anger. "So do it. Yell. Scream. But know this—I’m not going anywhere. So hate me all you want."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Nerissa thought he might not answer at all. She felt the tension in the air between them, thick and suffocating. Then, his voice—low, ragged, like he’d been holding everything back for too long.

"Maybe I’ll never be good enough for you," Arthur muttered, his words thick with something she couldn’t quite place—regret, fear, maybe even a little bit of hope. "But I ain’t gonna lie to ya... I could never hate you…" His words trailed off, and she barely caught the next part. A whisper. A confession. "My heart... it belongs to you."

Nerissa froze, her breath catching in her throat. She wanted to turn to face him, but she couldn’t. Not yet. But there was something about the way he said it, so raw, so vulnerable, that cut through her like nothing else. Her heart twisted in her chest, and suddenly the river didn’t seem so soothing anymore.

Finally, she faced him. Her eyes locked with his, and in that moment, they both saw the broken pieces of each other. There was pain, yes. But there was something more, something they couldn’t quite name—maybe it was hope, or maybe it was just a fleeting moment of understanding. Whatever it was, it was enough to make her stand her ground, to make her fight for something she thought was lost.

Her voice was fierce, though it quivered with the rawness of her emotions. "We’ll see, Arthur. We’ll see."

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Instead, she turned away from him, her footsteps quickening as she moved toward camp. The sound of the river, gentle and constant, was the only thing that filled the silence between them as they walked in opposite directions. For now, that was all they could do—wait, and see where this tangled web of love and pain would take them.

Chapter Text

The sweltering heat of Lemoyne hung heavy in the air, wrapping around Nerissa like an unwanted cloak. The oppressive humidity weighed her down, but it wasn’t unfamiliar—she’d endured the sticky southern air in her travels before. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place, like an old version of herself, tattered and frayed by the years. Slowly, though, her skin regained its tan, and the vitality she'd once carried began to return, just as her spirit longed to. She wasn’t who she used to be, but she was something again. Something worth fighting for.

On one blistering morning, she found herself walking towards the ruckus near Pearson’s wagon. The rowdy commotion, full of angry shouts and clashing words, pulled her like a magnet. She could hear Sadie’s voice rising above the rest, sharp and laced with fury.

Nerissa was no stranger to conflict, but there was something in the air today—something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As she approached, she saw the cause of the uproar: Sadie, standing toe-to-toe with Pearson, knife in hand, and Pearson, holding a cleaver, not backing down.

Sadie’s voice was low but deadly. “If I don't get outta here soon, I’m gonna kill somebody.”

Pearson scoffed, gripping his cleaver tighter. “You put that knife down, or you’re gonna be missin’ a hand, lady.”

Nerissa’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade, loud and commanding. “What in the hell is wrong with you two?” she demanded, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation.

Sadie whirled around, glaring at Nerissa, her eyes wild. “I ain't chopping vegetables for a living,” she spat, her words sharp with frustration.

Arthur, who had been leaning against a nearby tree watching the whole thing unfold, couldn’t resist a jab. His tone was dripping with sarcasm as he spoke from behind. “Oh, I’m sorry, madam... was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?”

Sadie wasn’t in the mood for Arthur’s teasing. She snapped back, her voice raw with frustration. “Look, I ain’t lazy, Mr. Morgan. I’ll work, but not like this,” she bit out, her eyes brimming with unshed anger.

Nerissa could feel the hidden layers of sadness beneath Sadie’s words. There was grief there—pain deeper than anyone realized. She stepped forward, her voice softer now. “My husband and I... we shared the work. All of it. I worked the fields, hunted, carried knives, used guns. But I swear, if you keep me here, I’ll skin this fat old coot and serve him for dinner!” she shouted, her fierce words cutting through the tension.

Pearson’s face contorted with fury, his grip on the cleaver tightening. “Watch your damn mouth, you crazy, goddamn fishwife!” he yelled back, his voice a venomous sneer.

Before things could escalate further, Arthur’s voice rang out with authority, a command that stopped the bickering in its tracks. “Both of you, enough!” he snapped. “You wanna head out? Go run with the men and Miss Matthews? Fine, but it ain’t all hunting. We’re hunted too, and those things hunting us… they got guns of their own.”

Sadie’s response was quick, her jaw set, eyes burning with determination. “I ain’t afraid of dying,” she bit out, standing tall.

Arthur’s gaze hardened. “Good. You need anything, Mr. Pearson?” he asked, his voice flat. “Maybe me and Mrs. Adler are gonna take a little ride.”

Pearson grudgingly handed over the list and a letter. “Yeah. Here’s the list. And… can you post this letter while you’re out there?”

“Sure. You comin’ with me then, woman?” Arthur said, glancing over at Sadie as he turned to leave.

Nerissa’s voice called out to Sadie as she turned to follow Arthur. “Hey Sadie, when you come back, you and I are going to see what those gun skills really look like,” she challenged, her tone more playful now, a smile tugging at her lips.

Sadie’s eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe? A silent agreement. Nerissa saw it in her eyes. There was more to Sadie than the anger she wore on the outside. She was a woman who’d been through things, and Nerissa recognized that fierceness buried deep beneath the surface.

“I’ll be ready,” Sadie called back over her shoulder, a fire lighting her eyes.

That evening, after Arthur and Sadie returned, Nerissa took Sadie down to the riverbank. The air still held the weight of the day, heavy and suffocating, as the heat lingered stubbornly in the thick silence that hung over the camp. The distant chirping of crickets was the only sound, save for the faint ripple of the river’s gentle flow.

Nerissa had set up seven empty bottles, each one perched on a rock like a challenge, daring them to hit their mark. She stood tall, her posture firm, her expression unreadable as she turned to Sadie. “Alright,” she said, her voice carrying a steady, encouraging tone. “Let’s see what you’ve got. I’ve lined up some bottles. Just shoot ‘em.”

Sadie stepped forward with a fierce confidence, her hand already gripping the gun. Her eyes narrowed as she steadied herself, and with a deep breath, she pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the first bottle cleanly, shattering it in a perfect shot.

Nerissa gave her a nod of approval, but her eyes were sharp. “Not bad,” she said, voice calm but pointed. “But don’t get too cocky. You’ve got six more.”

Sadie shot two more with relative ease, but missed the rest. The frustration on her face was evident. She clenched her jaw, eyes blazing with a quiet anger. It was clear she didn’t take kindly to being critiqued, and Nerissa could see it. Sadie wasn’t just stubborn—she was defensive, too. She hated being told she wasn’t perfect.

“I know how to shoot,” Sadie snapped, her words cutting through the evening air, her tone sharp, almost hostile.

Nerissa didn’t flinch. She let the words hang for a moment before replying, her tone smooth and deliberate, a slight smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But there’s a difference between knowing how to shoot and knowing where to shoot.”

Sadie shot her a glare, ready to retaliate, but Nerissa continued without missing a beat. “Let’s say we come across an O'Driscoll. You might think aiming for the head is the way to go. But trust me, shooting for the knees or the hips? That’s just as effective. More so, sometimes.”

Sadie’s glare softened, just a little, the frustration fading slightly as Nerissa’s words sank in. Nerissa could almost see the wheels turning behind her eyes. Sadie wasn’t just a hothead—she was sharp, and that was something Nerissa respected. The girl had room to grow, and Nerissa could see it.

Sadie adjusted her stance, her grip tightening as she aimed again. This time, the shot rang out clear and true, hitting the next bottle. Then another. And another. The last three bottles shattered in quick succession, and by the time the last one hit the ground, the evening sky had darkened, stars beginning to speckle the heavens above them.

Nerissa couldn’t help but smile, pride creeping into her voice. “Good. You’ve got potential. But don’t get complacent. The world’s a dangerous place. You’ve got to stay sharp.”

Sadie returned the smile, though her eyes were still tinged with that quiet intensity. “Thanks, Nerissa. You know… you’re not so bad yourself.”

"Ten years of bounty hunting does that to ya," Nerissa added, her smile turning a bit cocky.

Sadie raised an eyebrow, looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism. “What's it like? Going from being the hunter to the hunted?”

Nerissa paused, her eyes momentarily lost in thought. She stood taller, as if the weight of her past was suddenly pressing against her. “I’ve always been the one being hunted,” she said, her voice lowering, the words heavy with the weight of experience. “A female bounty hunter… it’s like being a ghost. Most sheriffs won’t even give ya a job; they’d just laugh. But I made a living.”

There was a flicker of respect in Sadie’s eyes, but before Nerissa could say more, the sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from the moment. The two women turned, and Nerissa’s gaze met Arthur’s from across the camp. His eyes were steady, unblinking, but Nerissa could feel the weight of them on her. He had been watching her from the distance. His silence was palpable.

As Sadie began to walk toward the camp, Nerissa remained still for a moment longer, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to move right away. Arthur hadn’t spoken much to her since she’d returned, and she wasn’t sure if he ever would.

But tonight, something had changed. He was starting to forgive her. She could see it in the way his eyes softened, just for a second. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze lingered longer than it ever had before. He wanted to talk to her. She knew that. He just didn’t know how.

Nerissa bit her lip, conflicted. She wanted to run to him, to explain everything that had been gnawing at her, but she also knew that she couldn’t just expect him to forget what had happened. Not yet. Not without facing the truth of it all. But he was here, and she was here. That was something.

As they joined the others by the fire, Nerissa’s eyes met Arthur’s for a brief moment, her heart hammering in her chest. She saw the quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. He was struggling—struggling with the part of him that wanted to forgive her and the part of him that was still hurt. The bond between them was fragile, like a thread ready to snap, but Nerissa couldn’t help but feel like maybe—just maybe—they were on the edge of something new. Something real.

But Arthur wasn’t ready. Not yet.

The morning sun blazed like a firebrand, cutting through the stillness of the camp as Nerissa slowly stirred awake. Her body ached, as if the weight of the world was pressing against her, but she pushed it down. The warmth of the sun offered some small comfort as it seeped into her skin. Stretching out, she took a deep breath, feeling the quiet thrum of life around her—until she heard the familiar chatter of Abigail and Sadie.

They were already up, their voices light and warm, the kind of noise that could ease the heaviness in her chest. Nerissa moved toward them, a soft smile pulling at her lips. As they shared coffee, stories, and laughter, the bond of sisterhood grew stronger, and for a brief moment, Nerissa could forget the chaos and bitterness that always seemed to be lurking just beyond the horizon.

But that peace didn’t last long.

“Hey there, little Jack,” a voice slithered through the air like a snake. Micah.

Nerissa’s smile faltered as she turned toward the sound, her blood beginning to boil. Micah was leaning against his horse, smirking at the young boy, his words dripping with venom. Jack seemed uneasy, his wide eyes searching for safety in the warmth of the camp, but Micah’s taunts only got worse.

“Come on now, Jack,” Micah sneered, “Your mama and that pretty thing over there could use a good time in town, huh?” His voice oozed mockery, and the words made Nerissa’s stomach churn. She stood quickly, pushing Jack toward Abigail, not wanting him anywhere near Micah. The sneer on his face was enough to make anyone sick.

"Get lost, Micah," Nerissa spat, her voice laced with fury, “You disgust me.”

Micah’s face twisted with mock amusement, and he stepped toward her, puffing out his chest like some kind of king in a filthy kingdom. "Oh, you think I’m some kind of monster, huh? I ain't no worse than Morgan, I can tell ya that. Hell, I’m a hell of a lot better." He grinned wickedly, like he knew how much it ate at her.

Nerissa’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah right,” she muttered under her breath, the words barely leaving her lips but carrying all the disdain she could muster. She made a move to head to her horse, hoping the brief distance would give her some space to breathe, but Micah followed. His voice never seemed to stop, his words sickeningly persistent.

“You’re one fine piece of work, you know that, Nerissa? I bet I could show you what a real man can do, what Morgan could never—”

Before he could finish, she spun around, fury in her veins. She didn’t think. Didn’t care. Her hand came up, slapping him hard across the face, the sound ringing through the air like a slap to the very soul.

Micah, stung, glared at her, the sneer replaced with an ugly snarl. "You think you can get away with that, girl?" He grabbed her by the wrist with a vicious yank, pulling her close. "Let’s see how far that temper gets you."

Nerissa felt her body freeze for just a moment, but then, the rage that had been simmering inside her for weeks, for months, boiled over. She felt his hand on her chest, inappropriate, disgusting—and it snapped her. She shoved him away with all the strength she had left.

"Keep your hands off me!" she screamed, her voice rising, cutting through the air like a battle cry. She pushed harder, using all the force in her body to break free of his grasp, but Micah wasn’t done. He grabbed her by the throat, his fingers digging into her skin, laughing as he tried to take control. His grip was cold, cruel, like he was squeezing the life out of her.

“Stop fighting, Nerissa. You don’t know what you’re messin’ with.” His words were poison, each syllable dripped with malice. But Nerissa was beyond words now. She clawed at his neck, her nails raking across his skin, her fury only growing. She had been pushed too far—too many times.

“I told you…” she gasped through clenched teeth. “Do not touch me!”

The fight was chaotic. She was shaking, blood staining her nails as she dug deeper into Micah’s throat, determined to make him feel every ounce of the fear and anger she had been holding inside. She wasn’t going to let him push her around anymore.

But then she heard it.

"Nerissa!" Hosea’s voice sliced through the madness, cutting into the seething rage like a knife. Hosea’s voice, thick with fear, pleaded with her to stop.

She froze. The anger in her veins didn’t disappear, but something in her snapped back into place. She couldn’t keep going. Not in front of him.

Nerissa took a ragged breath, her hand still clenched around Micah’s neck, her fingers burning. She looked at Hosea, the concern in his eyes making her feel small, ashamed of what she’d done. She released Micah with a violent shove, sending him sprawling back, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock.

The moment was suffocating. Nerissa didn’t speak. Her breathing was ragged, her chest heaving. She turned her back on the camp, not able to bear their gazes. Without another word, she mounted her horse and galloped off, heading toward the Eris Fields, the wind whipping her face as she tried to outrun the shame that clung to her like a second skin.

Her heart was a tangled mess of pride and regret. She had fought back. She had defended herself. But had she gone too far? She didn’t want to be this person, this woman who lost control. But she had been pushed. Micah had pushed her.

And somehow, it felt both right and wrong all at once.

Nerissa sat alone in the fields, the sound of hooves approaching breaking through the stillness. It was Hosea, dismounting his horse with a quiet grace, his presence soothing in its familiarity.

He walked toward her, his eyes soft with concern, and sat down beside her without a word. Nerissa couldn’t stop herself. Her shoulders trembled as she finally let go, burying her face in her hands as sobs wracked her body.

Hosea didn’t say anything at first, just put a comforting arm around her. He let her cry on his shoulder, his grip steady and warm. His voice was gentle when he spoke, but there was a depth of concern beneath the surface.

"Nerissa, talk to me," Hosea pleaded. "What’s going on, my child?"

She shook her head, her sobs still coming in heavy waves. The words were hard to form, but the pain in her chest was unbearable. It had been so long, holding it all in, and now, with Hosea here, it was like a dam had broken.

"I don’t know," she cried out, the words raw and jagged. "I don’t know how to explain it… it hurts so much to be here." Her chest tightened, the weight of her emotions overwhelming her. "Everywhere I go, I feel... lost. I can’t shake this pain, Hosea. It's like I’ve failed... him. Failed myself."

Hosea kept his arm around her, pulling her closer. "Tell me everything, Nerissa. Let it out."

The dam burst then. She let her heart spill out in a torrent of emotion, her voice choked with tears. "I love him. So much. But he… he hates me now. He looks at me like I’m nothing. And that damn rat Bell... he won’t stop, Hosea. He keeps taunting me, trying to get under my skin, making me feel like I’m nothing but a joke." Her words broke, and she had to steady herself before continuing. "I’m not respected here. I’m treated like some common whore, like I don’t matter. Like none of this matters."

Hosea’s face softened, but there was steel behind his eyes as he processed her words. "Arthur still loves you, Nerissa. That much I know. I’ve seen it in the way he looks at you, even when he won’t admit it to himself. And as for Bell..." Hosea’s voice hardened. "He’ll be on a short leash. No one disrespects you like that, not while I’m around."

Nerissa sniffled, leaning into him as the tears slowed, her heart still heavy but her chest easing. "I don’t know how to fix this, Hosea. I don’t know how to make it right with him. I don’t know if I can even stand to be here anymore."

He looked down at her, his hand resting on her arm, his voice a quiet reassurance. "You’ve got to give him time. You can’t rush what’s broken, Nerissa. But you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me. You’ve got this camp." He paused for a moment, his tone turning softer. "And I know you’ve got Arthur too. He might be too proud to admit it, but he’s hurting just as much as you are."

Nerissa swallowed hard, her eyes searching the horizon, the sun sinking beneath the mountains in a blaze of colors that mirrored the turmoil inside her. The stars slowly began to appear, one by one, and the world seemed to pause, giving them a moment to breathe.

"I don’t know what to do with all this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It feels like I’ve lost everything. And I don’t even know if I deserve a second chance."

"You deserve all the chances in the world, Nerissa," Hosea said, his voice steady and sure. "You’ve got a heart too big for this world, and sometimes that’s the hardest thing to carry. But you don’t have to carry it alone."

Nerissa nodded, still trying to make sense of everything, but the weight in her chest felt a little lighter now. She wiped her tears, feeling the cold evening air on her cheeks as she stared up at the darkening sky.

"I’ve been so scared, Hosea," she admitted, her voice small. "Scared of what I’ve lost... and scared that I’ll never be enough."

"You’re more than enough," he replied firmly, "You just need to believe it. And so does Arthur. He’s not going to stay angry forever, you know. You just have to remind him what he’s fighting for."

The wind rustled through the trees as they sat in silence, the only sound now the soft whisper of the leaves and the distant call of a coyote. Nerissa continued to pour her heart out to Hosea, her sobs eventually subsiding as the stars grew brighter above them. And for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to feel some semblance of hope.

Chapter Text

The moon shone brightly over the open field, casting soft silver light over Nerissa and Hosea as they sat together. It was a rare moment of peace, a fleeting moment of respite from the chaos that constantly seemed to surround them. Hosea leaned back on the grass, his hands resting behind his head.

“Look at that moon,” Hosea said, his voice warm and comforting. “It’s a reminder of what’s still out there, no matter what we go through.”

Nerissa smiled faintly, the weight of her thoughts still heavy on her heart. She’d been back for a while now, but something felt different. Something was still unsettled in her soul. 

“Guess it’s hard to see things clearly sometimes,” Nerissa murmured, more to herself than Hosea. “Like that moon. Looks peaceful, but it’s so far away.”

Hosea sat up slowly, studying her with his knowing eyes. “Far away, yes. But it’s always there, watchin’ over us.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “I don’t know, Hosea. Sometimes I feel like I’m too far away from everyone. Too much time lost... and I don’t know if I can make up for it.”

Hosea’s gaze softened. He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You can always come back, Nerissa. You just gotta keep walkin' toward what matters.”

Nerissa sighed, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little, but a storm was still brewing in her chest. As she stood up to return to the camp, she noticed Dutch and Arthur both watching her from a distance. Some of the gang members whispered among themselves, casting curious glances her way, and the women offered polite smiles, but Nerissa knew that not all of them had forgiven her. John seemed pleased, and that was enough for her for now. Her heart raced a little. She couldn’t avoid this conversation forever. Nerissa squared her shoulders, walking toward them, her head held high as she approached her father and Dutch.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Nerissa began, her voice calm but firm. “I won’t apologize for my actions. They were my choices to make.”

Dutch studied her closely, his eyes soft but calculating. “No harm done, child. We all have our paths to walk. We’ll make sure Micah doesn’t bother you again, you have my word.”

Nerissa gave a small nod of appreciation, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of tension in the air. Her eyes met Arthur’s briefly, and she could feel his gaze burning into her. He stood there, silent and still, but she could tell it wasn’t indifference. It was something much deeper—resentment, pain, and longing all tangled into one.

As the camp settled into a quiet lull for the night, Nerissa sat by the fire, her knees tucked under her chin, her gaze fixated on the flames. The warmth from the fire barely touched the cold emptiness in her heart. Each crackle of the wood felt like a reminder of everything left unsaid, and the turmoil inside her only seemed to grow stronger with every passing moment. She tried to steady her breathing, but her thoughts kept racing, memories flooding in faster than she could process them.

It wasn’t long before Arthur, seemingly hesitant, sat down beside her. The air between them was thick, filled with years of tension and unspoken words. His presence sent a rush of emotions through her, but she kept her eyes on the fire, unwilling to look at him yet.

The warmth of the fire seemed insignificant compared to the coldness between them.

“I’m sorry for not intervening,” Arthur spoke after a long pause, his voice low, almost strained. The regret was clear, hanging heavy in the air between them. “I should’ve stepped in sooner. I should’ve protected you... from him, from Micah.”

Nerissa’s heart clenched at the mention of Micah, but she didn’t turn to him immediately. She could feel his remorse, but it was mixed with something else—a distant sorrow, like a man who’d failed someone he cared about. She had expected this, but it didn’t make it easier to hear. "It’s okay, Arthur. You've had your own battles to fight," she replied, her tone light, trying to ease the tension. "You’ve been busy playing deputy."

Arthur shifted slightly, the guilt still lingering in his posture. “I’m sorry for everything,” he said quietly, his words faltering. There was a pause, like he was searching for the right words. "I still love you. Always have. Always will."

Nerissa’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. The weight of his words hit her all at once, and for a brief moment, it felt like the years apart had melted away. She wanted to reach for him, but she couldn’t. Her body froze, and her voice trembled. “Arthur…”

“I wish you knew the truth from the start,” she continued, her voice soft, the words spilling out in a rush. “I never wanted to leave, I just... I just wanted to run away with you. I wanted us to be together.”

Arthur looked at her, confusion and longing warring in his expression. His brow furrowed. "Why?" The question was simple, but the emotion behind it was anything but.

Nerissa met his gaze, her heart laid bare in her eyes. “Because I love you,” she whispered, her voice filled with the truth she’d kept hidden for so long. “I always have. I never stopped loving you, not once.”

Arthur’s breath caught, his face a mix of surprise, anger, and pain. He looked away from her for a moment, his jaw tightening. “You left me, Nerissa,” he said, almost to himself. “You disappeared. How can you say you love me after that?”

Her heart broke hearing the pain in his voice, but she reached for him, her hand trembling as she gently touched his arm. “I didn’t want to leave you, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “I thought I was doing the right thing... I thought I was protecting us both. But I was wrong. I see that now. I was just running from everything, running from the hurt, from the fear that I wasn’t enough for you, that I’d only hurt you more. But it’s been nothing but pain. For both of us.”

Arthur’s face softened, but there was still a storm brewing behind his eyes. He stared into the fire for a long time, his mind clearly wrestling with his emotions. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this, Nerissa,” he said, his words filled with a quiet desperation. “I don’t know if I can forget everything that happened. Every time I thought you were gone for good…”

“I don’t want you to forget,” Nerissa replied, her voice full of conviction. She leaned closer to him, her hand still resting on his arm. “I don’t expect you to forget, Arthur. I just want a chance to show you that I’m here now, that I’m not going anywhere. I want to prove it to you. To show you that I can be the woman you deserve.”

Arthur turned to look at her, the firelight dancing in his eyes. His expression softened, but the hurt was still there, lingering like a ghost between them. "How do I know I can trust you again?" he asked, his voice rough.

Nerissa swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I can’t ask you to trust me right away. But I swear to you, Arthur, I’ll show you every day that I’m here for good. I’ll prove it, even if it takes me the rest of my life."

Arthur looked at her, his face a mixture of disbelief and longing. He didn’t say anything for a long time, but the silence between them felt different now—less like a wall and more like a pause, a moment where they were both trying to find their footing in a world that had torn them apart.

“I don’t know if we can ever go back,” Arthur said quietly, finally looking at her again. His voice was filled with a mixture of regret and hope. “But I’ll try. For you, I’ll try.”

Nerissa’s heart swelled with a quiet relief. “That’s all I’m asking for, Arthur,” she whispered.

The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the sky with soft pinks and oranges as the first light of day began to break over the horizon. The fire between them had died down, leaving only the warmth of their words in its wake. Neither of them spoke for a while, but the silence felt different now—more comfortable, more honest.

They both knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. It would take time, effort, and trust—things that neither of them could rush. But for the first time in a long while, they allowed themselves to believe in the possibility of a future together. They would take it one step at a time.

And for that moment, that fragile moment, they let go of the past and let love, however messy, begin to heal the wounds that time had carved into them.

Chapter Text

It had been a mere week since the Nerissa-Micah incident, but the air around the camp had already returned to a tense normalcy. Hosea and Arthur were still playing both sides with the Gray and Braithwaite families, while Micah had been keeping his distance. Nerissa, however, was not one to let a lull in activity keep her idle. She continued her training with Sadie, imparting all of her knowledge to the fiery woman.

The relationship between Nerissa and Arthur had started to bloom—very slowly. They exchanged greetings when they passed each other by, but their hearts ached for each other. Nerissa wanted to scream, and Arthur wanted to whisk her away.

On this scorching day, the blazing sun was mercilessly beating down on the dusty campsite as Nerissa sauntered over to where her father was seated, poring over the morning newspaper. She could not help but notice Arthur striding with purpose towards Dutch’s tent. But as he drew nearer, he spotted Micah perched inside.

"Micah," Arthur spat out through gritted teeth, his voice tight with barely concealed fury. Nerissa could feel her blood boil at the sight of the man she despised so intensely.

"Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called," Micah greeted him with a taunting smirk, which only made Nerissa loathe him more.

"Hey Molly, where's Dutch?" Arthur inquired of the red-haired woman who strolled past him, but Molly did not deign to answer. Nerissa had overheard hers and Dutch’s heated argument a few nights prior, and she felt a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl.

"Well… however it goes," Micah chuckled, an infuriating sneer plastered on his face.

"I'm not sure that line of thought serves you or me very well," Arthur growled, his shoulders sagging with the weight of the world.

"That's because, cowpoke… you are a man of profoundly limited intelligence," Micah sniped back, his words oozing with contempt.

"No doubt," Arthur muttered, resigned to his own inadequacy.

"While you and the old man and Dutch have been running around… digging us ever deeper into shit… old Mr. Pearson might have gone and lightened the load a little. Pearson! Ain't you curious?" Micah said as he idly cleaned his revolver.

"I guess," Arthur replied with a nonchalant shrug, his attention drifting.

"Gentlemen," Dutch announced his arrival, stepping into the tent and joining the duo.

"Dutch… you tell him, fat man," Micah sneered, his tone patronizing. Nerissa could feel her blood pressure rise—sure, Pearson wasn’t exactly thin, but Micah had no right to mock him.

"It's peace, Dutch… the O'Driscolls… I mean, I think there's a way," Pearson said, walking over to join the group.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Dutch inquired, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Get the words out properly, fat man," Micah interjected impatiently.

"I met a couple of the O'Driscoll boys on the road into town… things were about to get ugly… but you know how I am in a fight, huh? Like a cornered tiger. Anyway… somehow it didn't, but… we got to talking… and they suggested a parley… to end things… like gentlemen," Pearson explained, his laughter ringing out as he recounted his meeting with the O'Driscolls.

"Gentlemen? Colm O'Driscoll? Have you lost your minds?" Dutch exclaimed; his disbelief palpable.

"You're always telling us, Dutch… do what has to be done… but don't fight wars ain't worth fighting," Micah tried to persuade Dutch, not wanting to miss out on this chance.

"They want a parley? It's a trap," Hosea interjected, echoing Nerissa's own concerns. It was a foolish idea.

"Well of course, it’s probably a trap… but what have we got to lose finding out," Micah stubbornly insisted.

"Get shot," Arthur retorted, his patience wearing thin.

"We ain’t getting shot because you’ll be protecting us. It’s a trap, you shoot the lot of them… if it ain’t a trap, that slim chance..." Micah gestured towards Arthur. Dutch walked away from his tent and strode through the camp, his boots kicking up dust as he headed towards Hosea and Nerissa. Micah trailed behind, his expression fierce and determined.

"I don't see the point in any of this," Dutch grumbled, his voice low and gruff.

Micah, always eager for a fight, grinned wolfishly. "It's a chance we gotta take. We can't let those O'Driscolls get away with what they've done."

Dutch's face twisted in pain as he spoke, his voice heavy with regret. "I killed Colm's brother, long ago. And then he killed... a woman I loved dear."

Micah placed a hand on Dutch's shoulder, his eyes sympathetic. "I know, Dutch. But this is a different time, a different place. We gotta do what we can to survive."

Dutch nodded slowly, his expression stoic. "Fine. You and me, Micah. With Arthur protecting us. No one else."

Pearson piped up, his voice eager. "What about me? Can I come along?"

Nerissa couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s enthusiasm, her eyes flickering over to Arthur, who was now locked in a stare with her. Her eyes softening when she turned to Arthur. “You’d better come back in one piece, Morgan,” she added quietly, almost too softly for anyone else to hear.

Arthur, taken aback by the sweetness in her voice, met her gaze for a moment longer than necessary. His throat tightened, and he gave a tight nod, the weariness of the world lingering in his eyes.

Dutch, clearly fed up with the banter, snapped, "This ain't the time for tigers, my friend. You stay put." He motioned for Micah and Arthur to get moving.

With that settled, Dutch turned on his heel and headed toward The Count, his horse snorting impatiently. Micah followed close behind, his hand hovering over his gun.

"Mount up then, Morgan," Micah said, his voice low and intense. "Let's go then."

As the dust stirred beneath the hooves of their steeds, the trio of rugged men galloped out of the rugged, make-shift camp. Nerissa, her eyes locked onto the fading figures, couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that settled deep within her gut. Uncertainty lingered in the air as the men disappeared into the horizon, leaving her to contemplate the grim possibilities. Every muscle in her body tensed with a sense of urgency, the weight of the unknown bearing down upon her. She knew all too well the dangers that lay ahead—Colm O'Driscoll—and couldn't help but worry for the fate of those brave enough to face them head-on. As she watched them vanish, she could only hope that their journey would be met with success and that they would return unscathed.

The relentless sun hung heavy in the sky, casting its oppressive heat across the barren landscape of Horseshoe Overlook. Nerissa moved with determined precision alongside Sadie, her muscles burning as they practiced their skills in the suffocating heat. Each strike of her fists against Sadie's sparring sticks felt like an attempt to purge something deep inside her. She didn’t know if it was the guilt from leaving, the anger at Arthur’s distance, or the frustration with her own unhealed wounds, but it all came pouring into her training. Sadie didn’t hold back, and neither did Nerissa. They were both in the middle of a battle—one with their own demons.

Lenny sat off to the side, watching with a keen interest. Nerissa saw the respect in his eyes as he took in the women’s movements. It was rare to see someone so eager to learn, especially someone so young. She knew he was absorbing everything she had to offer, and it drove her to push harder, to be better. It didn’t matter that the sun beat down, or that her sweat soaked her clothes; she wasn’t about to stop.

By the time the sun began to set, the heat felt like it had sunk into their bones. Dutch and Micah had returned to camp, but the others were still nowhere to be found. A gnawing sense of unease settled in Nerissa’s stomach, growing with every passing moment. Her hands trembled as she wiped sweat from her brow. Something felt off. Something didn’t sit right with her.

She rushed toward the two men as they dismounted, her eyes scanning their faces for answers.

"Where's Arthur?" The words left her mouth before she could stop them, her voice trembling with concern. Her heart raced, and she could feel her pulse pounding in her ears.

Dutch’s expression darkened. His eyes, normally calm and calculating, were now clouded with frustration. He avoided her gaze for a moment before answering, his tone flat. "I don’t know."

Nerissa’s breath hitched in her chest. "What do you mean you don’t know?" Her voice rose, sharp and accusing, the panic creeping into her tone. Her fists clenched at her sides, a nervous energy that she couldn’t control.

"He wasn’t at the meeting point, princess," Micah chimed in, his usual cocky grin replaced with something darker. He seemed almost too eager to brush off the situation, as though he wasn’t worried at all. That irked Nerissa more than she cared to admit. His words were like nails on a chalkboard. She shot him a fiery glare, her temper flaring.

"You think this is a joke?" she snapped. "Arthur is not someone you can just forget about. He’s out there, and you don’t know where he is?" Her voice was strained, each word heavy with frustration.

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "I said I don’t know. We didn’t find him at the meeting spot, Miss Matthews. He’ll come back when he’s ready." But there was a hesitation in his voice, a subtle unease that Nerissa could sense but couldn’t quite place.

That was enough. Nerissa’s chest tightened with anxiety. She couldn’t just sit and wait like the rest of them. She couldn't rely on Dutch’s assurances. Arthur was out there, and the thought of him alone in the wild, God knows where, made her stomach twist in knots. She grabbed her repeater rifle and slung her bow and arrows across her back, her mind made up in an instant.

"I’ll find him myself if I have to," she muttered, her voice cold and resolute, not bothering to spare them another glance. She could feel the weight of their eyes on her as she stormed past, the air thick with unspoken words.

She mounted Noir, the steady rhythm of her horse’s hooves beneath her giving her some semblance of calm. The world felt too quiet, too still as she rode away from Clemens Point. The familiar path leading out into the wilderness was both comforting and terrifying. She had ridden this land countless times before, but this time, she wasn’t just hunting. She wasn’t just exploring. She was searching for Arthur.

The wind picked up, sending dust swirling in the air as Nerissa pushed forward, her heart pounding in her chest. The day was dying, the sky turning soft shades of orange and purple as the sun sank lower. But it didn’t matter. The night, the cold, the dangers of the wild—they didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding him.

As she rode deeper into the wilderness, her mind raced. Why hadn’t Arthur been at the meeting point? Where could he have gone? She replayed their last conversation in her mind, the tension between them that had never quite settled. He’d been distant, more than usual. She knew something was off, but she hadn’t expected this.

What if something had happened to him? What if he’d been hurt?

Her grip on Noir’s reins tightened as she pushed forward, her thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Her heart told her to keep going, to trust that Arthur was out there, and that if she just rode far enough, she’d find him. But doubt crept into her mind, and with it, a fear she hadn’t dared face until now.

With Noir's steady rhythm beneath her, Nerissa rode through the night. The world was dark, and her thoughts were darker still. Every mile felt like an eternity, the exhaustion clawing at her as her mind raced with fear, doubt, and a relentless desire to find Arthur. Each breath was a battle against the pull of weariness, but she pressed on, one hand firm on the reins, the other gripping the hilt of her pistol like it might somehow steady her trembling resolve.

The hours dragged, the cold desert wind biting at her exposed skin, but still she rode, unwilling to relent. The sky started to shift as the first hints of dawn crept over the horizon, the darkness bleeding into a soft, muted purple, then gold, before giving way to the full blaze of the sun. It was that bittersweet moment between night and day, the world caught in suspended animation, as if everything was holding its breath.

Finally, Nerissa’s gaze fell on the rugged terrain ahead: Twin Stack Pass, with its jagged cliffs and treacherous trails. This was the place—the last place Arthur had been seen, the edge of the world where Dutch and Micah had gone to ground.

Her heart pounded as she reined in Noir, scanning the rocky outcrops. Her sharp eyes immediately picked out a series of horse tracks, fresh but fading with each passing minute. Without hesitation, she urged Noir forward, pushing the horse to a quick pace, her thoughts chaotic yet focused, trying to block out the fear that curled at the edges of her mind.

“I’ll ride the entire Heartlands to find you,” she whispered through gritted teeth, the words filled with a fiery determination, but underlined with a raw edge of desperation. Time was slipping away, but she couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t—stop. Not until she found him.

Her black duster coat fluttered behind her as she sped through the pass, her black Big Valley Hat low over her eyes, shadows masking her face. She was the woman who had once ridden beside Arthur, the outlaw who’d fought and laughed under the same sun, but now, that woman seemed like a memory—one she could barely touch. She was something else now, something colder. A bounty hunter. A stranger to herself.

But even in this changed skin, there was still a fierce, unyielding spark inside her that was unmistakably the woman she had been—the woman who would go to the ends of the earth for the ones she loved.

Hours passed as she navigated through the harsh landscape, the sun beating down relentlessly on her back. Her eyes scanned the horizon constantly, praying for any sign of him, but there was only silence, the wide, empty land offering no answers.

And then, as she crested a hill, she saw it—a faint trail of horse tracks, deeper now, leading toward the desolate outpost of Flatneck Station. Hope stirred in her chest. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep her going.

With renewed determination, Nerissa spurred Noir forward, the weight of every step feeling like an eternity. Her body ached, her eyes felt heavy from lack of sleep, but there was no time for rest. Arthur’s life might depend on her—every second counted.

By the time she arrived at Flatneck Station, the sun had begun to dip low in the sky, painting the landscape with deep shades of orange and red. Her heart felt heavier now, weighed down with more than just fatigue. Every time she thought she might be close to finding him, the feeling in her gut twisted, making her question whether she was too late, if she had already missed her chance.

Nerissa dismounted, her legs unsteady as they hit the ground. She took a deep breath, letting the cool evening air fill her lungs before she set about making camp. Her hands moved methodically, setting up the shelter with practiced ease, despite the exhaustion clouding her thoughts. She didn’t have time to rest—didn’t allow herself the luxury of truly stopping—but for just a moment, she let herself close her eyes, imagining Arthur, wondering where he was, and if he even thought about her anymore.

As the fire flickered softly in the distance, Nerissa allowed herself a moment of reprieve. Her mind wandered back to their time together—the campfires, the laughter, the plans they’d made. The way he had once looked at her, with such tenderness and care. Was it all gone now? Had she destroyed it by leaving?

She shook her head, forcing the thoughts away. She couldn’t afford to dwell on the past—not when there was so much at stake. But as she sat by the fire, her fingers tracing the worn leather of her saddle, a cold weight settled in her chest. She wasn’t just searching for Arthur. She was searching for forgiveness—for the love they had shared, for the bond that had once meant everything.

No matter how long it took, she would find him. She wouldn’t stop. 

The night had fallen heavy, the shadows stretching long over the prairie as Nerissa sat huddled by her fire, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. Her body ached from hours of relentless riding, but sleep eluded her. The stillness of the night was interrupted only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

And then—voices.

At first, they were faint, almost lost in the night’s vastness. But as Nerissa strained her ears, the rough, gruff accents grew louder, unmistakable. And then she heard it—words that sparked something in her chest, a rush of excitement and purpose.

"Arthur freakin' Morgan... Van Der Linde’s gunner..."

A grin spread across Nerissa’s face, despite the cold knot of worry that tightened in her gut. Without a second thought, she swiftly dismantled her camp, packed her things with practiced haste, and mounted her steed, Noir. The thrill of knowing she was finally on the right trail fueled her every movement. Arthur was alive, and now it was her turn to bring him back.

The sound of rushing water soon filled her ears, mingling with the creaking of wood. As she rode harder, the river came into view—swift and dark, its surface rippling under the moonlight. And there, across the way, was the sight of the O'Driscolls. The sight of Arthur. Slumped over, barely keeping himself in the saddle, his face pale and bloodied.

A surge of anger burned through her chest, but her determination outweighed it. She spurred Noir forward, heart racing with the urgency of the moment. She couldn’t wait any longer.

"Arthur!" Nerissa called out, her voice sharp and urgent as she galloped toward him. But the moment she saw the blood staining his shirt, her heart skipped. The gunshot wound in his shoulder was bad—too bad. She had to act fast.

She didn’t hesitate, jumping off Noir and rushing to his side as he swayed in his saddle, barely conscious. His eyes flickered up to hers, a faint recognition there.

“Nerissa…” he rasped, his voice weak, struggling to stay upright.

“We’re gettin’ you outta here, Arthur,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. Her hands were already on him, trying to lift him from the saddle, careful not to jostle him too much.

His breath hitched in pain, but he didn’t fight her. "I ain't… worth it," he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Don’t talk like that," Nerissa snapped, her tone sharp with both concern and something else—something softer, buried beneath the surface. She could feel him slipping away, and panic surged in her chest. "You're gettin' out of here, alive. Stay with me, Arthur."

She lifted him onto Noir’s saddle with a strength born of desperation, tying his horse to the back and spurring Noir forward, urging him into a desperate gallop.

Every second stretched on like an eternity as she raced through the night, the wind whipping at her face, her heart thundering in her chest. Every jolt of Noir’s hooves sent waves of pain through Arthur’s body, but he didn’t protest. His breathing was labored, shallow, but he was still with her.

The road seemed never-ending, the landscape a blur of dark trees and rocks. But finally, after what felt like hours, the dim lights of Clemens Point appeared in the distance. The sight of the camp’s fire brought a rush of relief to Nerissa, though her heart never slowed its frantic pace. She rode hard, ignoring the ache in her own body, her focus entirely on getting him to safety.

When they finally reached the camp, it was a blur of motion. Charles and Sadie rushed to help her, but Nerissa didn’t let go of Arthur until he was safely on the ground. They both stumbled off Noir, their legs weak and bodies battered. Nerissa’s body ached as she struggled to push herself upright. The sounds of the chaos around her began to fade as something caught her eye—something familiar. Her heart skipped a beat. There, standing over Arthur, were faces she had thought she’d never see again—Mary-Beth, Karen, and Dutch. The sight of them stirred something deep within her, a mix of relief and disbelief.

"I told you it was a set-up, Dutch…" Arthur’s voice was a rasp, barely audible as his labored breathing filled the air. His body slumped against the ground, but his eyes—those familiar, wild eyes—still held on to the fight.

Charles and Sadie rushed to Nerissa’s side, both reaching out to help her steady herself. Nerissa barely registered their hands, her focus solely on the man she had never stopped thinking about.

“My boy… my dear boy, what happened?” Dutch’s voice trembled with a mixture of concern and panic, his weathered hands reaching down to Arthur, but there was a trace of guilt there too. He was always so composed, so in control—yet now, his uncertainty was as raw as the wound in Arthur’s side.

“They got me…” Arthur whispered, his voice growing fainter, but his lips curled up into a weak grin. “But I got away.”

“Yeah, that you did,” Dutch muttered, the panic in his voice giving way to frustration. “Miss Grimshaw, I need help! Reverend Swanson?”

The chaos only heightened, but Nerissa stayed rooted in place, watching as Dutch’s gaze flicked between the group, his distress palpable. She could feel it—a tension in the air that mirrored the heaviness in her chest.

“He was gonna set the law on us…” Arthur’s words were urgent, desperate, and for the first time, Nerissa saw the terror in his eyes. The man who had once been so steady, so sure of himself, was afraid.

“Oh, of course he was,” Dutch spat, his temper rising in the face of betrayal. The anger that simmered beneath the surface came to a head. “Damn it, Pearson!” He bellowed the name like a curse.

Nerissa turned her gaze to Pearson, his face full of regret, his eyes wide with guilt. “I’m sorry, Arthur,” he stammered, but the apology felt too small.

“It’s a bit late for apologies…” Arthur’s voice wavered, each word a struggle. He didn’t care for Pearson’s remorse now, not with the weight of what had happened pressing down on him. “Swanson!” he shouted, a hint of panic cutting through his rasp.

“Mr. Morgan… Mr. Morgan, you’re safe now,” came Swanson’s voice, soft and shaky as he approached, his hands trembling like leaves in the wind.

Nerissa could barely take her eyes off Arthur. The man she loved, the one who had lived through so much, was broken in a way she had never imagined. And yet, in his moment of weakness, he was still fighting, still trying to protect everyone around him.

“Let’s get him to bed…” Miss Grimshaw’s voice cut through the tension, calm and composed as always. She had seen too much to be rattled. “Miss Matthews, do you need help?” Her gaze held concern, but Nerissa only shook her head.

“I’m alright,” Nerissa said softly, her voice a quiet but steady murmur. She didn’t need anyone’s help—just knowing that Arthur was still here, still alive, was all she needed.

The rest of the camp buzzed with urgency as Dutch helped Arthur to his feet, his words soft, though Nerissa could hear the trace of tenderness in his voice. “You’re safe now, Arthur… you’re safe now.”

Arthur’s response came as a half-laugh, half-cough, his chest heaving with each labored breath. “That’s pretty, Dutch… that’s real pretty.” And with those words, his eyes closed, his body giving in to exhaustion as he passed out.

Dutch let out a long sigh, looking down at Arthur with a mixture of frustration and sadness. “Miss Matthews… can you sit with him awhile?” His voice was softer now, almost reluctant.

Nerissa nodded without hesitation, her heart aching with every step she took toward Arthur. “Of course,” she whispered, her voice breaking with a tenderness that only he could draw out of her. She gently helped him onto the bed, watching as his breathing steadied, his face still strained in the aftermath of the chaos.

As she sat beside him, she leaned over to kiss his forehead, her hand resting gently on his. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured. “You’re home.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft sound of Arthur’s breath and the steady rhythm of Nerissa’s heartbeat. The weight of everything they’d both been through hung heavily between them, unspoken but understood. But for now, she could be here. She could stay.

And maybe, just maybe, this time, things would be different.

Chapter Text

Five long, arduous weeks had crept by since Arthur’s brutal kidnapping. His body had healed, but the scars—both physical and emotional—remained, always there to remind them of the darkness that had threatened to tear them apart. Through it all, Nerissa had kept a steady watch over him, never leaving his side. She tended to his wounds with delicate care, dabbing the fresh bandages, her hands gentle as they worked with the precision of someone who had learned the importance of each touch. Each action, though mundane, was a form of atonement, a way to rebuild trust and prove she hadn’t abandoned him again. Their bond had deepened—slow, steady, like the roots of an old oak tree, thick and intertwined, but the silence between them still felt like an unspoken wall.

Arthur never complained. He didn’t need to. But it was the quiet between them that stung the most. They shared little conversation, yet somehow it spoke volumes—of unspoken hurts, lingering doubts, and the weight of everything that had been left unsaid.

That afternoon, as the heat of the sun bathed the camp, Arthur rode out to Rhodes, leaving Nerissa to train with Sadie and complete the daily chores. She didn’t mind. She preferred the work to the silence, the constant buzz in her mind demanding answers to questions she was too afraid to ask.

When Arthur returned, his face was shadowed, his posture slumped. He’d always been a man of few words, but today, his silence felt different—heavy with something she couldn’t quite place.

“It was a trap,” Arthur muttered, barely lifting his head as he dismounted his horse. His voice was hushed, heavy with sorrow, and Nerissa’s chest tightened in response.

“What do you mean?” Her heart skipped a beat, sensing the gravity of his words before they even fully hit her.

“They shot Sean,” Arthur’s words sliced through the air like a cold knife. His eyes met hers, but there was no fire, no fight in them—only the hollow emptiness of loss.

Nerissa’s blood ran cold. She’d known Sean as the camp’s loud, mischievous troublemaker, the one who always had a smart remark ready, but who also had a heart of gold beneath that rough exterior. The thought that he was gone, ripped away so suddenly, hit her harder than she had expected. Sean had been like a brother to her, and the grief washed over her like a tidal wave. Her throat tightened, her eyes stinging, but there was no time to mourn. Not yet.

Before she could say anything, Dutch stormed toward them, his eyes frantic, his voice high with worry. "Arthur, Miss Matthews, you seen that boy? Jack?" His question, desperate and urgent, hung in the air between them.

“No,” they both responded, the words coming out in unison, their minds spinning in the same direction—Jack, the boy who was their joy, their light in the camp, was missing.

Abigail’s voice shattered the silence, high-pitched and filled with raw emotion. “Where’s my goddamn son?!” Her face was pale, drawn tight with fear. “They took him, didn’t they? They took my boy!”

Nerissa’s heart squeezed painfully. She moved to Abigail’s side, instinctively reaching for her, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing could comfort her right now. Not when the child was gone, stolen away like a shadow in the night.

Hosea joined the growing crowd, his face grim. “We think the Braithwaite woman took him,” he said, his voice low. “Kieran saw a couple of fellers—sound like Braithwaite boys.”

Nerissa’s stomach churned. The Braithwaites were ruthless. If they’d taken Jack, then they had to act fast—too many people would suffer otherwise. She squeezed Abigail’s arm tightly, her eyes never leaving the woman’s tear-streaked face.

“Where’s my son, Dutch?” Abigail’s voice broke, her eyes filled with desperation.

Dutch didn’t flinch. His face was hard, his expression a mask of determination. “We’ll get him back. And we’ll make sure anyone who lays a finger on that boy pays for it.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it, a fury that matched the weight of the promise.

“Just bring him home,” Abigail pleaded, her voice trembling with the weight of her love and fear for her son.

Nerissa turned to Arthur, her voice unwavering. "I’m going with you. I’ll ride with you to get him back."

Arthur shot her a look—sharp, intense, like he was ready to protest. “You’re not—”

“I’m going,” she interrupted, her tone firm. “You know I’m good with a rifle. I’m not staying behind.”

He hesitated for a split second, his expression torn. But in the end, he didn’t argue. Not when he knew her as well as he did.

Without further words, they saddled up, joining Dutch, Arthur, John, and Hosea on their ride to the Braithwaite Manor. Bill, ever eager for a fight, offered his services.

“Dutch,” he called out, his voice booming. “You need some extra guns? I’m ready to ride.”

Dutch nodded, his expression grim. “Yeah, why not? Micah, Kieran, you stay sharp. Anyone strange shows up, you don’t hesitate. The rest of you, let’s ride.”

And just like that, the group was off, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth and the rustling of the wind in their ears as they rode out into the unknown. Nerissa kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead, her grip tight on her rifle as she rode alongside Arthur. She didn’t know what they would face at the Braithwaite Manor, but she’d made a promise. And this time, she wasn’t breaking it.

"Let's go," she whispered to herself, her voice low but resolute. The night stretched ahead of them, full of danger and uncertainty, but nothing would stop her from bringing Jack home.

As Nerissa rode beside Dutch, Arthur, John, Hosea, Javier, Lenny, Charles, and Bill, her heart beat with one singular purpose: Jack. Her anger, raw and unrelenting, drove her forward, her grip on her rifle tight, her body tense with anticipation.

The sun blazed down on the group as they approached the Braithwaite Manor, its grand façade looming before them like a fortress, taunting them with its false sense of security. The moment Nerissa laid eyes on it, she felt a fire burn within her—a fire fueled by the injustice done to the boy, to their family. This was no longer about a rescue. This was about making them pay.

“Stay sharp,” Dutch ordered, his voice unwavering as they rode closer, each man and woman preparing for what was to come.

Arthur rode beside Nerissa, his presence a silent reassurance. They exchanged only brief glances, but the weight of their shared history hung between them. She could feel the tension in his every movement, the anger that still simmered just beneath the surface. It was a feeling she shared. This time, they weren’t just saving a child. They were fighting for their own redemption, for a chance to make things right.

“We’ve come for the boy. You must’ve known we would,” Dutch’s voice rang out, firm and commanding, as they neared the manor’s gates.

The Braithwaites’ smug expressions greeted them like a slap to the face. Nerissa’s blood boiled at the sight of them. Her vision blurred with fury, the sound of the wind and the earth beneath her fading as her heart thudded in her chest.

“Shouldn’t have messed with our business now, should you?” one of the Braithwaite men taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

“Whatever complaint you have with us, alleged or otherwise... That is a young boy. That is not the way you do things. Hand him over,” Dutch demanded, his patience wearing thin.

But the Braithwaites were unyielding, their defiance thick in the air. “Get the hell off our land,” they snarled.

Nerissa’s vision went red. She’d had enough of their insults, enough of their disregard for human life. The moment the Braithwaite sneered at her, something inside her snapped. Without hesitation, she raised her rifle, aiming it with deadly precision, and fired a shot straight into the head of one of the men. The crack of the gunshot echoed like a thunderclap, and the chaos erupted.

“Go!” Dutch barked, taking command of the battlefield. “Bill, Javier, cover left. John, Charles, Lenny, more fire on the right. Arthur, John, Hosea, Miss Matthews, with me. The rest of you, cover the perimeter. Let’s find that boy!”

Nerissa was already in motion, her gun blazing as she took down anyone who dared cross her path. Her mind raced, but it wasn’t fear that drove her—it was a primal need for vengeance. She could hear the Braithwaites’ shouts of fury, but they were nothing compared to the roar of blood pounding in her ears. This was war. This was personal.

As they pushed through the manor, Nerissa stayed at the front, her gun never leaving her hands. They made their way upstairs, and Dutch’s voice rang out. “Arthur, get up here and give us a hand!”

Nerissa followed Arthur without hesitation, her steps quick and purposeful, adrenaline fueling her every move. As they reached the second floor, Hosea cursed under his breath. “Barricaded… This must be where they’re holed up. Something’s pushed against it…”

“Open the goddamn door!” Dutch shouted. “Arthur, John, get in position!”

Nerissa stood guard by the door, her eyes darting across the room, every sense heightened. She was alive with a dangerous energy, the kind that comes from deep within—a hunger for justice, for vengeance. The Braithwaites had messed with the wrong people. They would pay.

Suddenly, a Braithwaite man appeared in the hallway, gun drawn. Nerissa didn’t even hesitate. She fired, the bullet finding its mark. Blood splattered against the wall, and the man crumpled to the floor. Her breath came in sharp, quick bursts, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Every shot, every kill, was one step closer to their goal.

The sound of the barricade breaking was deafening. Dutch kicked open the door, revealing Catherine Braithwaite, standing defiant, her face twisted in a sneer.

"You want me to kill you too, old woman?" Dutch growled, his revolver trained on her temple. His voice was a low rumble, filled with dangerous intent.

“You bastards,” Catherine spat, her fury equal to their own.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea demanded, his voice tight with anger.

Catherine’s laugh was cruel. “We’ve lived in this house for over a hundred years. Ain’t no problem we can’t handle. But you? You come here, shooting up my land. My sons are dead, and now, you want my boy?”

Nerissa’s rage flared again, the memories of her own lost time with Arthur—the time she had wasted running from him, running from herself—rushing to the forefront of her mind. She couldn’t lose Jack. Not like this. Not to these monsters.

“Tell us where he is, or I swear I’ll end you right here,” Nerissa hissed, her gun aimed directly at Catherine’s forehead.

“My sons gave him to Angelo Bronte,” Catherine sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. “He’s probably in Saint Denis. Or on a boat to Italy.”

Nerissa’s hands trembled, but it wasn’t fear. It was the overwhelming urge to finish this. To make them all pay.

Hosea nodded, his face set. “Let’s move.”

As they dragged Catherine out of the manor, Nerissa didn’t take her eyes off her. She wanted to pull the trigger, to end it all right there, but she stayed her hand. There was a deeper fight to be had.

“What we doing with her?” Arthur asked, his eyes flicking between Dutch and the woman.

“Leave her,” Dutch muttered, his voice final.

“I told you she was crazy,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head.

Nerissa didn’t speak, her mind already on the next steps, her body still coiled with that savage energy. The hunt wasn’t over yet.

As the camp came into view, Nerissa’s heart quickened with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. She had barely taken a breath since leaving the Braithwaite manor, still haunted by the brutal chaos they’d left behind. Yet, there was a purpose in her steps now—she was here for Abigail, here to give her the reassurance she desperately needed. As she saw the familiar figure of Abigail sitting by the fire, Nerissa's resolve finally crumbled. Without a second thought, she hurried over to the woman, wrapping her arms around her in a tight embrace.

The moment their bodies met, Abigail’s tension broke, and she clung to Nerissa as though she were a lifeline. The sound of her muffled sobs brought a knot to Nerissa’s throat, the weight of all they had been through suddenly crashing down on her.

“I’m here,” Nerissa whispered, holding her tightly, her own eyes welling with tears. “I’m here, and Jack will be alright.”

Abigail pulled away, her eyes red and puffy, but the look of relief on her face was enough to give Nerissa a small glimmer of hope.

“Tell me everything,” Abigail said in a shaky voice, her hands gripping Nerissa’s shoulders as if afraid she might disappear.

Nerissa took a deep breath before recounting every horrible detail—the Braithwaites, their cruelty, and the nightmare that had unfolded at the manor. Her voice never faltered, even as she spoke of the pain and fear that had gnawed at her during their escape. She needed Abigail to know what they were up against and how far they were willing to go to keep Jack safe.

“They won’t stop, Abigail,” Nerissa said, her voice steady, though her hands tightened into fists. “But neither will we. The Braithwaites won’t get away with this. I swear it.”

Abigail wiped at her eyes, nodding in understanding, and for a fleeting moment, the two women found peace in each other’s presence. But that tranquility was shattered by the sound of horses approaching—fast, and with an air of urgency.

Lenny rode into camp with a strange man at his side, his expression tight with unease.

“Dutch, we got a problem,” Lenny called out, his eyes scanning the camp quickly.

Dutch stood, his hand instinctively resting on the gun at his hip as the newcomer dismounted with an air of arrogance.

“Not a problem… visitors,” the man said, his voice thick with condescension. “A solution, in fact. Good day, fine people. Mr. Van der Linde. Mr. and Miss Matthews, I presume. And… who are you?” He eyed the group, a sneer curling his lips as he took in the sight of them.

“Rip Van Winkle,” John muttered under his breath, causing a few of the men to chuckle.

The stranger’s smile only grew. “Huh, well, good day, sir. I’m Agent Milton, from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. And this, of course, is Agent Ross.” He swept his hand toward his companion, his gaze finally landing on Arthur. “Ah, Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”

Nerissa’s blood ran cold at the mention of the Pinkertons. She could feel the tension in the air shift, a palpable, suffocating weight pressing down on them all. She had been waiting for this moment—knowing it was only a matter of time before they’d be tracked down. But hearing it in the flesh was another thing entirely.

Dutch’s voice cut through the heavy silence. “And to what do we owe the pleasure… Agent Moron?” His words dripped with sarcasm, his smile thin and mocking.

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” Milton began, his tone dripping with arrogance, “but this… this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all them savages, only to allow the likes of you… to act like human dignity and basic decency were outmoded, or not yet invented. This thing… it’s done.”

“This place… ain’t no such thing as civilized,” Dutch retorted, his voice hardening. “It’s man so in love with greed that he’s forgotten himself and found only appetites.”

“And as a consequence, that lets you take what you please, kill whom you please, and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led so horribly astray?” Milton’s voice rose, his face tightening with indignation.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch replied with a mocking laugh, his posture relaxed but the glint of menace in his eyes unmistakable.

Milton’s eyes narrowed. “You ain’t much of anything more than a killer, Mr. Van der Linde. But I came to make a deal. It’s time. You come with me, and I’ll give the rest of you three days to run off… disappear, and go live like human beings… someplace else.”

The air crackled with tension. Nerissa’s grip on her rifle tightened, her pulse pounding in her ears. The brazen arrogance of Milton’s offer sickened her. She couldn’t just stand by and let him take Dutch or the camp down.

“You came for me? Risked life and limb in this den of lowlifes and murderers… so that they might live and love? Ain’t that fine,” Dutch shot back, his words filled with venom.

“I don’t wanna kill all these folk, Dutch… just you,” Milton spat, the calm before the storm.

Nerissa’s heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t wait a second longer. Her rifle clicked into place, the sound sharp in the silence.

“I think your new friend should leave now,” Nerissa warned, her voice cold and unwavering.

Milton’s eyes widened as he processed the threat, but his bravado remained. “You’re making a big mistake… all of you,” he sneered, eyes darting between the heavily armed group.

“Yeah… dreadful. We have got something to live and die for. How awful for us, Mr. Milton,” Dutch taunted, the words sweetly mocking as the others gathered their weapons.

Milton stood firm for a moment longer, before his jaw clenched. “I’m afraid I can’t… and when I return, I’ll be with fifty men. All of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools. Run!” He turned and stormed off with Agent Ross, their horses kicking up dust as they left the camp.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, the tension in the air still palpable.

Arthur turned to Dutch, his expression dark, anger flashing in his eyes. “What now?”

“We get out of here, and fast,” Dutch said, his tone cold with determination. “Any ideas?”

Arthur’s mind immediately went into overdrive. “I know of a big, old house hidden in the swamps outside of Saint Denis. They'll find us eventually, but it should buy us a few days.”

“A few days is all we need,” Dutch replied, nodding in agreement.

Arthur glanced at Nerissa, his voice softer than before. “It’s a spot out by Shady Belle. Lenny and I had a bit of a dispute with the previous occupiers, but the place is well hidden.”

“Alright, then,” Dutch ordered, his voice filled with authority. “You and Arthur ride out there and make sure no one else has moved in. Lenny, you follow those fools outta here and make sure they leave. The rest of you, get packing!”

Arthur looked at Nerissa, his tone gentler now. “Come on,” he said softly, offering his hand.

Nerissa nodded, a fire burning in her chest as they made their way to their horses. “Let’s move,” she said, her voice fierce. “We’re not running anymore.”

As they rode off, she couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only just beginning. And they’d need every ounce of strength they had to survive what was coming next.

The sun beat down relentlessly as Arthur and Nerissa rode side by side toward Shady Belle, the swamps of Lemoyne stretching out before them like an ominous, tangled web. The oppressive heat made the air thick and sticky, but there was something else in the air too—a quiet sense of camaraderie that only came from riding alongside someone you trusted.

Arthur glanced at Nerissa, her hair glowing in the sunlight, her posture steady and confident in the saddle. Despite the chaos they’d lived through, seeing her there next to him, alive and breathing, made the weight on his chest feel a little lighter.

“How you feelin’?” Arthur asked, his voice quiet, his eyes scanning the road ahead, but his words were meant for her.

Nerissa’s gaze flickered to the horizon, but it was clear her mind was somewhere far off. “I hope he’s okay,” she said, her voice thick, the emotion threatening to break through. “I never should’ve left him. I never should’ve left any of you…”

Arthur’s jaw clenched slightly, but his voice was soft as he responded. “Yeah, me too. But you’re here now, ain’t ya? That’s what matters.”

Nerissa nodded, but the distance between them still felt too vast, a space neither of them had fully bridged. As they reached Shady Belle, the sun was beginning to set, casting a ghostly orange glow over the old plantation house. The once grand structure now sat abandoned, its broken windows like hollow eyes staring out over the swamp. It was a place filled with history—some of it dark, some of it forgotten—but tonight, it would become something else entirely.

Before either of them could dismount, the sound of gunfire shattered the eerie quiet, followed by shouting. The squatters who had taken refuge here were not about to give up the place without a fight.

“Get ready!” Arthur barked, pulling his revolver from its holster with practiced ease.

Without hesitation, Nerissa drew her own weapon, steadying herself as she aimed at the men hiding in the shadows. The air was thick with tension, the gunfire deafening as it rang out in the humid evening. Arthur moved with purpose, firing at the raiders, taking them down one by one, his focus unwavering.

Nerissa was just as quick, her shots ringing true, her movements fluid as she covered his back. They made their way toward the house, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the thick swamp air.

“Let’s check inside,” Nerissa said, her voice grim but steady as she gestured toward the doorway. She led the way, her senses alert, her eyes scanning every corner. The inside of the house was dark, lit only by the flickering light from a few scattered candles. The air smelled stale, laced with the iron scent of blood. The distant sound of struggling came from upstairs.

“Damn it,” Arthur muttered, his hand tightening around the grip of his gun as they moved cautiously up the stairs.

There, at the top, the last of the raiders waited. Arthur fired first, a loud shot that rang through the house, followed by Nerissa’s precise aim. They dispatched the remaining men with ruthless efficiency, their bodies collapsing to the floor with heavy thuds.

“Think that’s all of them?” Nerissa asked, her voice low, but there was something in her tone—a touch of relief mixed with the heaviness of the night’s events.

Arthur didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the bodies one by one, dragging them toward the open window and tossing them into the river below. When he returned to the house, Nerissa was already exploring the rest of the rooms.

“I like this place,” she said, stepping out onto the balcony, her gaze lingering on the swamp and the river that snaked through it.

Arthur followed her, his boots quiet against the floorboards. For a moment, there was only the sound of crickets and the distant murmur of the river below. He stood there beside her, looking at her in a way that made her heart flutter nervously.

“I forgive you,” he said suddenly, his voice softer than before, almost vulnerable, like he was saying something he didn’t want to admit.

Nerissa’s breath hitched in her throat. “Arthur…”

Before she could say anything more, he reached out, placing his hand on her waist. The touch was firm but gentle, and before she could pull away, he leaned in, kissing her. At first, it was tentative, but the moment their lips met, it was like the entire world faded away. Nerissa’s hands found his chest, pulling him closer, the taste of him familiar and comforting.

But before it could deepen, the distant sound of approaching caravans broke the spell, and they pulled away from each other with an almost painful reluctance. Nerissa stood there, stunned, her heart racing, not entirely sure what to make of the kiss or the sudden flood of emotions that had come with it.

The gang began to trickle into the camp, and Arthur cleared his throat, offering a small, almost awkward grin.

"Welcome home... all of ya... to my humble abode. We got fine livin'. Ignore the corpses and the alligators... it's paradise," he said, his voice rough but with a glint of humor in his eyes.

Nerissa couldn’t help but smile, despite herself. The absurdity of it all—the danger, the chaos, the strange peace of having found a place to call home in this madness—felt almost too surreal.

As the rest of the gang settled in, Arthur made his way over to Dutch, ready to get the plans moving. He was anxious to keep moving forward, but he paused when he saw Nerissa watching him from the balcony. For a moment, their eyes met—something unspoken between them, something fragile yet undeniably real.

“I’ll be back soon, Miss,” he said softly, his words almost too shy for someone like him.

Nerissa nodded, her chest tight. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she watched him mount his horse and ride off with Dutch, the weight of the kiss still lingering on her lips.

Chapter Text

As the first light of morning filtered through the window, Arthur slowly opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the soft sound of Nerissa’s breathing—slow, steady, and peaceful. They shared a room now, not yet a bed, much to Arthur’s dismay. The space between them was still new, still fragile, and there were moments when the silence between them felt heavier than it should.

Arthur’s gaze softened as he watched her. The morning light danced across her curly hair, each lock catching the golden hue of dawn. Her skin, still sun-kissed from their travels, seemed to glow in the soft light, and for a moment, Arthur couldn’t believe his luck. He had found a woman so strong, so beautiful, and yet, so gentle when she let her guard down. He felt his heart ache with a love he hadn’t expected to find.

He wanted to reach out and pull her closer, but instead, he simply sat there, watching her. He couldn't help but admire the way she looked, even in sleep.

After a while, Arthur gently nudged her awake, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, the world outside their little room seemed to disappear.

"Morning," Arthur said softly, his voice rough from sleep. He smiled at her, the warmth in his eyes betraying the vulnerability he rarely showed.

Nerissa blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room, and then a soft, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Morning.” Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was still a tenderness in it. She stretched, her body curling slightly before she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "What time is it?"

Arthur hesitated, reluctant to break the quiet peace between them. "I have to go to Saint Denis today," he said, his voice quieter now. “Dutch and John are expectin’ me.”

Nerissa’s face softened, but there was a flash of concern in her eyes. She didn’t want to let him go, not when things were still so delicate between them. But she also knew he had responsibilities—ones he couldn’t escape. “I’ll ride with you,” she whispered, her voice determined, as though she was trying to ease the weight on his shoulders.

Arthur smiled at her, his heart swelling with affection. She always knew what he needed, even when he didn’t have the words for it. “You don’t have to,” he said gently, though he didn’t want to argue with her.

“I want to,” Nerissa replied, her tone quiet but resolute. “You’re not alone in this.”

Arthur felt a warmth spread through him at her words, and he didn’t say anything else. They got dressed in silence, the air between them comfortable but heavy with the unspoken things neither was ready to confront yet. Nerissa chose a simple white dress with a black corset, accentuating her curves in a way that made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. She was beautiful, and she knew it, but it was more than just her appearance—it was the way she carried herself, the way she stood beside him as an equal, not someone to be protected, but someone he could rely on just as much as she relied on him.

Arthur, too, kept things simple but practical. He pulled on a black shirt, the fabric soft yet worn, and matching pants. They both wore black Big Valley hats, adding to the air of rugged outlaws they’d become in the eyes of the world. But here, in their little bubble of space, it was just them—two souls trying to navigate a life that wasn’t always kind.

They saddled up and rode toward Saint Denis, the bustling cityscape of the West looming ahead of them. The sun had fully risen now, casting a golden glow over the land, the sky a rich blue. The crisp air felt fresh on their faces, and for a moment, it seemed like they were the only two people in the world. As they rode side by side, there was an unspoken connection between them—a quiet understanding that even in a world full of chaos, they had each other. That was enough.

"I think I’ll stop by the general store today," Nerissa said, breaking the comfortable silence. She glanced at him, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Maybe pick up a journal. I’ve been meaning to write down my thoughts and feelings. Just like you’ve always done."

Arthur looked over at her, surprised but touched. He hadn’t expected her to follow his lead like that. "You sure you wanna do that?" he asked, his tone teasing but gentle. "Write all your secrets down?"

Nerissa chuckled softly. "Maybe not all of them," she said with a wink. "But I’d like to try. I think... I think I could use it."

Arthur nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I think you’ll be good at it."

As they neared Saint Denis, the city seemed to grow larger with each passing moment, its noise and bustle a stark contrast to the quiet serenity they had shared on the road. Arthur’s expression shifted slightly as he prepared for what lay ahead. “I’ll meet you after I’m done with Dutch and John. I won’t be long.”

Nerissa gave him a reassuring look, though there was a faint sadness in her eyes. “I’ll wait for you,” she said softly.

Arthur didn’t want to leave her, but he knew he had to. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, his voice low, almost as if he was reassuring himself as much as he was reassuring her.

With a final glance, they parted ways at the city’s edge—Arthur heading toward the meeting with Dutch and John, and Nerissa heading into the bustling streets to find the store she’d mentioned. She wandered through the crowds, the noise and movement around her almost dizzying after the quiet ride in. But she felt content. The city was overwhelming, but for the first time in a long time, she felt like she belonged. Like she had a future, and that future included Arthur. She found the general store easily enough and picked out a leather journal, the pages thick and inviting. She ran her fingers over the cover, feeling the weight of it, as though it would hold all the thoughts and dreams she’d kept hidden for so long.

Sitting down on a nearby bench, she opened it, the pen in her hand trembling slightly as she wrote down her first words: I am here. And I will never leave again.

She didn’t know if she believed it yet, but she hoped one day she would.

As the sun slowly dipped beneath the dusty horizon, Nerissa sat under the shade of a nearby tree, her journal open in her lap. She had spent the last few hours scribbling down her thoughts, reflecting on the past few days, the strange, shifting moments between her and Arthur still fresh in her mind. She was still trying to make sense of everything, of how things had changed, of how she felt.

After finishing the entry, she closed the journal and tucked it back into her satchel before heading back to camp. The air had cooled slightly, and the evening buzz of crickets filled the space as she approached the rustic table where her father and Abigail were sitting.

“How’re you holdin’ up?” Nerissa asked, her voice warm but tinged with concern. She looked over at Abigail, who was stirring a pot, her face reflecting the worry she’d carried ever since Jack had gone missing.

“I just hope they get him back soon,” Abigail replied, her voice low, the pain of uncertainty hanging heavy in her words. She didn’t have to say much for Nerissa to know how badly she was hurting.

“They will be home soon, dear,” Hosea interjected with his usual calm, his eyes scanning the newspaper Nerissa had brought back from the city.

As the sky darkened and the stars began to make their quiet appearance, the trio exchanged stories and shared laughter. Nerissa found herself regaling them with the tale of her and Arthur’s unexpected kiss. It wasn’t the usual kind of story to tell, but somehow it felt right to share.

“So Arthur dumped the bodies into the river, and as I stood on the balcony admiring the view, suddenly, out of nowhere, he kissed me,” Nerissa said, her words spilling out with a mix of excitement and a touch of nervousness, her mind replaying the brief moment they had shared.

Abigail’s eyes lit up with a teasing glint. “I knew it!” she said with a soft laugh, clearly delighted to see her friend’s smile so wide.

Hosea chuckled, though his eyes were full of warmth. “It’s good to see you both in better spirits. I always did say Arthur had a soft side.”

Before the conversation could continue, Dutch, John, and Arthur arrived, their presence marking the end of their quiet moment. Dutch’s voice rang out, loud and full of relief.

“Abigail! Abigail! We got you your son!” Dutch bellowed, his tone gruff but laced with unmistakable joy.

“We got him! He’s fine!” John added, his voice thick with emotion.

“Momma!” Jack shouted from a distance, and Abigail’s face transformed in an instant. She rushed to her son, tears already falling as she enveloped him in a tight hug.

“I’m fine, Momma. They fed me good. Italian food. You ever eat that?” Jack grinned, his stomach clearly content, his earlier fears fading into the background.

“Come here, you silly boy. You got him, Dutch, Arthur, thank you… thank you. I got my son back!” Abigail cried out, her voice cracking with emotion.

Hosea, a proud smile crossing his face, tousled Jack’s hair affectionately. “Jack, Jack, Jack… how are you, boy?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Jack replied, his grin widening.

The mood around camp lightened as Abigail clung to her son, her heart finally at ease. Nerissa couldn’t help but smile at the reunion. “Everything’s okay now, Abigail,” she reassured her friend, her voice soft and steady.

Jack, now full of energy, pulled away. “Can I go play now?” he asked eagerly, already darting off without waiting for a response.

As Dutch and Hosea began discussing their next steps with Bronte, Nerissa found herself walking over to Arthur and John, her heart light with relief for Abigail but still feeling that strange mix of emotions she couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Arthur,” John said sincerely, his voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know how to say it, but thank you for bringing him back.”

Arthur gave a small nod, his expression kind but guarded. “I understand. Go be with your family, John,” he replied, his voice low but comforting, as if giving John permission to finally breathe easy.

Nerissa looked up at Arthur, her curiosity getting the best of her. “So, how was Bronte?” she asked, keeping her tone casual, though the question hung between them, a reflection of the mystery that surrounded their dealings with him.

Arthur’s lips curled into a wry grin. “Italian,” he replied dryly, his eyes meeting hers for a moment. “Food wasn’t bad, but the company? Not so much.”

Nerissa laughed softly at his sarcasm, feeling a sense of ease between them despite the uncertainty that still lingered. There was no rush, no pressure—just an unspoken understanding of where they stood.

As they walked toward the fire, the evening air cooling with the fading light, Arthur’s hand brushed against hers, just enough to send a quiet shiver down her spine. It wasn’t a bold gesture, but it was enough for Nerissa to feel the warmth of his presence.

Uncle’s jovial voice broke through the silence. “Good to have you back here, we’ve missed you. Hey, hey… how about a song?”

Javier started strumming his guitar, the soft melody of “Cielito Lindo” filling the air. Slowly, others joined in, their voices rising in unison under the starry sky. Nerissa leaned back against Arthur as the fire crackled before them, the light dancing across their faces. The warmth from the fire, the sound of laughter, and the peaceful rhythm of the night enveloped them.

There was no need for words, no rush to make anything more of the moment. For now, they were just here, surrounded by the family they had found in this wild, unpredictable world.

As Javier's guitar strummed the opening chords of Cielito Lindo, the melody floated through the warm evening air, weaving its way around the campfire where the gang gathered. The gentle crackle of the flames was accompanied by the soft murmur of voices, the scent of whiskey and smoke lingering in the cool night. Nerissa stood a little apart from the rest of the camp, the glow of the fire dancing on her white dress, her curly hair catching the light with every subtle movement.

Arthur watched her from across the fire, the sight of her in the soft light stirring something in him—something he couldn't quite name but had been feeling for weeks. There was a quiet pull toward her, one he’d never quite experienced before. She was beautiful, yes, but there was more to it—her presence felt like home, and he’d started to realize just how much that mattered.

His heart shifted, and he found himself moving toward her, his boots silent against the ground as he approached. Without thinking, he extended his hand toward her, his voice steady but soft as he asked, “Dance with me?”

Nerissa’s smile was slow, but it reached her eyes as she placed her hand in his. The warmth of his palm against hers sent a spark of something through her. They didn’t need to say anything—this was the kind of quiet understanding they’d begun to share, one built from moments like this, where words weren’t necessary.

The firelight illuminated their faces, casting long shadows as they moved together, the music enveloping them. Javier’s voice, rich and warm, continued to float around them, carrying the song like an old story.

De la Sierra Morena,

Cielito lindo, vienen bajando,

Un par de ojitos negros,

Cielito lindo, de contrabando.

Arthur’s hand settled gently on the small of Nerissa’s back, guiding her into the rhythm of the music. She could feel the steady beat of the guitar beneath her feet, and without thinking, her body moved naturally with his. He was careful, mindful of the space between them, but his touch remained constant, offering a steady anchor in the swirling chaos of their lives.

Nerissa felt a sense of peace wash over her, a feeling she rarely allowed herself. There was something grounding about dancing with Arthur—something that made her forget the rest of the world. For this moment, they were simply two people moving in harmony, lost in the music, lost in each other’s company.

Ay, ay, ay, ay,

Canta y no llores,

Porque cantando se alegran,

Cielito lindo, los corazones.

Arthur’s movements were fluid, his presence strong yet gentle. As he spun her, Nerissa’s heart fluttered in her chest, the memory of his kiss still fresh on her lips. Her thoughts strayed for a moment, but then she found herself back in the dance, her feet following the beat, her body swaying with his as they moved together. The world seemed to fall away—the camp, the noise, the chaos of their lives—and there was only the steady rhythm of their steps.

Arthur’s blue eyes met hers, and for a moment, everything else faded. His gaze was intense but softened by something tender, something unspoken. Nerissa felt her heart skip a beat, her breath catching in her throat. His look held a depth she couldn’t quite define, and yet, it made her feel seen in a way no one else had before.

Ese lunar que tienes,

Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,

No se lo des a nadie,

Cielito lindo, que a mí me toca.

She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. The song and the dance had woven a spell around them, a shared connection that made everything else seem distant. Arthur’s arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer as they continued to move. His touch was warm, his scent familiar, and for a moment, Nerissa was lost in the feeling of it. She could feel the roughness of his shirt brushing against her skin, the heat of his body pressing against hers.

There was nothing rushed in the way they moved together. It wasn’t a dance of desperation or longing; it was a dance of quiet affection, of a slow-burning connection that neither of them was ready to name, but both could feel.

Ese lunar que tienes,

Cielito lindo, junto a la boca,

No se lo des a nadie,

Cielito lindo, que a mí me toca.

Time seemed to stretch in that moment, the music carrying them through it, the warmth of the fire casting a golden glow over their faces. The camp around them, with its raucous laughter and chatter, felt far away, as though the world had paused just for them. They moved as one, their bodies in perfect sync with each other, their steps quiet and deliberate.

Arthur’s gaze never left hers, and in that moment, Nerissa realized that everything between them had shifted. She had always been guarded, always kept herself at arm's length, but with Arthur, there was something different. She couldn’t explain it, but when he looked at her like that, it felt like he understood her in a way no one else did.

As the song neared its end, the last few notes of the guitar floated through the air, and they slowly pulled apart, but not without reluctance. The sound of the camp’s cheers filled their ears, but the moment lingered between them, heavy and unspoken.

Ay, ay, ay, ay,

Canta y no llores,

Porque cantando se alegran,

Cielito lindo, los corazones.

Arthur gave her a small smile, his hand brushing the back of her arm as he turned toward the others, but the quiet connection between them remained. Nerissa followed, the warmth of the dance still in her chest, the touch of his hand still lingering on her skin.

As the group settled back around the fire, the music quieted, and the chatter resumed, but Nerissa found herself lost in the moment, her thoughts lingering on the dance, on Arthur. It wasn’t much—just a moment, just a dance—but it felt like it meant something, something neither of them were quite ready to define.

Without a word, Arthur took her hand, his touch gentle, but there was a firmness to it as if he wanted to make sure she was with him, in that moment, before anything else happened. Together, they walked toward their room, the noise of the camp fading behind them. The air was cool against their skin as they reached the door, but neither was in any rush.

They paused for a moment before entering, the silence between them filled with the unspoken words that neither of them needed to say just yet. Inside, the soft light from the fire outside spilled into the room, casting shadows on the walls. Arthur’s hand brushed hers again, and though neither spoke, it felt like everything had been said in that simple gesture. It was slow. It was real. It was everything they needed it to be, for now.

Chapter Text

Nerissa awoke to the soft chirping of birds outside the window, their melodies a gentle reminder of the calm morning that awaited her. The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room, but it was the memory of the previous night that flooded her thoughts first. She remembered how they danced, how, for a moment, the world had felt a little softer. How Arthur’s eyes had looked at her—maybe, just maybe, they were honest with each other for the first time in years. But there was still so much between them, unsaid, unresolved.

As she lay there, a soft rustling beside her signaled Arthur’s awakening. She watched as he rubbed his eyes, his face still carrying the remnants of sleep, and then, slowly, his gaze met hers. A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but Nerissa couldn’t help but notice the edge in his expression—a shadow of something unspoken between them.

“Morning,” he muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Morning,” she replied softly, still unsure of what to say. The truth was, she was afraid of what might come next—whether this fragile moment between them would be shattered by the weight of their past.

As they began to prepare for the day, the peaceful quiet was broken by Nerissa’s voice, a little more distant than she intended. “Arthur, you have a letter.”

He stopped what he was doing, turning to look at her with a raised eyebrow. “Who’s it from?”

“Mary,” she said, her tone colder than she’d meant it to be, but she couldn’t hide the tightness in her chest. She hadn’t fully realized how much she still resented Mary until that moment.

Arthur’s expression faltered for a brief second before his face darkened. He took the letter from her and slowly tore open the seal, his brow furrowing as he read the words. Nerissa could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She hated how Mary still had the power to make Arthur’s mood shift so dramatically. That woman had broken his heart once, and Nerissa couldn’t stand the idea of it happening again.

Trying to steady herself, Nerissa turned away from Arthur, her heart heavy with something she couldn’t quite name. "I’m heading to Saint Denis to pick up a dress for the mayor’s party tomorrow," she said, her voice barely masking the bitterness that lingered.

Arthur nodded absently, his focus still on the letter. “Alright... be careful.”

Nerissa didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if she even had the energy to respond. Instead, she grabbed her coat and mounted her horse, letting the motion of riding through the dusty roads of the camp take her mind off things. The open air was a temporary relief, but it didn’t erase the frustration building up inside her—frustration about Mary, about the unspoken distance between her and Arthur, and about the fact that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to let go of the past.

When she arrived in Saint Denis, the city greeted her with its usual vibrant hustle—shops full of trinkets, carts selling fresh fruit, and people haggling over prices. The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden hue over the cobbled streets. But Nerissa didn’t see any of that. She had only one thing on her mind: finding the perfect gown for tomorrow’s party.

She made her way through the busy streets and found the tailor shop Dutch had recommended. The bell above the door jingled as she entered, and she was immediately greeted by the enthusiastic tailor.

“How may I be of service, miss?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“I need a gown for the mayor’s party tomorrow,” Nerissa said, her voice soft but purposeful.

“Of course! What color were you thinking?” he asked eagerly, already reaching for the fabric swatches.

“Navy blue,” Nerissa replied with a smile, though it felt like an effort.

“Ah, yes! Perfect choice,” the tailor said, practically bouncing as he rushed to find the right dress. “I have just the thing! Please, make yourself comfortable,” he added, gesturing toward a plush velvet chair.

Nerissa sat down and, as the tailor bustled around in the back, pulled out her journal. She opened it carefully, her eyes lingering on the page before her. She uncapped her fountain pen and began to write, her hand moving fluidly across the paper.

The thoughts and emotions from the past night swirled in her mind—the moment she’d shared with Arthur, how he’d kissed her, how everything had felt so real for a moment. But there was still so much unsaid. She wrote it all down, her pen capturing the turbulence of her feelings. The quiet ache she felt whenever she thought of Mary. The uncertainty she couldn’t shake.

She paused for a moment, looking at the words before her, before closing the journal with a soft sigh. There was no easy answer to what she felt, and there was no easy solution to the distance between her and Arthur. But maybe, just maybe, the truth of their feelings could be found somewhere in the mess.

When the tailor returned, holding the navy-blue gown in his arms, he looked at her expectantly. “What do you think?”

Nerissa stood and took the dress from him. It was beautiful, the fabric rich and luxurious, the perfect blend of elegance and simplicity. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget the worries of the world around her. She looked at the dress, imagining what tomorrow might bring—but also wondering if Arthur would still be the same man after all that had happened.

Last night was a night to remember. We danced under the light, our laughter filling the air as if the world hadn’t come crashing down around us. But as the music faded and the sun crept up, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Arthur still harbored anger toward me. I saw it in the way he looked at me—his gaze hard, like he hadn’t yet forgiven me for leaving.

And then there was the letter. Arthur received a letter from Mary. That woman. I’ve seen the pain she’s caused him, and yet, she still has the nerve to write to him as if nothing had ever happened. It eats at me. How could she waltz back into his life after everything she did to him? After breaking his heart, she has the audacity to think she can pick up where they left off. It angers me more than I care to admit, and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever truly be able to push her out of his heart.

I won’t let it stop me. I refuse to let that woman take any more from him. I’m determined to make tomorrow night perfect. Dutch has given me a task: to attend the mayor’s party, alongside him, Arthur, and my father. We’re to gather information, to mingle with the guests and listen for anything useful. It’s an opportunity to prove myself, but more than that, I’ll be close to Arthur again. Maybe, just maybe, I can show him that I’m here to stay.

Nerissa’s writing was interrupted by a soft knock on the door, followed by the unmistakable voice of the tailor calling from the hallway.

"Miss Matthews, if I may? I believe I’ve found something special for you."

She put down her pen and walked toward the door, her curiosity piqued. When the tailor entered, she was met with the sight of a magnificent gown, its fabric catching the light as he carefully presented it to her.

Nerissa gasped, her breath caught in her throat. The gown was exquisite. The deep navy blue silk shimmered in the soft glow of the room, and she could almost feel the smoothness of it just by looking. The matching white pearls along the neckline were delicate and elegant, and the way the gown hugged the mannequin made her heart race.

The tailor, noticing her reaction, smiled proudly. “It’s the finest silk, Miss. I thought it would bring out the color in your eyes, and with your beauty, it’s the perfect choice for the mayor’s ball.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at the tailor, though her thoughts drifted back to Arthur. She wondered how he would see her in this. Would he look at her with the same admiration the tailor had shown, or would his gaze still hold that quiet, unspoken anger?

When Nerissa slipped into the gown, it felt like a transformation. The dress clung to her body in all the right ways, accentuating her curves and giving her a sense of power she hadn’t felt in years. Her reflection in the mirror was almost unrecognizable—elegant, graceful, yet something deep inside her still felt like she was hiding a part of herself, the one that longed for more from Arthur than just the coldness he often showed her.

The tailor seemed in awe as he adjusted the dress, making small corrections here and there. “Miss Matthews, you truly are a vision. The dress was made for you.”

She looked at her reflection again, but this time, she allowed herself to feel the weight of the situation. This wasn’t just about the dress. It was about proving herself, about showing that she was capable, that she wasn’t just the woman who left, but someone who had grown and learned. Someone worthy of Arthur's attention, no matter how far away he seemed.

As for the dress, she wrote later in her journal, the tailor has outdone himself. The navy-blue gown he selected for me is simply stunning. It clings to my curves in all the right places, and the beading on the bodice sparkles in the light. I can’t wait to see their faces when they see me in it. But more than that, I need Arthur to see me—really see me. Not as the woman who left, but as the one who’s here now, the one who’s never going to run away again.

Nerissa took a deep breath, closing her journal and standing in front of the mirror, her eyes lingering on her reflection. Today felt like a new beginning, full of possibilities and adventures. But she couldn’t shake the knot in her stomach, the uncertainty of whether any of this would matter to Arthur. She had a long road ahead to win back his trust, and the thought of it made her chest tighten.

But for tonight, she would hold onto this moment. For tonight, she was ready. Ready to step into a world of intrigue and power, and maybe—just maybe—to finally make a place for herself in Arthur’s life again.

As the tailor carefully packed the delicate silk gown into a lavish box, Nerissa's fingers trembled with anticipation. The gown had been a small luxury, something she’d longed for but never allowed herself to indulge in before. She couldn't wait to bring it home and admire it in the quiet of her cabin, where it would be a fleeting escape from the turmoil of their outlaw lives.

However, before she could leave the shop, a familiar voice rang out in the street, halting her in her tracks. It was Arthur.

Peeking cautiously out from her hiding spot in the alleyway, Nerissa held her breath as she listened. She felt a strange pull in her chest—a mix of jealousy and hurt. But she couldn't tear herself away from their exchange. She quickly ducked into the alley across the street, trying to remain hidden, but close enough to hear every word between Arthur and Mary.

"I'm begging you, Arthur... I know Daddy wasn't kind to you, but... surely you can't hate a man for the sin of loving his daughter... and wanting better for her than..." Mary’s voice trembled, full of desperation.

"Than me?" Arthur's voice was laced with confusion, his brow furrowing as he tried to process her words.

"Than the choices you make," Mary continued, a hint of disappointment heavy in her tone.

"What choice did I have? Did I ever have one?" Arthur snapped, his voice rising in frustration, though Nerissa could sense the pain beneath his anger.

"Oh, I know… you had to live by your code. But your code... well, it's not right," Mary said, trying to appeal to him, but her words only seemed to enrage him more.

"Has your way been right, Mary? With you and Jamie joinin’ those crazies? And your hypocritical daddy with his drinking, whorin’, and gambling... Is that what a 'pure life' gets you? Beggin' me for help?" Arthur's voice was full of scorn, his bitterness aimed not just at Mary but at everything she'd represented in his past.

Mary's voice cracked. "Oh, Arthur... be kind to me. Please..."

Arthur sighed heavily, his anger abating for just a moment. "Sorry," he muttered, his self-loathing clear.

"I am... I should've asked someone else..." Mary faltered, uncertainty in her voice. She was realizing, perhaps too late, that her love for Arthur had always been tainted by the choices of her family.

"But I'm the best guy you know at frightening decent people," Arthur muttered bitterly to himself, his voice soft but tinged with regret. It made Nerissa's heart ache for him.

"It wasn't that I didn’t love you, Arthur. You know that, right?" Mary's voice softened, and there was an old, familiar warmth to her words.

"I know," Arthur acknowledged, his voice thick with nostalgia, the weight of the past in his tone.

"Arthur... we were so very young. Think how different life could've been," Mary said wistfully, as if longing for what could never be.

"Yeah," Arthur murmured, his tone flat. "I thought about it, but... it feels like a lifetime ago. All of it." There was a sadness in his words that Nerissa had never heard before.

"Will you help me save Daddy?" Mary’s voice was desperate, pulling at his heartstrings.

"I can’t, Mary. Just like you couldn’t marry me... and I couldn’t change... I can't," Arthur’s voice turned firm, cold, as he finally set his boundaries. "Your father was horrible to me. I ain't gonna be his nursemaid."

"I understand," Mary said softly, her voice almost resigned. "Be well, Arthur... I've really missed you."

Arthur didn’t respond to her plea. Instead, he pulled his hand away from hers as if closing the door on that chapter of his life once and for all. "I can’t say the same," he muttered, walking away, his footsteps heavy with finality.

Nerissa, heart pounding, stepped out of the alley as Arthur moved off. She could feel the weight of his struggle, the pain in his every step, and yet there was a flicker of something else—relief, perhaps, or the quiet acceptance of letting go. But his suffering was still raw, and Nerissa knew that his heart, still filled with echoes of the past, wasn’t ready to fully open to her yet.

She couldn't watch him like this anymore. Without a second thought, she mounted Noir and galloped back to camp, the wind rushing through her hair, trying to outrun the tension and uncertainty clawing at her insides.

Upon reaching camp, Nerissa dismounted quickly, walking over to where Hosea and Charles sat at the nearby table. Hosea had cards spread out before him, while Charles methodically cleaned his revolver, the faint gleam of the metal reflecting the dim glow of the lantern hanging above.

"Everything alright, my child?" Hosea asked, his eyes studying Nerissa carefully, noticing the subtle change in her demeanor.

Nerissa sighed, heavy-hearted, as she took a seat beside them. Her emotions were a storm brewing inside, but she held them in, not wanting to break just yet. “I overheard Arthur talking to Mary,” she said, her voice low and thick with emotion. “He’s moved on from her, but it’s clear that he’s still hurting inside... He’s carrying that weight like it’s part of him.”

Hosea nodded sagely, his expression understanding. "Arthur’s a good man. But he’s been through things that would break most folks," he said quietly. "It’s not easy to let go of pain like that, especially when it’s tied to your past... tied to love and betrayal."

Charles chimed in, his voice calm yet firm. "You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Nerissa. Arthur's a grown man. He’s got his own choices to make. You can’t fix everything."

Nerissa took a deep breath, nodding slowly. "I know... but it’s hard to watch him suffer. I just want to help him."

"You’re here for him," Hosea said, his voice warm with understanding. "That’s more than most people would ever do. But remember, you can't carry his burdens for him."

Just as Nerissa took in their words, Arthur arrived, his face unreadable as he sat heavily at the table with them. His eyes were distant, lost in thought, and there was a visible weight in the air around him. The others fell silent, letting him speak when he was ready.

Hosea studied him for a moment before speaking softly. "Everything alright, son?"

Arthur exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the table. "Just had a difficult conversation with Mary," he said, his voice flat.

Charles leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "You wanna talk about it?"

Arthur stared into the distance for a long moment before answering, his voice low and filled with resignation. "She wanted me to help her save her father. But I can’t do it. Not after all the hell he put me through."

Nerissa, without thinking, reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, offering what comfort she could. Arthur looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. There was something there—raw, unspoken. But he didn’t say anything, just let the silence settle between them.

"I just need to let go of the past," Arthur muttered. "Move on... start fresh."

Hosea nodded slowly. "That’s the only way to move forward, son. You can’t keep holding on to what’s already gone."

Charles, trying to lighten the mood, offered a small grin. "Besides, you’ve got a whole new family now. Ain’t that right, Nerissa?"

Nerissa smiled softly, a warmth in her chest as she nodded. "Yes... I suppose I do."

Arthur’s gaze softened as he looked at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know I care for you, right?"

Nerissa’s heart skipped a beat. "I know," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Arthur reached out, taking her hand in his, his touch gentle but firm. "Good. Because I ain’t going anywhere."

The campfire crackled, the flames dancing in the night as they sat together in the warmth of each other’s company. But even in this quiet moment, Nerissa couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker was brewing on the horizon. Dutch’s erratic behavior had her on edge, and despite the peace she found in this moment, her heart weighed heavy with uncertainty.

As the night wore on, Nerissa excused herself, retreating to the small room she shared with Arthur. They both lay down in silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them. As sleep began to take her, Nerissa allowed herself one fleeting hope—that tomorrow’s distractions would offer a brief reprieve from the chaos that loomed just outside their door.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely started to rise, casting a soft golden glow across the sprawling grounds of Shady Belle. Nerissa awoke early, practically buzzing with excitement. Tonight was the night—the mayor's ball. A rare opportunity to step into high society, to rub elbows with the elite of Saint Denis. She could already feel the excitement pulsing through her veins.

She rushed to get ready, eager to dress up and show off, and as she stepped outside, her father was already seated at one of the tables, sipping coffee and looking amused by her energy.

"I can’t wait to show you my dress," she exclaimed, practically bouncing in place.

"A dress, you say?" Hosea teased, a grin tugging at his lips as he looked her over.

"Why, yes, father," Nerissa responded, imitating his distinctive accent with playful precision. They both shared a hearty laugh, but it was quickly interrupted by Arthur and Dutch approaching.

"Come on, now. If we're gonna make it to this party... we sure as shit better clean up a little," Dutch said, his grin wide as he eyed the others. His tone was mockingly dramatic, but there was an air of excitement in his words.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, glancing from Dutch to Nerissa. "So we’re doin' this?"

“Oh yeah,” Dutch answered, his tone carrying the weight of something deeper. “Old friend Dutch van der Linde has finally shown his true colors.”

Hosea snorted. "Social climbing," he chimed in with a wink, causing Nerissa to laugh out loud.

“Old Signor Bronte, that horrendous snake, has invited us to the ball, Cinderella,” Dutch teased, then glanced over at Arthur, adding with a sly smirk, “So my suggestion is... we go and get you a gown.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You son of a bitch," he muttered, though there was no real heat in his words.

Nerissa, still giggling at the banter, reached out to take Arthur’s hand. “Come on, Arthur. Help me with my dress,” she said, leading him toward the stairs.

But the moment they reached the door, Tilly appeared with a mischievous smile. "Sorry, Arthur, girls only," she said, gently pushing him away, her voice laced with humor.

“Excuse me?” Arthur chuckled, clearly taken off guard by the sudden exclusion.

The women swept Nerissa into the room, their voices rising in a chorus of excitement as they began to fuss over her. "Hold still, Nerissa, we need to make sure this dress fits just right!" Mary-Beth barked out orders, guiding Nerissa in front of the mirror.

Abigail was the overseer, pacing as she ensured every detail was perfect. “Get the gloves on her, Tilly. And Mary-Beth, make sure her hair’s not too wild.” The girls moved with precision, their hands working quickly to make Nerissa look the part of a lady, and Nerissa couldn’t help but laugh at their excitement.

Arthur, meanwhile, stood awkwardly outside the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the wall. He listened to the ladies’ chatter and the occasional burst of laughter from Nerissa. There was something endearing about seeing her like this—alive and full of energy. He’d never really seen her like this before, all dressed up and shining.

After what seemed like hours of preparation, Nerissa finally emerged.

The result was breathtaking. The light from the sun caught the rich fabric of her dress, and Nerissa felt like she had stepped into another world. The dress clung to her curves, elegant and refined, the rich fabric flowing gracefully as she moved. The pearls around her neck shimmered in the soft light, a glimmering contrast to the deep shades of her dress. Tilly had worked magic on her hair, arranging it in an intricate bun, and Mary-Beth had given her cheeks and lips a subtle touch of rouge. She looked like something out of a painting—elegant, timeless, yet undeniably Nerissa.

Arthur’s breath caught as she stepped into the room, and for the briefest moment, the words escaped him. He had never seen her like this—so radiant, so utterly refined.

“You look...” He stopped himself, his usual gruffness giving way to something else entirely. His gaze softened, and he took a slow step toward her. “You look beautiful, Nerissa.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. She smiled, but before she could respond, Dutch and Hosea were already approaching her, each of them taking a turn to kiss her hand, teasing her with their usual charm.

“You’ve certainly turned heads, Miss,” Hosea said with a wink.

“I’m almost jealous,” Dutch added, eyeing her playfully. “You’ll make a fine addition to the upper crust of Saint Denis.”

Nerissa blushed, trying not to let the attention get to her. She glanced at Arthur, who stood a little farther off, his arms still crossed, but there was a softness in his eyes that made her stomach flutter.

He simply took her hand in his and kissed it—lightly, but with such tenderness that it felt like the world had quieted around them. The fleeting moment seemed to stretch, her heart racing in her chest. For a moment, there was no one else around. No Dutch, no Hosea—just the two of them.

As they climbed into the carriage, the world outside felt a little different, as if the air itself had changed. The sound of the horses' hooves clicking against the cobblestone street filled the air, and Nerissa’s mind wandered, even as excitement bubbled inside her. She was eager for the ball, for the chance to experience something entirely new, but there was a nagging feeling deep in her gut. Dutch’s strange behavior lately kept creeping into her thoughts.

But she pushed it aside. She was determined to enjoy the evening, to lose herself in the music and the beauty of the night.

As the carriage rattled toward Saint Denis, Nerissa glanced at Arthur beside her. He hadn’t said much, his face unreadable. There was a quiet tension between them, something unspoken hanging in the air. She wasn’t sure where they stood—if things had changed between them or if they were still circling around the same feelings they’d always had.

But for tonight, that didn’t matter. She wanted to live in the moment, to enjoy being with these people who cared for her.

The carriage rattled down the dirt road, its wheels creaking with each bump and rut. Inside, the group bounced with every jolt, yet there was an undeniable lightness in the air. The mood had shifted from tense to carefree, with laughter filling the space. For the first time in what felt like forever, they were all able to relax, the weight of the world temporarily forgotten.

"We are ridiculous," Dutch declared with a hearty laugh, his voice booming over the chatter.

"Utterly," Hosea agreed, a grin spreading across his face as he swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he glanced at his daughter.

"I ain't never been to a ball in my life," Arthur confessed, a mixture of disbelief and wonder in his voice. He fidgeted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable with the finery they’d been forced into, but still intrigued by the thought of what lay ahead.

Dutch nodded, a rare moment of agreement between the two. "Nor have I, if I am being honest. A different kind of game, this is."

Hosea leaned back, his expression growing more nostalgic. "We used to quite often… always a way to get the finer pickings," he said, his gaze drifting towards his daughter with a knowing smirk.

Nerissa raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms with a skeptical grin. "Pickpocketing, huh? That’s your idea of a fine evening out?"

"Oh, no, no, no, no. No pickpocketing tonight, not unless you want to end up in a cage." Dutch’s voice was firm, but there was an undeniable twinkle in his eye. He poured champagne into the glasses with an exaggerated flourish, making sure to fill each one to the brim. "Tonight, we’re here to make real contacts."

Nerissa tilted her head, intrigued. "Real contacts? What exactly does that mean, Dutch?"

Dutch’s lips curled into a sly grin as he leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying the theatrics. "Well, I don’t rightly know yet. But I’m sure we’ll figure it out. What I do know is... we’re heading to a party at Mr. Bronte’s mansion, and the guest of honor is the worst crook in town. I’m sure something good will come of it."

As the carriage neared the gates of the opulent mansion, the mood shifted. The joking and laughter died down, replaced by a quiet seriousness as they all knew what they were walking into. The mansion loomed large, its towering spires reaching into the darkening sky, and the lights flickered from within like an invitation to something both enticing and dangerous.

The carriage came to a stop, and Arthur, ever the gentleman despite his rough exterior, offered his hand to Nerissa. She hesitated for just a moment, then took it, allowing him to help her out of the carriage. Their eyes met for a brief second, and something unspoken passed between them. Neither of them was ready to acknowledge it, but it was there.

The doorman, impeccably dressed, stood at the entrance, eyeing them with a raised brow. “Gentlemen, Luca… I’m afraid the mayor does not allow guns at official functions. Not after last year’s incident,” he said with a slight frown, motioning for the men to hand over their weapons. Reluctantly, Arthur and the others complied, the weight of their holstered guns suddenly missing from their sides.

Nerissa, on the other hand, simply glanced at the doorman and with a calm, measured expression, gave a small nod. Beneath her dress, her hunting knife was strapped to her inner thigh, hidden but easily accessible should the need arise.

Luca, the doorman’s assistant, gestured for them to follow. “Signor Bronte will be so pleased to see you all. Follow me, gentlemen.” He led them through the grand entrance hall, his footsteps echoing on the marble floors. "As long as the mayor behaves himself, you know? Mr. Bronte, he has... uh... that thing, you know? Respect."

Dutch raised an eyebrow but said nothing as they entered. "Sounds like an interesting fellow."

"I’m sure he is," Hosea muttered under his breath with a bemused chuckle. "Real respectable types, these ones."

Dutch turned to Hosea and Nerissa, lowering his voice but keeping his eyes on Luca. "You two, go mix and mingle, see what you can find. I’ll pay my respects to Mr. Bronte."

Nerissa nodded, her mind already calculating the best way to scope out the room. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Just don’t get yourself into trouble with the mayor, Dutch.”

Hosea, smirking, slapped Arthur on the back. "You’re with us, kid. Keep those eyes sharp."

Arthur didn’t respond immediately, still feeling slightly out of place in his finery. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the unfamiliar environment but unwilling to show it. He caught Nerissa’s eye for a brief moment before they both looked away, the silence between them heavy with the unspoken words neither of them was ready to say.

Dutch waved them off with a grin. “We’ll meet you on the balcony when you’re done. If I don’t get myself involved in too many conversations.”

As the group moved into the mansion, Nerissa glanced at Arthur again, her expression unreadable. Despite everything, there was something oddly comforting about being here with him—yet they both knew there were still miles to go before they were truly comfortable with each other. They were close, but not yet there. Still, the tension between them was undeniable, and tonight might just be the turning point they needed.

The view from the balcony was breathtaking, the twinkling lights of Saint Denis shimmering in the distance. The city’s life and energy were palpable, but here, on this quiet spot away from the noise, the night felt serene. Hosea leaned against the railing, letting out a contented sigh as he took in the scene.

"I'm glad we could do this, my dear," he said, his voice warm, though tinged with the wisdom that came with age. "It's been too long since we've had a night like this, just the two of us."

Nerissa smiled softly, her eyes bright with joy but something else behind them—an undercurrent of uncertainty that she hadn’t yet voiced. "Me too, father," she replied, her voice steady. "It feels good to be with family again."

"I couldn’t agree more," Hosea said, squeezing her hand gently. "These moments together, surrounded by family, they’re rare. Precious. We must cherish them."

As they stood in the quiet, watching the city below, Hosea broke the silence with a question that Nerissa had been dreading for some time. "Charles told me you've been thinking about leaving," he said, his gaze turning soft, though there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

Nerissa’s heart sank, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. This moment was inevitable. She knew it was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. She shifted, her fingers playing with the rim of her champagne glass before answering, her voice quieter now, as if confessing something heavy. "I’ve been considering it for some time now."

Hosea’s expression softened, and he moved to stand closer, his hand settling on her shoulder, a comforting weight. "I see. And what about the rest of the gang? What about Arthur, Charles, Sadie, Lenny, and the Marstons?"

The mention of Arthur made her stomach twist, but she masked it quickly, sipping from her glass as she searched for the right words. "They’re family too," Nerissa said slowly, her voice laced with emotion. "And I can’t imagine leaving them behind. But... I won’t leave without you, father. You’re my light."

Hosea’s smile was proud, his heart swelling at her words. He cupped her face in his hands for a moment, gazing into her eyes with all the love a father could give. "My dear child, you know I would follow you to the ends of the earth. But leaving... it’s a big decision, and not one to take lightly."

Nerissa nodded, knowing deep down he was right. Leaving would be hard—harder than she could explain. It wasn’t just leaving the camp; it was leaving behind the only life she had ever known. "I won’t leave without you," she repeated, this time with more resolve in her voice. "I don’t know what’s next, but I’ll face it with you."

Hosea’s eyes softened with understanding. He saw the conflict in his daughter’s eyes, the burden she carried. "Leaving may not be easy," he said gently, his voice full of love and wisdom, "but sometimes it’s necessary. Whatever you decide, I’ll be by your side. You’re not alone in this."

Nerissa’s eyes stung with emotion as she pressed her hand over his, leaning into the comfort he provided. She felt a surge of gratitude—grateful for her father’s unwavering support, and for his quiet understanding. "Thank you, father," she whispered, her voice thick. "I couldn’t do this without you."

Hosea smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Of course, my sweet child," he said, his voice firm but full of affection. "You're my family, and I'll always be there for you. Together, we’ll find our way."

Nerissa took a deep breath, the weight of their shared decision settling over her. "Together, we’ll find our way," she echoed, feeling a newfound sense of clarity. Whatever came next, at least she wouldn't face it alone.

But their quiet moment was soon interrupted by the familiar voice of Dutch, calling from inside. "Gentlemen and Lady… let’s go ingratiate ourselves," he declared, his tone filled with an authority that brooked no argument.

Nerissa bristled slightly at being referred to as a lady, but she knew better than to challenge Dutch directly, especially with the rest of the gang around. She exchanged a look with her father, a silent understanding passing between them, before they both followed Dutch and the others into the party.

Dutch gestured to Arthur as they walked. "Go find the mayor if you can, Arthur, and stay outta trouble. Steal nothing... unless it’s information."

Nerissa watched Arthur walk away, a fleeting sense of unease settling in her chest. She knew how skilled he was at moving unseen, gathering the info they needed, but a part of her couldn’t shake the worry that followed him.

Dutch, in his usual way, turned his attention to Hosea. "Hosea, go find us a place to rob. Miss Matthews, perhaps use another name tonight. Go make us some new friends. I’m gonna find out if Cornwall and Milton know we’re here. Gentlemen and Miss, be well."

Nerissa’s stomach fluttered at the mention of her role. She had done this before, playing the part of a high-society lady with ease. Putting on her "Miss Smith" persona was second nature to her now—after all, the art of deception was one of the few things she had mastered over the years.

"Got it," Nerissa replied, giving Hosea a quick smile before heading into the crowd.

As she mingled through the party, she spotted a group of businessmen in a corner, huddled in a deep conversation. She approached with the grace and charm of someone who had been raised to entertain the wealthy. "Gentlemen, how do you do?" she greeted with a warm smile, her voice light but confident. "My name is Miss Smith, daughter of the renowned businessman James Smith. I couldn’t help but overhear your fascinating discussion. Is there anything I can do to help?"

The men looked up, surprised by her sudden appearance, but their eyes softened as they took in her beauty. They welcomed her with open arms, eager to learn more about her family’s supposed business. Nerissa knew this was the perfect opportunity to gather some valuable information.

As the night wore on, Nerissa charmed the businessmen, listening closely to their words. She learned of a lucrative deal that was about to go through, one that could potentially make a few of the gang’s plans even more profitable. When she was sure she had all the information she needed, she excused herself, thanking the men for their time before heading back to the balcony.

Hosea and Dutch were waiting for her when she returned, and her heart pounded as she prepared to deliver her report. "Well done, Miss Matthews," Dutch said with a sly grin. "I knew you still had it in you."

"Did you find anything useful?" Hosea asked eagerly.

Nerissa paused, allowing the weight of her findings to settle. "I found nothing," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

Hosea’s brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Nothing useful at all?"

Nerissa didn’t answer immediately, choosing to focus on the next conversation. "What about you, father? Did you find anything?"

Hosea nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "There’s money moving through here, plenty of it. I’ve got a line on a big bank—real big, one we could hit. But it’s not time yet." He glanced at Dutch. "Maybe a city bank... and some stuffed ones."

Dutch's eyes gleamed with approval, "There’s also that trolley car station Bronte mentioned. High stakes poker games too." He clapped his hands together, "Alright, let’s go back home and plan our next move."

As they left the party, Arthur joined them, papers in hand. He handed them over to Dutch, who examined them carefully. Nerissa watched him, her thoughts racing. "Did anyone see you take these?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Arthur shrugged, keeping his cool. "I don’t think so."

Dutch took the papers, his mind already working. "Let me think on this."

Back at their hideout, the weight of the night finally settled in. Arthur walked Nerissa upstairs and helped her out of her clothes, gently tucking her into their shared bed. The exhaustion from the evening hit both of them like a wave, but despite everything, there was a sense of quiet peace between them. They had survived another night, and tomorrow would be a new challenge—one that they would face together, whatever came their way.

The first light of day filtered through the cracks in the wooden shutters of Shady Belle, casting long, slanted shadows across the room. The stillness of the early morning was broken only by the soft sounds of the swamp outside.

Arthur stirred first, blinking against the dull ache in his head from another restless night. Nerissa lay beside him, her steady breath a quiet comfort in the otherwise tense silence of their surroundings. They hadn’t exchanged much after their last conversation—too much had been left unsaid, the space between them still thick with unspoken words.

It was then that the door creaked open, and Dutch stepped into the room, his large frame filling the doorway. His presence immediately filled the room with a sense of foreboding, as though no matter how much the world outside seemed to shift, Dutch remained a constant, looming figure.

“Interesting times…” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the air like a blade.

Arthur didn’t even try to hide his frustration as he glanced at Dutch, still half-dressed in the early morning light. “I guess. So, what’s next? Dancing lessons? Deportment?” His tone was dry, laced with sarcasm that betrayed just how worn down he’d become.

Dutch chuckled, a low, throaty sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “More like armed robbery, Arthur. Hosea’s scoping out the bank. He and Abigail are gonna cause some distractions—test the waters with the law. We can’t waste time being too careful. Time’s runnin’ out.”

Nerissa felt the familiar surge of excitement ripple through her at the mention of a heist. She’d grown used to the rush, the adrenaline that surged through her veins when the plan came together. She didn’t speak yet, just listened, letting Dutch’s words hang in the air.

“I also spoke with Evelyn Miller,” Dutch continued, his eyes shifting between the two. “He’s a fine man, helping the Indian chief we saw. He’s lobbying officials in Saint Denis on their behalf. Think you two could lend a hand?”

Arthur gave a nod, more out of obligation than interest, but Nerissa’s gaze sharpened. She had heard about Miller and the trouble the chief was in. “Of course,” she chimed in, her voice steady. “We’d be happy to help.”

Dutch smiled, his lips curling with a sense of satisfaction. “I knew you would. And, I’ve got more good news. There’s a lot of money on that riverboat Trelawny’s investigating. He says to meet him at the tailor’s. One big score, and we can disappear. We’re almost there. Almost home.”

The word hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Nerissa felt a flicker of hope. Home. What did that even mean? Was it some far-off fantasy, a dream they could never quite reach? She barely dared to ask, but the question burned in her chest.

“Where is home?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dutch paused for a moment, his gaze distant, as if he was lost in thought for a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “I don’t know exactly, my dear. But I can smell it. I can feel it in my bones. We just have to pull this off, and we’ll get there.”

He gave a chuckle, as though he could already taste victory, before his eyes flicked to the door. “Now, I’m gonna go investigate this trolley thing Signor Bronte keeps babbling on about. You two stay here, rest up. We’ve got a lot of work ahead.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. He gave a brief nod as Dutch left them alone, the door creaking shut behind him with a finality that sent an uncomfortable silence into the room.

The two of them sat there in the quiet, the weight of the unspoken between them more palpable than ever. Neither of them moved for a moment, both unsure of what to do with the lingering tension in the air.

Nerissa glanced over at Arthur, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression, the lines of his jaw tight. He hadn’t said much since Dutch left, and she wasn’t sure how to break the ice. They were close—closer than they had been in a long time—but there were so many things still left unsaid, so many hurts that hadn’t fully healed.

Arthur finally shifted, his voice low, hesitant. “So, you’re alright with all this? With helping Miller? With the riverboat?”

Nerissa tilted her head, her eyes locking with his for the first time that morning. “I’m alright with it,” she said, a quiet edge to her words. “I’ve always been alright with this life... we’ve always been alright with it.” She couldn’t help the slight bitterness that crept into her tone, but it was true. The life they led was one of violence and risk, but it was the only life she knew.

Arthur’s eyes softened, just for a moment, before the familiar hard mask returned. “I know you’re tough. But you don’t have to keep pretending with me. Not now.”

Nerissa looked away, her gaze falling to the floor, a flood of emotions welling up inside her. It was hard, so damn hard, to let him in after everything. After all the time apart, after everything that had happened between them, it was so much easier to keep her distance, to guard herself against the pain of loss.

But when Arthur spoke again, his voice was different—softer, more vulnerable than she’d ever heard it.

“You saved my life,” he said quietly, almost as if he was testing the words out on his tongue. “You didn’t have to. And I… I appreciate it. More than you know.”

Nerissa’s heart squeezed painfully, and she looked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “I didn’t do it for you, Arthur,” she replied, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her emotions. “I did it because you’re worth saving.”

There was a long pause between them, both of them caught in the vulnerability of the moment. But before either of them could say anything more, a sharp knock echoed on the door, breaking the silence.

“Time’s a-wastin’,” Dutch’s voice called from the other side.

Nerissa stood up with a soft sigh, brushing the moment away like it was nothing more than a fleeting dream. Arthur followed her, the unspoken words still hanging between them, unresolved for now.

“Let’s go then,” Nerissa said, her voice steady but her heart still racing.

Arthur hesitated for just a moment, his eyes meeting hers again, but this time there was something there—a flicker of understanding, something unspoken but undeniable. He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

And with that, they stepped out into the unknown once more, side by side, though neither of them knew just how much further this fragile connection between them would go.

Chapter Text

It had been some time since the mayor’s party, and though the camp had quieted down, the gossip about the brewing romance between Nerissa and Arthur was still whispered among the gang. There was no denying the quiet chemistry between them, but neither of them were the types to flaunt their love for all to see. Public displays of affection weren’t their style. No holding hands. No kisses in plain sight. Only Hosea, ever the opportunist, had stumbled across their secret one late evening. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silver glow over them as Nerissa sat nestled between Arthur’s powerful legs, leaning into him as they shared a moment of peace. It was rare, these stolen moments—nighttime, their time—when Arthur’s hard exterior softened, and for a few brief hours, the world around them faded away.

The swamps of Shady Belle were sweltering in the heat of the midday sun. The air thick with humidity, heavy as the silence that settled over the camp. For Sadie Adler, the oppressive conditions didn’t deter her—it was an opportunity. A chance to sharpen her skills, hone her craft, and prove herself as a force to be reckoned with. Nerissa, her confidante, sat beside her on the porch, both women working in silence as their knives gleamed under the harsh light, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone cutting through the otherwise still afternoon.

Sadie’s low chuckle broke the silence, her gaze flickering toward the horizon as she wiped sweat from her brow. “Don’t reckon I’m getting any prettier out here.”

Nerissa let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re beautiful in your own way, Sadie.”

Before Sadie could respond, a familiar voice rang out across the porch. “How you doin’, Mrs. Adler?” Arthur’s voice was as gruff as ever, but there was a warmth to it that made Sadie’s lips twitch into a smile.

“Been quite a journey since I… well, since I joined you fellers,” Sadie replied with a hint of her sharp wit. Her eyes gleamed with a quiet fire. “Not quite the life I was aiming for, but I reckon it’s better than the alternatives.”

“Yeah, seems that way,” Arthur said, settling beside them with a sigh, resting his elbows on his knees. He wasn’t one for long talks, but he enjoyed the quiet moments like these, especially when they were with Nerissa. Still, he couldn’t ignore the tension that lingered between them. He had his own battles, his own demons, and sometimes, he didn’t know how to reconcile the man he used to be with the man he was now—a man who cared for her deeply, no matter how much he tried to fight it.

“I think my days in polite society are over,” Sadie muttered with a smirk, cutting the moment’s seriousness.

“Well, if Miss Matthews can do it, anyone can,” Arthur added with a chuckle, lightening the mood. “Saw her at the mayor’s house in Saint Denis. Looked like she was born for that kind of life.”

Sadie laughed, leaning back against the wooden frame of the porch. “And you still got your tongue, Arthur. Who would’ve thought?”

The conversation shifted as Arthur’s demeanor turned more serious. He leaned in, dropping his voice to a near whisper. “Got some leads, though. Heard from my sources.”

Before anyone could respond, Dutch’s imposing figure appeared in the doorway, his presence heavy like a storm cloud.

“Well, well, well… if it ain’t Arthur Morgan, always one step ahead,” Dutch remarked with a sly grin. His eyes flicked briefly over the trio before focusing on Sadie. “Excuse us, Mrs. Adler. Business to attend to.”

As Nerissa nodded understandingly and Sadie shot them a curious look, Dutch led the way towards the house. Along the way, he couldn't help but appreciate Sadie's tenacity and fearlessness. "When you gonna let me come robbing with you, Dutch?" she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eye. Nerissa gave her friend a playful wink, knowing full well the danger that lay ahead.

Dutch chuckled at Sadie's audacity, his mind already churning with the possibilities. "My Lord, a few more like her...we could take over the whole world," he mused, his eyes glinting with ambition.

“Few more like her… there wouldn’t be much of a world left.” Arthur interjected before Nerissa let out a soft chuckle at Arthur's wry humor. The three walked up the stairs of the house and out on the balcony, where they admired the view.

Dutch took a slow drag from his cigar, the acrid smoke filling his lungs as he contemplated their next move. "Yes, perhaps," he mused, his mind already spinning with ideas. "Now, the trolley bus station. I went down there, took a look at it. I think we can hit it."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. “I ain’t never robbed in a city before,” he said, his voice a mix of excitement and wariness. His pulse quickened at the thought of something new, the thrill of the heist creeping in.

Dutch chuckled, taking another puff of his cigar. “You leave the planning to me, Arthur.”

Arthur turned to face Dutch, his expression hardening with determination. “You’ll ride with me?” he asked.

Dutch’s gaze was already on the horizon, his mind no doubt miles ahead of where they stood. “Always,” Dutch replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “But we’ll need one more for this one.”

“I say Lenny or Miss Matthews here,” Arthur suggested, his voice low, but Nerissa caught his eye, and for a moment, she saw a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—something that told her he didn’t want her involved, even if it was subtle.

Dutch’s eyes narrowed as he took in Arthur’s suggestion. “Not Micah?” he asked, his voice skeptical.

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. “Well, that depends if you want a massacre or a payday,” he replied, his tone sharp, tinged with irritation. It was no secret that Micah’s presence always seemed to escalate things.

Dutch laughed derisively, the sound harsh. “Very funny,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

Nerissa, who had remained silent during their exchange, shifted on her feet, feeling the tension in the air thickening. She didn’t particularly enjoy the scent of tobacco, but she held her tongue as Dutch turned his attention back to the discussion at hand.

"Now I wish there was something I could do to make the two of you get along better,” Dutch remarked with an ironic chuckle, his mind already whirring with thoughts of the upcoming heist.

Arthur was about to respond when Nerissa’s sharp gaze caught something in the distance. “What is that?” she said, her voice soft at first, but rising in horror as her eyes widened.

The silence that followed the sight was deafening. Arthur felt the blood in his veins run cold, his stomach twisting violently at the brutality. Dutch, for once, was quiet—his usual sharp tongue replaced by a hard, bitter look. The reality of what they were seeing, what the O'Driscolls had done, hit harder than any bullet.

Nerissa’s heart ached as the weight of Kieran’s death sunk in. She had always seen something more in him than the rest of the gang did—the young man who had been born into the O'Driscolls, but had shown kindness, a man who just needed a little compassion. She had been the one to offer that compassion first, when she’d given him yarrow for the horses, something small that had meant more to him than she could ever have imagined. And in return, he had become a loyal friend—someone she’d protected, someone she’d grown fond of.

The scream that tore through the air snapped her out of her thoughts. Mary-Beth, her face twisted with grief, stood frozen in shock. “It’s Kieran!” she cried, her voice ragged and filled with agony.

Arthur’s face darkened as his fists clenched, the flicker of rage building in his eyes. Nerissa knew what would come next—Dutch might have kept his cool, but Arthur’s fury was bound to explode. And it wouldn’t be pretty.

Nerissa's eyes scanned the trees in the distance, catching sight of movement. Riders. The O'Driscoll boys were coming for them. They had no time to grieve—not yet.

“There, in the tree line!” she shouted, pointing toward the approaching riders. Her voice was sharp, urgent, cutting through the tension.

“Everybody take cover! O’Driscoll boys are coming!” Dutch’s command rang out, booming across the field.

Arthur’s grip tightened around his revolver, his eyes burning with determination. There was no hesitation in his movements as he sprinted to a pillar, taking position with the ease of someone who’d been in too many of these fights before. Nerissa followed his lead, her own hands moving swiftly to draw her guns as the sound of galloping hooves drew closer. The O'Driscoll gang was close, and they weren’t going to show mercy.

Nerissa’s heart pounded in her chest as the first raiders appeared from the trees. She took aim and fired, her shot ringing true as it took one of them down, sending the others scattering. She felt the adrenaline surge, but there was no time to think. Not now.

“Look! There’s Jack!” Arthur shouted, his voice urgent as the young boy sprinted toward his father.

Nerissa’s eyes locked onto Jack, and without thinking, she fired at the O'Driscolls closing in on him. One by one, they dropped, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a violent heap.

“Women and children, inside. Rest of you, hold your ground!” Dutch’s voice rang out. “Get down there and help them. We need your guns down there!”

Nerissa didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran for the house, her pulse racing as she heard the chaos intensifying around her. Her instincts took over, and she fired another round, taking down one more of the O'Driscolls. She was determined to get the women and children to safety.

Arthur was at her side in an instant, the two of them moving together like a well-oiled machine. The sound of their guns firing in unison echoed through the night as they protected their home. Nerissa’s breath came in quick gasps as the adrenaline rushed through her veins, her eyes constantly darting to check the safety of those around her.

“Look! Wagon!” Charles called out from the other side, his voice laced with urgency as he continued firing.

“We’re getting overwhelmed! Fall back to the house!” John yelled, his tone rising above the din of gunfire.

Nerissa gritted her teeth, feeling the panic begin to seep into her. The O'Driscolls were relentless, and it was clear they were outnumbered.

“Fall back!” Charles hollered again, taking cover behind a tree as they retreated toward the house.

“Everyone stay calm! We need something in front of that door! Get those doors barricaded, quick!” Dutch bellowed, his leadership shining through despite the chaos. “Good. Now, everyone, I got this. John, Nerissa, you take the windows over there. Arthur, you take the windows in the back... Go!”

Without a word, Nerissa sprinted to her position, eyes scanning for any sign of movement, gun raised. The O'Driscolls were closing in, but she wasn’t about to let them breach the house. Every shot was a calculated move, each bullet making its mark as she worked with John, covering their flank.

“Is everyone accounted for?” Nerissa called out to John, her voice steady despite the rapid-fire chaos around her.

“I think...” John’s voice trailed off, a hint of worry coloring his words as he fired again.

A blood-curdling scream pierced through the air, and Nerissa’s heart froze. “Sadie!” she gasped, her voice barely audible above the gunfire. Without thinking, she bolted toward the source of the scream, her pulse hammering in her ears.

She found Sadie in the midst of the fray, fiercely stabbing three O'Driscolls with brutal efficiency, her gun blazing. Nerissa hesitated for only a moment before running to her side. “We have to get inside!” Nerissa urged, pulling at her arm, but Sadie shrugged her off with a grin.

“And miss out on all the fun? Come on now,” Sadie shot back, her voice full of fire as she slammed a bullet into another O'Driscoll.

Together, they fought side by side, their guns never missing their mark as they took down the last of the O'Driscolls. The house was littered with the bodies of their enemies, and as the smoke cleared, Dutch and Hosea emerged from inside, firing at the retreating O'Driscolls.

“We okay?” Hosea called out, his face grim, but his voice steady.

“I believe so… except for poor Kieran here,” Dutch said, his eyes hardening as he looked at the lifeless body of Kieran, still hanging from his horse. “Mr. Swanson, would you take this boy and give him a proper burial? Somewhere close, but not too close.”

“Of course. Charles, lend me a hand with the body,” Swanson replied, his tone quiet as he moved to assist.

Nerissa sat atop a sturdy log, her mind racing with thoughts of the past few months. Memories of Arthur's kidnapping and the untimely deaths of Sean and Kieran weighed heavy on her heart. In all her years as a member of the gang, she had never witnessed such a tumultuous time. The fear of further chaos loomed ominously over her as she contemplated the daring plan to rob the trolley station. Her apprehension was not unfounded, as the gang had already suffered so much loss. Nerissa couldn't help but wonder if Dutch’s greed for wealth was worth risking the lives of their fellow outlaws. With a heavy sigh, Nerissa closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze of Lemoyne wash over her. She wasn’t sure how much more of this life she could endure.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Nerissa found herself consumed by the loss of Kieran. His death had hit her harder than she could have ever anticipated. The young boy had been so full of life—always the first to offer a laugh, the first to volunteer for the impossible tasks that no one else dared to take on. He was the kind of boy that made you believe in the goodness of the world, and now he was gone, taken in the blink of an eye by senseless violence. Kieran’s death wasn’t just a blow to the gang; it felt like a personal loss to Nerissa, like a piece of her heart had been ripped away with him.

She found solace only in the pages of her journal. She poured her grief into the ink, writing frantically as if the act of writing could somehow ease the aching in her chest. The words came fast, and by the time she stopped, the ink had bled through the pages. It helped a little—made her feel like she was acknowledging the loss. But it never felt enough.

When she finally put her journal down, Nerissa stood and dressed in her customary black attire, the fabric heavy with the weight of her grief. Her curly hair was tied back neatly, though it was a futile attempt to tame the storm inside her. The sunlight streamed through the cracks of the old, decaying mansion—Shady Belle—casting long shadows over the room. The mansion used to be magnificent, she imagined. A place of beauty and promise. Now, it was nothing more than a shell, its grandeur long faded, just like the lives they were all leading.

As she stepped outside, the sun warmed her skin, but it did little to ease the tightness in her chest. The sounds of the camp filled the air—the rustling of the trees, the low murmur of voices, the occasional laughter—but none of it reached her. Nerissa’s eyes scanned the surroundings. Her gaze caught on Micah, swaggering toward her with that familiar smug grin on his face. A cold, bitter feeling washed over her as she watched him approach, his confidence like a poison.

“Morning, Princess,” he called, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He took his time, each step deliberate, as if savoring the moment. “Still moping about Kieran, huh? Can’t get over it, huh?”

Nerissa clenched her fists at her sides, her breath catching in her throat. Micah’s words, cold and dismissive, felt like a slap in the face. She had no tolerance for him today—no patience for his twisted sense of humor. She didn’t even have the energy to play his games.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she bit out, her voice sharp with disdain. “Unlike you, some of us actually care about our own. Kieran didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

Micah’s smirk deepened, and he took another step closer, invading her space. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was something darker beneath them—something that made Nerissa’s skin crawl. “Well, ain’t that sweet,” he sneered, completely unfazed by her words. “But in case you forgot, sweetheart, we’re outlaws. We live and die by the gun. Kieran was just another casualty in this godforsaken war.”

Her fingers twitched toward the handle of her revolver, but she forced herself to stop. This wasn’t the time to escalate things. She couldn’t afford to give him that satisfaction. If she shot him now, there’d be no going back, no fixing the fracture in the gang. Her jaw tightened as she suppressed the urge to lash out. Instead, she took a slow breath, turned on her heel, and walked away from Micah, refusing to let him see how deeply his words had cut.

Her footsteps were steady, but the anger simmering just beneath the surface made her heart race. She needed to find Arthur, to remind herself of what was worth fighting for.

She found him near the campfire, his back turned to her. He was staring off into the distance, his face expressionless, lost in thought. Nerissa’s heart gave a familiar twist at the sight of him. It hadn’t been the same between them since Kieran’s death. There was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before—an invisible wall that neither of them knew how to break down.

Nerissa approached him quietly, her footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath her boots. She stood there for a moment, unsure of how to start the conversation. She didn’t want to push him, but she needed to know—needed to hear that he was still with her, still the man she had fallen in love with despite everything.

“You alright?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with concern. It was simple, but it carried all the emotion she didn’t know how to express.

Arthur turned to her, his eyes softening for a brief moment before the familiar mask of indifference fell back into place. “Yeah, ma’am,” he said with a half-hearted chuckle, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Nerissa could tell he wasn’t. She saw the same tightness around his mouth, the same far-off look in his eyes. They were both carrying the weight of Kieran’s death, but Arthur—he always carried everything alone. He never let anyone in, never let anyone see how much it hurt.

“I know you’re heading to Saint Denis for the trolley,” Nerissa said, her voice a little shaky, betraying the disappointment she felt. “I usually go with you.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered with a brief, unreadable emotion, but he quickly looked away. “Yeah, Lenny’s going with me this time.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was trying to mask the deeper reasoning. “Bad feeling about this one. I don’t want you involved, not this time.”

The words stung, more than she cared to admit. It wasn’t the first time he had asked her to stay behind, but this time it felt different. This time, it felt like he didn’t want her there. She forced a smile, but it was thin—fragile, like glass ready to shatter. “Are you sure you don’t need an extra gun?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, but the ache in her chest made it hard to keep her voice steady.

“I’m sure,” Arthur said, though the way he said it left a heavy silence between them. Before Nerissa could say anything more, he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

Nerissa’s breath caught in her throat. The kiss was quick, almost too quick, but it lingered in her mind long after he pulled away. It was the kind of kiss that held promises—promises of safety, promises of love—but also promises of distance, of unspoken things that neither of them could yet admit.

“Arthur,” Nerissa said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to tell him that her heart was breaking in pieces because of the space he was putting between them. “I’m going away for a couple of days.”

Arthur turned back to her, surprised by her sudden words. “Yeah?” His brows furrowed in confusion. “Where to?”

“No more than three days,” Nerissa replied, though the lie felt like a weight on her tongue. “I have some business near Strawberry.”

Arthur’s eyes searched hers for a moment, like he was trying to read her mind. “I’ll see you soon, darlin’,” he said softly, his voice filled with something she couldn’t quite place.

Nerissa’s heart squeezed in her chest as she watched him ride off, the sound of his horse’s hooves fading into the distance. She stood there for a moment, her gaze locked on the empty space where he had just been. She had to do this—for him, for their future—but it didn’t make leaving any easier.

Hosea’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see him standing behind her, a knowing look on his face. “Business in Strawberry?” His tone was light, but there was a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

“Oh father, just some business with the sheriff,” Nerissa said, her voice steady despite the lie. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” She kissed his cheek, feeling the weight of her deception, but there was no turning back now.

With one last glance at the camp, Nerissa mounted Noir and rode off toward Blackwater. The road ahead was uncertain, the path full of danger and secrets, but there was no other choice. She had to do this—for Arthur, for them both. And as she rode, the wind in her hair and the sound of her horse’s hooves echoing in the quiet.

Nerissa had ridden hard all day, Noir carrying her effortlessly across the rugged terrain of Scarlett Meadows. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving a palette of dark blues and purples stretching over the sky. Her body ached from the journey, fatigue gnawing at her bones, but the cool evening breeze lifted her spirits slightly. She knew she needed rest—and perhaps a little sustenance to soothe the emptiness in her stomach.

She steered Noir down toward the tranquil riverbank near Gill’s Landing, the familiar scent of earth and water filling the air. Setting up her modest camp, she built a fire and set about preparing the space for the night. As Noir grazed contentedly on some grass, Nerissa fed him a couple of apples, running a hand through his dark mane as she kissed the horse’s forehead.

“There, there, boy,” she murmured affectionately. “You’ve earned your rest.”

With a soft pat on Noir’s side, she stood and walked toward the edge of the river. The moon reflected on the gentle ripples of the water, casting an ethereal glow across the landscape. With the cool wind brushing against her skin, she felt the weight of the day begin to loosen. Grabbing her fishing rod from where it was resting against a nearby rock, she cast her line into the river, letting the sound of the water’s lapping fill her senses.

She waited in silence, the stillness of the night almost too perfect, too peaceful for her weary soul. It didn’t take long before the satisfying tug of the fish on her line broke the quiet. A few skilled pulls, and she had caught enough to make a meal. The catch wasn’t massive, but it was enough to satisfy her hunger. She cleaned and seasoned the fish with some of the herbs Charles had given her—his kindness still fresh in her mind.

The taste of the freshly cooked meal filled her empty stomach, offering a fleeting sense of comfort. She leaned back against a rock, feeling the warmth of the fire spread across her skin. The night was serene, with only the quiet murmur of the river and the occasional clip-clop of a passing horse as her company. The wind whispered through the trees, and for a moment, she let herself forget about the world’s chaos.

But it didn’t last long. As the last bite of meat disappeared, Nerissa’s thoughts turned inward, to things she couldn't ignore. She retrieved her worn journal from her saddlebag and settled next to the fire, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the pages. She opened it, the leather cover creaking slightly from years of use, and began to write.

The day is finally here. After a decade of pursuing outlaws and desperados whose faces haunted me from the wanted posters in sheriff's offices, I finally see the end of the road. Ten years of scrimping and saving, every penny earned with blood and sweat, to buy my father’s freedom. I’ve tracked down every name they’ve thrown my way—the Pinkertons’ orders—hunting them down like prey, just another job to be done. For ten years, I’ve done what they wanted, but never for them. I did it for him. For the man who raised me, the one who showed me a path out of darkness. That man gave me the chance to breathe again, and I couldn’t betray him.

She paused for a moment, the words heavy in her chest. The memories of those ten years and the choices she had been forced to make—choices that had led her down a path she never imagined.

So I did what I had to. I made the deal. Work for them. Hunt for them. Track the names they gave me. And in return, they gave me a way out. My father’s bounty in Blackwater. My heart swelled with relief when I realized I’d finally saved enough to free him, but I couldn’t share this with anyone. Not even Arthur. He doesn’t know. He can’t. Not with the way things are between Dutch and the gang now. I couldn’t risk it.

Her pen lingered above the page, the weight of her words too much for a moment. She hadn’t written this down to share with anyone, only to relieve the burden on her soul. She continued.

Arthur, you were always there, and I couldn’t stand watching you follow Dutch down this path. You see him as the leader, the man who saved you, but I see the man who’s grown more reckless, more desperate for power. And it hurts me to watch. I wish you could see the truth. I wish you’d break free from him.

Nerissa’s eyes began to well with tears, but she quickly wiped them away, fighting the vulnerability that always threatened to overtake her when she thought of Arthur.

I have to finish this. I have to get my father out. But I can't help feeling like I’ve failed in so many ways. Dutch’s greed is growing, and it will destroy everything we've built.

She set the journal aside and sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Oh, Arthur,” she whispered into the quiet night, her voice barely audible over the soft wind. The weight of everything—her secret, her past, her plans for the future—it all felt suffocating. But she couldn’t stop now. She had come too far.

Her thoughts returned to Dutch, and she couldn’t suppress the sadness that clung to her heart. She had admired him once—hell, she’d worshipped him when she was younger, but now she saw him for who he really was. His grand ideas had turned into reckless ambitions, and Nerissa knew the consequences would be dire.

With a heavy heart, Nerissa closed her journal and tucked it safely away in her saddlebag. The fire flickered as she gazed at the distant stars, her thoughts a tangled mess of love, regret, and resolve.

She crawled into her tent, the warmth of the fire fading into the distance as the cool night air pressed in. Her eyes closed, and with a silent vow, she whispered to herself, "I will free him. And I will do whatever it takes."

As the sun rose over the horizon, its golden rays spilling across the land, Nerissa stirred awake, the warmth of the morning light caressing her face. She could hear the soft snoring of Noir, who had sought refuge in her tent the night before. His presence was a comforting reminder of the long journey they had endured together. But today wasn’t just another day—it was the day Nerissa had been working toward for ten long years. Today, she would finally pay off her father’s bounty and set him free.

Her heart beat with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness as she pushed herself up from her bedroll, careful not to disturb Noir. She moved with purpose, tending to her horse, packing up her camp with practiced efficiency, eager to continue her journey toward Blackwater. The city that held the answer to her father’s fate was just a few hours away, and with every mile she rode, the weight on her shoulders seemed to lighten.

With Noir saddled and ready, she urged him forward, making her way to the shortcut across Bard's Crossing. The treacherous terrain was no match for her skill on horseback, and she navigated the winding path with ease, the rhythm of Noir's hooves echoing in the quiet morning air. By noon, the sprawling city of Blackwater came into view—a city of sophistication and elegance, where the rich and the powerful strode along the bustling streets, dressed in fine suits and fancy dresses, a stark contrast to the rugged frontier life she had known.

Nerissa’s destination was clear: the sheriff’s office. She dismounted in front of the imposing building, her bag heavy with the $5,000 she had saved over the years. The money was the fruit of her labor, her sacrifices, and her endless pursuit of this moment. She took a deep breath before entering, the familiar scent of paper, ink, and polished wood filling the air.

She approached the receptionist, her voice calm but urgent. “Excuse me, but where do I pay off a bounty?”

The woman behind the counter looked up, her nervousness evident as she fidgeted with a stack of papers. “Depends on the bounty, miss. You can do it at the post office, the bank, or here,” she said, her words quick as if she were trying to avoid a deeper conversation. She glanced over her shoulder and then motioned for the sheriff.

Nerissa's pulse quickened as she waited, her mind racing with the possibilities of what lay ahead. She had come so far, and now it was just a matter of waiting for the sheriff’s approval. When he finally appeared, his eyes met hers with curiosity, and he gave her a small nod.

“Welcome, miss. I hear you wish to pay off the bounty of Hosea Matthews?” he asked, his voice smooth and professional, yet there was an undertone of suspicion.

Nerissa's heart gave a small leap. “Yes, sir. I have the money. My agreement with the Pinkerton agency has expired,” she said, her words full of quiet desperation and hope.

The sheriff studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were weighing her sincerity. He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but his gaze softened after a few seconds. “Very well,” he said, his voice steady. “Do you have the money?”

Nerissa nodded and reached into her bag, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she handed over the stack of bills. She had worked for every single dollar, saving it all in secret for this moment. The sheriff took the money, counted it, and then stamped some papers. Each thud of the stamp echoed in her ears as if it were marking the moment her father’s future was sealed.

The sheriff looked up at her, his expression more somber now. “I’ll notify the Pinkerton agency. From this day forward, Hosea Matthews is a free man.”

Relief flooded through Nerissa, and for a moment, the world around her seemed to pause. She had done it. Her father was finally free.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly with the weight of everything she had carried for so long. She turned quickly to leave, not trusting herself to say anything more. It felt too unreal, too fragile. She didn’t want anyone to see her falter now.

As Nerissa exited the sheriff’s office, she felt like a new person—lighter, freer. For the first time in years, her future felt full of possibilities. She couldn’t wait to see her father’s face when she told him the news, but for now, she kept the secret. She wouldn’t risk anyone finding out about Hosea’s freedom until it was safe.

Mounting Noir, she took a moment to breathe, letting the overwhelming emotions settle. Then, with a renewed sense of purpose, she urged her horse forward. The journey back to Shady Belle was long, but it was one she would make with a heart unburdened by guilt and fear.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the world in warm oranges and reds, Nerissa couldn’t help but smile. This was the beginning of something new, something she had fought for every single day. And she was going to savor every moment.

Chapter Text

Nerissa had finally returned to Shady Belle after a grueling three-day journey to Blackwater. The weight of her thoughts, a storm of betrayal and unease, clouded her mind as she approached the camp. The once lively place, filled with laughter and camaraderie, now seemed muted, a shadow of its former self. The heat of Lemoyne hung heavy in the air, the oppressive humidity making the trees seem like they were suffocating under the weight of the summer.

She dismounted from Noir, feeling the aches in her bones from the long ride. Her boots hit the dusty earth, and she made her way toward the shared room she had with Arthur. As she entered, she saw him sitting on their bed, his shoulders slumped, his eyes distant and heavy with the weight of the world. He looked worn, both in body and spirit.

Nerissa stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in his disheartened posture, before she moved toward him. She sat down beside him, offering a small, soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She could feel the tension in the air between them, but she didn’t know where to start.

"I heard what happened at the trolley station," Nerissa whispered, her voice gentle but heavy with understanding. She placed a hand on his back, the warmth of her touch a silent offering of comfort.

Arthur tensed for a moment before sighing, his voice laced with frustration. "Yeah… Bronte that bastard, set us up good," he muttered, his jaw clenching at the thought.

"I know, darlin’." Nerissa leaned in, her lips brushing softly against his rough, weathered hands, her touch tender against his hardened skin. She could feel the anger and sorrow in him, even through the layers of his guarded exterior. "But you’re here now," she said softly, hoping to ease his mind even if just for a moment.

Arthur’s eyes darkened as he looked away, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "Dutch wants me to see a man about a boat."

Nerissa raised an eyebrow in confusion, her curiosity piqued. "A boat? Why?"

"Dutch thinks we need to get away from Bronte… wants to quit the damn bastard," Arthur explained, his voice carrying an edge of resentment, the weariness of the situation evident in his tone. "But I guess… I don’t know. Part of me feels like it’s all just more revenge."

"So, revenge then?" Nerissa asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to make sense of the sudden shift in plans.

Arthur sighed, leaning back, running a hand through his hair. "Dutch won’t say it, but yeah, I guess so," he muttered, eyes narrowing in frustration. "I’m just so damn tired of it all. I don’t even know what to think anymore."

Nerissa could feel the weight of his words, the silent battle he fought inside his own mind. But she could tell he wasn’t in the mood to dig deeper into that conversation. He had his own demons to deal with, just as she did.

Changing the subject, Arthur’s voice softened as he looked at her. "How was Strawberry?" he asked, as if trying to move past the dark cloud that had settled over them.

"It was alright," Nerissa replied quickly, her smile almost imperceptible, but the lie sat heavy on her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what had really happened, how the past days had been a whirlwind of confusing emotions and betrayal. She had gone there hoping for clarity but returned with even more questions.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice the hesitation in her voice. Instead, he stood up, stretching his back with a grunt, clearly ready to move forward. "Come on," he said, his voice more determined now. "Let’s get to it."

They stepped outside into the harsh sunlight. The heat hit them like a wall, the air thick with humidity. Arthur’s muscles tensed as he moved toward his horse, Noir’s reins still in Nerissa’s hands. With a swift motion, Arthur mounted his horse with practiced ease, his boots thudding against the saddle.

He looked back at Nerissa, his expression hardening for a moment as he gave her a curt nod. "I’ll be off to Lagras, gotta check the waters," he said, his voice low and distant, still processing everything.

Nerissa’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, watching him ride off into the distance. She was torn—part of her wanted to reach out, to stop him from leaving, but another part of her understood why he had to go. The distance between them, emotional and physical, had grown over time, and despite their shared history, neither one of them knew how to bridge it.

She watched him fade into the horizon, a weight settling in her chest as she turned back to the camp. The rest of the gang was already bustling with activity, despite the brutal heat. Sweat trickled down Nerissa’s forehead as she worked, tending to the horses and ensuring the camp ran smoothly. But her thoughts kept drifting back to Arthur—the kiss they had shared, the unsaid words, the way he still seemed so far away even when he was right in front of her.

She kept moving, her hands working mechanically as she tried to shake the unease that clung to her. The days ahead were uncertain, and she knew, deep down, that she couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. Something had changed. And whether she was ready to face it or not, it was clear that their lives—and their relationship—would never be the same again.

The sun hung high over the Shady Belle camp, its oppressive heat weighing heavily on the air. Nerissa worked steadily, her movements precise and purposeful as she completed the chores set before her. Sweat trickled down her forehead, her clothes clinging to her skin as the relentless heat of the afternoon sun beat down. She paused for a moment to wipe her brow, sighing softly at the weight of the day.

She changed into more practical clothing, sturdy boots, a simple shirt, and pants, readying herself for the work ahead. It was going to be a long day, and the heat wasn’t making it any easier.

Once her tasks were finished, Nerissa made her way down toward the Lannahechee River, hoping to find a moment of peace. The rushing water and cool shade of the trees offered her solace, but she wasn’t alone for long. Sadie, who had been quietly observing Nerissa from a distance, approached her with a concerned look on her face.

“How are you holdin’ up?” Sadie asked, her voice gentle but filled with curiosity. She could see that Nerissa’s mind was elsewhere, her usual spark dimmed.

Nerissa gave a soft smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m alright,” she said, her voice carrying a faint hint of exhaustion.

Sadie wasn’t convinced, her sharp gaze noting the way Nerissa’s posture sagged slightly. “Don’t give me that. I’ve known you long enough to know when something’s weighin’ on you. Where’d you go?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. “I know you didn’t go to Strawberry.”

Nerissa let out a quiet chuckle, realizing that she wasn’t going to be able to keep her secret from Sadie. Sadie had always known her too well, and Nerissa felt the familiar warmth of their bond. She hesitated for a moment, then leaned in a little closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Alright, don’t tell anyone,” she said, glancing around as if the very trees might be listening. “I went to Blackwater... to pay off Hosea’s bounty.”

Sadie’s brows shot up in surprise. “What? Why in the hell would you do that?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and disbelief.

Nerissa’s gaze dropped to the ground for a moment, collecting her thoughts. She had never really talked about Hosea much, even though he had meant so much to her. He was a father figure—one who had saved her life more times than she could count. “Because... he was my last bounty,” Nerissa explained, her voice thick with emotion. “Hosea was the last man I was supposed to bring in. But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.” She took a deep breath. “He’s my father, Sadie. He’s the one who saved my life when I had nothing. I couldn’t let him rot in prison. Not after everything.”

Sadie’s expression softened, and for a moment, there was only the sound of the river rushing by. Then Sadie placed a hand on Nerissa’s shoulder, offering her silent support. “I get it, girl,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “I understand. I wouldn’t want to turn my back on someone who saved me either.”

Nerissa gave a small, appreciative smile and nodded, feeling a sense of relief that someone, at least, understood her choice. The two of them spent the rest of the afternoon in easy conversation, practicing their shooting and sharing stories. Time seemed to slow in the peaceful bubble they created, and Nerissa found herself laughing more than she had in a long time. The sunset, a riot of orange and pink across the sky, brought a sense of calm that Nerissa hadn’t realized she’d needed so badly.

As night fell, the two women walked back toward the camp, feeling lighter than they had when they left. But as they approached the campfire, Nerissa felt the familiar tension return. Arthur had just come back from his trip to Lagras, and he was animatedly recounting his adventure.

“...And then this big ol’ alligator comes outta nowhere, and I swear, it must’ve been the size of a goddamn boat!” Arthur laughed, his hands gesturing wildly as he made his way toward them. “I barely managed to pull young Jules out of the way before it snapped at his heels. Damn close, I tell ya.”

Nerissa couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated tale, the sound of his voice making something inside her stir—something familiar and warm. She was grateful for the lightheartedness Arthur brought to the camp. It reminded her of the simpler days before everything had gotten so complicated.

“You really do have a way with alligators, don’t you?” Nerissa teased, her voice full of affection.

Arthur grinned, the warmth of his smile easing some of the tension between them. “Well, I don’t like to brag, but I’m damn good with critters. And Jules... well, he owes me big time after that.”

Before Nerissa could respond, Hosea’s voice cut through the banter. He was standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed with suspicion. “How was Strawberry, dear?” he asked, his tone casual, but Nerissa could tell he was trying to suss out her whereabouts.

Nerissa stiffened slightly, knowing exactly what Hosea was doing. But she wasn’t about to reveal the truth—not now. “It was alright, Father,” she said, offering a calm smile. “Just a quick trip, in and out. Nothing to worry about.”

Hosea’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, but he didn’t press the matter further. “Very well,” he said, before turning his attention back to the fire.

Nerissa felt a small pang of guilt, but she pushed it aside. It wasn’t the time to deal with it—not with everything else going on. She quickly mounted her horse, Arthur following suit. Together, they rode out toward Lagras, joining Dutch, John, and the others for the upcoming ambush at Bronte’s manor.

As they rode through the swamp, the excitement of the mission filled Nerissa with a sense of purpose. But beneath that, a knot of guilt twisted in her stomach. She’d kept Hosea’s secret from the others, and though she knew it was the right choice for her, the weight of it pressed heavily on her conscience.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the murky bayou, the air thickened with the heavy humidity of Lemoyne. The swamp was alive with the croaking of frogs and the faint whisper of the night wind, but the peace was deceptive. The darkness hid the dangers that lurked just beyond the reach of the moonlight.

Arthur and Nerissa rode in silence as they made their way toward Lagras, their horses’ hooves stirring up the damp earth beneath them. It was a quiet tension that wrapped around them, a shared understanding of what was to come. As they neared the meeting point, a sharp voice broke through the stillness.

"I don’t trust that woman, Dutch. She’s bad news." Bill’s voice was low, almost a growl, but there was no mistaking the venom in his words.

Nerissa stopped, pulling her horse to a halt just out of sight, her curiosity piqued. Arthur looked toward her, sensing her hesitation.

"Stay back," Arthur muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as they continued to listen.

Dutch’s voice responded, smooth as ever, but with a rare edge of irritation. "She’s Hosea’s child, Bill. Don’t question her integrity. You know better than that."

Nerissa flinched at the mention of her father, feeling a sudden rush of guilt, but she stayed hidden, watching the exchange unfold.

Bill was undeterred. "Integrity?" he spat, his voice laced with scorn. "What’s that supposed to mean? You want to trust a woman who ain’t proven herself to none of us?"

Dutch was quick to retort, his voice sharp and full of authority. "You ever stop to think, Bill, that maybe you just ain’t seein’ the bigger picture? Hosea saw something in her, and that’s good enough for me."

The conversation didn’t give Nerissa a chance to react; she was still stuck in the shadows, wondering what kind of a person Bill thought she was. But Arthur had already stepped forward, catching the last of Dutch’s words.

"Right you are," Dutch said, his gaze moving toward a man Nerissa didn’t recognize, who stood near the edge of the boat. As the man boarded, Dutch’s eyes turned back to Bill, his tone taking a playful twist. "Alright then, Bill... You were a sharpshooter in the cavalry, weren’t you?"

Bill’s face darkened. "What?" he barked, a suspicious frown furrowing his brow.

Dutch’s smile was slow, almost predatory. "When we get there, maybe you could help with the suppression fire."

Bill’s chest puffed up with indignation. "I never said I was no sharpshooter," he grumbled, clearly offended. His hand tightened on his rifle as if to make his point.

Dutch wasn’t about to let it go. "Oh, that’s right," he teased, "what was it... the nation’s most loyal latrine digger? Wasn’t that it?"

The camp erupted in muffled laughter—except for Bill, who looked as though he might strangle Dutch with his bare hands. "Yeah, well I fought, and I fought damn well," Bill snapped, his voice full of quiet fury.

Nerissa couldn’t help herself. She whispered under her breath, "So you always tell us..." She was trying to keep it quiet, but the words hung in the air, and Arthur shot her a knowing glance.

"Dutch, I saw things out there," Bill tried to argue, but was cut off as Dutch's expression turned deadly serious.

Dutch’s eyes flickered in Bill’s direction, his voice lowering with a sudden, sharp edge. "Watch your mouth, Bill. Watch it. The only kind of savage around here is those moonshine-swilling, inbred fools that crawl around these parts."

Bill opened his mouth to argue, but Dutch continued, his voice cold and dangerous. "What you saw out there, Bill, wasn’t some simple kind of savagery. What you saw... was the result of people who lost everything. People who came from nothing and didn’t care about nothing. Those peasants from Europe, they’re the ones who’ll be the death of us all if we don’t watch ourselves. You understand me?"

Bill clenched his jaw, fists tightening at his sides, but he didn’t say another word.

Arthur, who had been silently observing, finally broke in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Interesting way you boys have of preparing for a killing." His eyes flicked between Bill and Dutch, a hint of amusement beneath the tension.

Dutch, unphased, simply waved it off, lost in his own thoughts. "I’m sorry I wasted my life trying to teach you boys, and Miss…" His eyes softened when they landed on Nerissa, his tone suddenly warmer. "Love you though I do."

Nerissa stiffened at his gaze, a strange feeling crawling up her spine. She didn’t trust Dutch, not in the slightest, but for the moment, she held her tongue.

Arthur cleared his throat, drawing attention back to the task at hand. "Well, leaving love aside... you think we got this?" His voice was rough but steady, his hand resting on Nerissa’s thigh in a small, comforting gesture.

Dutch’s gaze lingered on Nerissa a moment longer, before he looked away. "Don’t you never leave love aside, Arthur... it’s all we got," he said, his voice quieter but still full of conviction.

The boat slowed as it neared the dock, and the group silently disembarked, each of them moving with quiet precision. The night air was thick with the promise of danger as they crouched low, making their way toward the looming structure of the house.

Nerissa’s heart hammered in her chest, the heaviness of the task ahead pressing down on her, but Arthur’s hand on her thigh grounded her, keeping her steady.

"Let’s go," Dutch whispered, his voice barely more than a breath as they began to creep toward the house under the cover of darkness.

With a hushed tone, Dutch barked, "Quickly now, keep quiet." His eyes flicked over the group, scanning for any signs of hesitation. Nerissa, attempting to clamber over the wall, glanced towards him, her heart thumping in her chest. There was no hesitation in Dutch’s command, and he expected none from them either.

"Lenny, Bill, you're with me," Dutch continued, his voice low but firm. "Arthur, John, and Miss Matthews, you take the left side. If you see a shot, you take it. Understood?"

The group nodded in unison, their faces set in grim determination. Dutch’s eyes hardened as he added, "Good luck, gentlemen, and Lady."

Nerissa barely nodded, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she gripped her repeater. She couldn’t afford to be nervous now. Not when everything was on the line. The air was thick with tension as they moved silently through the shadows toward their target. The oppressive heat from the day still lingered, clinging to their skin as they made their way through the ruins.

"Arthur, John, let’s move up. Find some cover, two guards ahead. You ready?" John’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto their targets.

Nerissa didn’t waste time. She aimed swiftly, her hands sure and steady as her bullets cut through the night. The guards dropped without a sound, their bodies falling with a muffled thud that barely echoed in the stillness.

The gunfire broke the silence, and the chaos erupted all around them. Dutch’s voice boomed, "Rain hell on these sons of bitches!" The air seemed to vibrate with the sounds of gunshots, the sharp crack of rifles and revolvers ringing through the dark streets. Nerissa didn’t flinch. Her eyes stayed focused on the task at hand as she took down guard after guard, her hands working with practiced speed.

"Arthur!" Nerissa shouted, tossing her repeater to him. "Revolver!"

Arthur caught it with ease, swapping it for his own with fluid motion. Without a word, they moved together, a seamless unit of force and precision. His gunfire and hers were almost synchronized as they cleared their path forward.

"Bronte! You son of a bitch, get out here!" John’s voice rang out, fury lacing every word as he fired his pistol. He was close now, so close to getting their quarry.

The gunfight raged on, with each of them covering each other’s backs. They moved forward, clearing out the last of the guards until none were left standing. Dutch’s voice echoed through the mayhem, "This ain’t over yet! To the house! Let’s get in there!" With that, he was off, charging toward the front door.

"Shoot the lock, Arthur!" Nerissa shouted as she sprinted forward, scanning the surroundings for any new threats.

Arthur raised the double-barrel shotgun that Dutch had thrown to him, firing twice in quick succession. The lock shattered with a thunderous boom. Dutch didn’t wait; he barreled into the door, his shoulder slamming into it with the force of a battering ram. The door crashed open, revealing the interior of the house—dim, cold, and filled with shadows.

"We’ve got more inside!" Dutch roared, his pistol firing rapidly as he moved deeper into the house.

"Bronte! Get out here and face me!" Dutch’s bellow echoed through the halls as he stalked forward, eliminating anyone who dared to challenge him.

"Alright, spread out. He’s gotta be hiding somewhere," Dutch commanded, his eyes flicking over the room, sharp as ever.

Nerissa caught a glimpse of movement. "Coming down the stairs!" she shouted, lifting her repeater. She took aim and fired, each shot taking out the guards on the staircase with deadly precision.

"Arthur, Nerissa, check upstairs!" Dutch called, his voice tight with urgency. The two of them nodded, instinctively falling into their roles as they raced up the stairs, weapons raised, prepared for whatever they might find.

Every room on the second floor was cleared with ruthless efficiency, their shots ringing out in the silence as they moved like shadows through the halls. Nerissa's heartbeat pounded in her ears as she moved swiftly, her eyes scanning every corner.

"John! In here!" Nerissa shouted, her voice cutting through the air. She pointed toward a closed door.

Inside, Bronte was backed against a wall, revolver in hand—but Nerissa’s eyes were locked on his. He raised his weapon, but the gun clicked empty, the sound sharp in the stillness.

“Okay, okay,” Bronte sputtered, panic creeping into his voice. “I’m sorry! Name your price! Name it! Every man has a price… no? Okay, okay! I surrender! I surrender!”

Before he could say another word, John’s fist collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch, and Bronte crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

“Should we kill him?” Nerissa asked, her voice quiet but laced with cold practicality as she adjusted her wide-brimmed hat.

“Nah,” Arthur muttered, his voice grim. “Let’s take him to Dutch.”

“I ain’t touchin’ that piece of shit,” John smirked, nudging Bronte’s body with his boot. “You carry him, Arthur.”

Arthur gave a short chuckle, lifting Bronte over his shoulder without another word. They moved quickly, making their way downstairs and out of the house, where they were met with the flashing lights of approaching lawmen.

"Drop your weapons!" one of the officers yelled.

"I got this," Nerissa said, her voice steady as she raised her revolver, squeezing off shots with precision. The lawmen went down one by one, their bodies hitting the dirt with little more than a soft thud.

“Get to the boat! Hurry up!” Dutch’s voice rang out, urgency replacing the calm composure it usually carried. “Put our new friend up front before more show up. Bill, give him a hand.”

As Arthur lowered Bronte onto the boat, Nerissa arrived just in time to join the others. They quickly shoved off, the boat gliding silently through the murky bayou.

The air was thick with tension as Dutch slapped Bronte, rousing him from unconsciousness. "Hey, big man. We gonna ransom you, or what?" Dutch sneered.

"You’re pathetic," Bronte spat back, his face twisted with defiance.

"Oh, am I?" Dutch’s grin was sharp, his eyes gleaming with a manic edge. "From where I’m sittin’, you’re the one who deserves pity. All your men, all your money, didn’t help you one damn bit against a bunch of hicks."

"You are nothing," Bronte seethed, his voice dripping with contempt. "You do nothing. You stand for nothing. Me? I run a city. When the law catches up to you, you’ll die like nothing. I am this country... you... you’re what people are runnin’ from.”

"I possess things you’ll never understand," Dutch growled, his eyes narrowing. Everyone on the boat stared at Bronte, cold and unmoving. The atmosphere was thick with silence, a heavy weight pressing down on them.

Bronte sneered, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left. "A thousand dollars to the man who kills him... and sets me free."

Nerissa glanced at Dutch. Despite her lingering doubts about him, her loyalty remained. She kept her face neutral, unwilling to break her poker face.

Dutch’s eyes flashed. "What’re you gonna say now?"

"They are even bigger fools than you," Bronte muttered, his voice quivering.

"No doubt," Nerissa whispered, her gaze unwavering.

Bronte began to panic. "The law will find you...already the dogs are on the way."

"Oh yeah?" Dutch’s voice was filled with wild amusement. "You’re right, you are right. They are good at smellin' filth. And filth... has gotta be disposed of!"

With that, Dutch grinned madly as he plunged Bronte into the swamp water, holding him there with a terrifying calm. The others watched in stunned silence, unable to look away.

"You repulsive little maggot!" Dutch bellowed, continuing to choke the life out of Bronte. "Call them! Call the Pinkertons! See if they come save you!"

John’s voice broke through the chaos. "Jesus, Dutch! What part of your philosophy books covers... feeding a feller to a goddamn alligator?"

"The part that covers weakness," Dutch replied coldly, his eyes glinting with a dark intensity. The last breath left Bronte’s body, and Dutch tossed him overboard, where an alligator swiftly dragged the corpse beneath the surface.

As the boat slowly made its way back to camp, the crew remained silent, each lost in their thoughts. Nerissa couldn’t shake the sense of unease that gnawed at her. The brutality she had witnessed felt like a line crossed—one that couldn’t be undone.

When they reached camp, Nerissa dismounted and made her way to the small room she shared with Arthur. She needed time. Time to process everything, to figure out where she stood in all of this.

That night, as she lay in bed, her thoughts churned. She had followed Dutch through everything, but now? Now, she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t deny what they had just done, what he had just done. And it shook her to the core.

Was survival worth losing everything you stood for?

Chapter Text

As the first light of dawn broke over the sprawling Shady Belle, Nerissa stirred from her slumber, feeling a sense of melancholy settling over her. She missed Kieran, the young man who had been murdered, he lived on in Nerissa’s heart and mind. In his memory, she decided to go fishing, a peaceful activity that Kieran had loved.

She kissed Arthur, as she grabbed his fishing pole and headed out of the house. The air was crisp and cool, and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It promised to be a beautiful day, and Nerissa was determined to make the most of it.

The Lannahechee river was known for its abundance of fish, and Nerissa hoped to catch enough for Pearson to make a hearty stew. Nerissa cast her fishing line into the clear waters, enjoying the peaceful morning on the river. Suddenly, a voice behind her broke the tranquillity.

“Catching a lot fish?” The man asked, and Nerissa turned to see Agent Milton, the Pinkerton detective. It had been a couple of days since she paid off Hosea's bounty, and she knew the meeting was inevitable.

“Catching what is needed, Mr. Milton,” Nerissa replied, already knowing the reason for his visit.

Milton pulled out a letter from his bag, waving it in front of Nerissa. “This is a letter from the sheriff’s office in Blackwater, that says that one Hosea Matthews is a free man,” he said.

“Indeed, he is, Mr. Milton. The question is whether you’ll abide the letter,” Nerissa retorted, while swiftly packing up her catch.

“I will,” Milton replied with a shrug.

“Good, because I will be needing your help. In a day, Dutch will rob the Saint Denis bank. I need you to capture Hosea,” Nerissa revealed, spilling all the details of Dutch’s plan. “I need you to capture him, so I can kill him,” she added with a sigh.

Milton raised an eyebrow, “Then why pay his bounty?”

“I need you to kill him in front of Dutch, a bit of theatre if you will. Dutch will think Hosea is dead, and I will take him away to a life free from Dutch,” Nerissa explained, confident in her plan.

“Why not kill him yourself?” Milton asked.

“It looks better if you shoot him, just aim for his shoulder so he doesn’t bleed out,” Nerissa replied, her tone sarcastic.

Milton held out his hand for her to shake. “You have yourself a deal, miss,” he said, extending his hand for her to shake. Nerissa shook his hand firmly, her eyes cold and determined. She had a plan, and she was ready to execute it. Nerissa watched him go, feeling a sense of satisfaction. She knew that Dutch was cunning, but she was always one step ahead.

Nerissa carefully packed the succulent fish into her satchel, every movement deliberate as she made her way back to camp. The tension had been building for days, ever since she had overheard the whispers of a bank heist. It was set to happen any day now, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was looming on the horizon.

The blazing sun beat down on her, turning her skin into a golden hue and causing beads of sweat to trickle down her forehead and onto her ample bosom. The stifling heat made her feel more alive, yet somehow more vulnerable, as she navigated the dusty trails towards camp.

"Here you go Pearson, 'bout ten bluegill in here," Nerissa said as she carefully placed the bag of fish on the butcher's table.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Matthews. You're really helpin' to feed the folks 'round here," Pearson replied, grinning from ear to ear.

"Anytime, Pearson," Nerissa replied, winking seductively as she walked away. She passed the other women in camp, flashing each of them a winning smile, before slipping into her room to change into her usual black attire. The weight of her "betrayal" weighed heavily on her and so she sat on the edge of her bed, the journal laid open before her. She dipped her pen into the inkwell and began to write, pouring her thoughts onto the page.

"The morning air was crisp, and the sky was painted with a thousand hues of pink and orange as I set out to fish. I couldn't help but feel a sense of melancholy as I thought about Kieran. His memory lives on in my heart and mind, and I decided to honour him by indulging in his favourite pastime.

I casted my line into the Lannahechee river, the water was calm, and the birds were singing. It was a peaceful moment, a rare moment of tranquillity in this wild west. But as I was lost in thought, I sensed someone behind me. It was Milton, the Pinkerton Agent, and I knew he was here to discuss my father. Milton's smug expression was sickening, but I kept my composure and told him everything about Dutch's plan to rob the Saint Denis bank. I needed him to capture Hosea so he could kill him in front of Dutch, make him think that Hosea died because of his mistake. But the reality is that Hosea is a free man, free from the law and free from Dutch’s hands.

As much as I despised him, I needed his help to free Hosea from Dutch's grip. My father was still the same man he used to be, but he was getting older and sicker, and I feared for his safety because of Dutch. Dutch's twisted philosophy had changed him, turned him into a ruthless and greedy outlaw who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Even if it meant sacrificing those he claimed to care for, like poor Kieran and Sean.

I wished Arthur could see what was happening, but he is too loyal to Dutch to see the truth. John, on the other hand, is starting to see the change in Dutch. I hope it was not too late for him to do something about it.

Dutch will pay the price for his mistakes, one way or another. And I will do whatever it takes to ensure that my family is safe from his grasp."

As Nerissa finished writing in her journal, she let out a deep sigh. She knew that her conversation with Agent Milton was dangerous, as she had revealed Dutch's plan and could jeopardize the entire robbery. Lost in thought, Arthur walked into the room and sat down beside her.

"Hello, darlin'," he said, pulling her into a warm embrace. Arthur's heart nearly melted as he held her, feeling the warmth of her body and the love in her heart. He had been busy helping out in Saint Denis and wanted to spend some quality time with the woman he loved more than anything.

"Hiya, Arthur," Nerissa replied, relishing the chance to spend some time alone with him. But their peace would be short-lived.

"Dutch wants to rob the bank tomorrow," Arthur whispered, his voice low and serious.

"I'll ride with you," Nerissa replied, her resolve firm. She didn't like the idea of robbing a bank, but she knew it was the only way to free Hosea from Dutch's grip.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, noting the change in her behaviour. Nerissa had become more secretive lately, and it was starting to worry him.

"Yes, I'm sure, darlin'. Is Lenny outside? He wanted some help with his aim," Nerissa replied, smiling brightly.

"I think so," Arthur replied, watching her leave the room. He knew that the world was a dangerous and unforgiving place, and he wanted nothing more than to protect Nerissa from it. She was his sunshine in a dark and violent world, and he would do anything to keep her safe.

As the sun rose on the morning of the fateful day, Nerissa stirred from her slumber to find an empty bed and a note from Arthur on her night table

I’ve gone out hunting - Arthur

She couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth in her heart at his considerate gesture. But the harsh reality of the situation soon hit her as she made her way downstairs to find her father and Dutch deep in discussion about their upcoming bank robbery. The wooden table stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by chairs where the gang members were seated, deep in conversation.

“I’m telling you, Dutch, this is the way to do this job. The distraction will buy you all the time you need,” Hosea said, his voice firm as he argued in favour of the explosion.

“I… don’t like it…” Dutch replied, his unease palpable.

“It’s the right plan. We’ve done the work. I’ve been in town, looking… watching and… and waiting, I’ve, I’ve… I’ve tested it as well as I can. It’s the right plan,” Hosea persisted, attempting to convince the gang leader.

“I know! I just… Well, between you and me, I’m… nervous, I suppose, I suppose that’s it,” Dutch admitted.

Nerissa greeted them with a nod as she took a seat at the wooden table, soon joined by Arthur. They listened intently as Hosea outlined the plan to rob the bank, using Abigail and him as a distraction.

“What do you think, Arthur? Miss Matthews?” Dutch questioned the two, seeking their opinion.

“Well, I don’t see we have a lot of choice. We linger around here we know we’re dead,” Arthur replied, his voice low and steady.

“But the plan?” Dutch pressed once again.

“We got a decent bunch. We know how to fight. Those city cops, they don’t seem so tough. As long as we move fast. I reckon doing it in the day, with a distraction. If that’s what Hosea is saying? It’s as good a plan as any,” Nerissa answered, her voice resolute.

“I, I think I agree,” Dutch finally conceded.

“And we do it at night… there’s the drama of just getting into the bank. Can’t do that silently. They’ll pick us off far easier,” Hosea continued, nodding in agreement with Nerissa's statement.

“I know, I’m… I’m just making sure,” Dutch said, still seemingly nervous, a state Nerissa had never seen him in, given their past bank robberies.

“Every plan is a good plan if we execute it properly. Every problem we had was because we did not… execute… properly. Even Blackwater from my understanding,” Hosea remarked, glancing at his daughter, a look of pride in his eyes.

“You’re right. Let’s rob this bastard. Everyone, get ready. Look smart. Travel light. You two got everything?” Dutch said, standing up and both Arthur and Nerissa went up to their rooms to change.

Arthur donned a smart suit with a navy-blue tie, looking like a gentleman, but still ready to rumble. Meanwhile, Nerissa opted for her signature black outfit, sans her duster coat, to appear more formal. However, she still wore her wide brim hat to conceal her face and keep her identity a secret. With a sense of determination and adrenaline coursing through their veins, the gang members prepared to execute their plan and take on the challenges that lay ahead. The couple headed outside to their horses and met up with the rest of the gang, before Nerissa mounted Noir, she quickly glanced over to Sadie and the woman gave her a strong and reassuring nodding, the gang was now in Sadie’s hands, until Nerissa returned.

"We rob ourselves a bank… and within six weeks… we’re living life anew in a tropical idyll… spending the last of our days as banana farmers? Let’s get out of this godforsaken place… and go rob ourselves a bank!" Hosea exclaimed, the words rolling off his tongue with a mix of excitement and anticipation. His eyes gleamed with the prospect of adventure and freedom as he mounted the stagecoach, the gang cheering in agreement.

"Let’s go, let’s go! Crack that whip, Mr. Matthews! This is it, gentlemen. The last one," Dutch shouted, his voice ringing with authority as the group mounted their horses and galloped towards the bustling city of Saint Denis.

"Where have we heard that before?" John muttered, his eyes rolling in annoyance as he exchanged a knowing look with Nerissa. He had grown weary of Dutch's empty promises and felt a sense of dread gnawing at him.

"What's happened to you, John? You lost all your heart," Dutch remarked, his voice tinged with concern as he observed John's lack of enthusiasm.

"I’m just trying to stay real about all this” John replied, his voice laced with skepticism.

" "Real". Oh, how I detest that word. So devoid of imagination," Dutch spat, his tone impatient as he waved his hand dismissively.

" How soon are we shipping out?" Micah interjected, eager to discuss the Blackwater money ever since Nerissa's return.

" Soon as we get a passage organized. Boat down to Argentina and another around the cape," Dutch explained.

" What about the money in Blackwater? We’re just gonna leave that behind?" Micah pressed, prompting Nerissa and Arthur to ride to the front and listen intently.

" Forget that it’s gone. You all talk like it’s the only goddamn money in the world. We’re gonna take that and more, take it from the people who take it from us. This isn’t some hick town, hundred-dollar operation. This is a big city bank!” Dutch exclaimed.

"With security guards and police," John interjected.

" Hosea has done his reconnaissance; we’ve been over this. The plan. One last time. Hosea and Abigail draw out the police, we go in calm and fast. John and Lenny, secure the front doors, Javier takes the side exit. Bill, Micah and Charles, control the crowd. Me and Arthur deal with the bank manager and vault. Miss Matthews either you’re on the roof or helping Arthur. Got it?" Dutch laid out the plan and received a resounding "yes" from everyone.

" Gentlemen, let's us go ahead!" Hosea shouted as he guided his stagecoach to the front.

"How long will you need?" Nerissa inquired.

" Not long. Fifteen minutes or less. You’ll know by the noise. Any problems, we’ll see you in camp," Hosea replied as he rode ahead.

" Ride on! Everybody know the drill. We head in hard and stay calm. They won’t be expecting us. Any minor trouble, head back to camp. We’ll leave in a few days. You good, Bill?" Dutch asked.

"Sure," Bill responded.

"Then ride on with Charles. We don’t want to be seen heading in like some posse of country outlaws,” Arthur directed.

"This is it, cowboys! One last time!" Dutch yelled as the group galloped hard into Saint Denis, one last time.

As the gang made their way through the bustling town of Saint Denis, Nerissa couldn't help but reminisce about the city's past. She remembered a time when it wasn't as flashy or crowded with tourists, a time when the Wild West was truly wild.

“ Nice and easy through town now, boys. There’s Bill, let’s hitch up here.” Dutch cautioned as they approached the Lemoyne National Bank, the target of their latest heist. Nerissa adjusted her bandana, feeling the weight of her trusty repeater in her hand. She was ready for action.

“ Gentlemen… robbing thieves, it ain’t no crime at all. Folk like this… they stole what this country could have been… Stay cool, fellers. Act natural. Wait for Hosea to do his thing.” Dutch mused, spurring the gang on with his revolutionary rhetoric.

Micah, ever the pessimist, grumbled, "This better work." Nerissa rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Hosea's distractions were always spot-on.

John noticed something amiss. "Looks like there's law over the other side," he warned, scanning the area for any signs of trouble.

"Have a modicum of faith, John, will you please?" Dutch snapped, clearly annoyed. "Soon as we get out, load everything onto the wagon here."

Suddenly there was a loud and powerful explosion, that must’ve been Hosea’s distraction, Nerissa thought

Suddenly, there was a deafening explosion, and Nerissa knew Hosea had done his part. "I love that Hosea, he's a true artist," Dutch chuckled, leading the charge into the bank. Nerissa walked behind Arthur and pulled up her black bandana to cover nearly her entire face, while holding her repeater, she entered the bank, and now her own plan was in action

Dutch brandished his gun and bellowed, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a hold up. Don't do anything stupid." His menacing voice echoed through the air, sending shivers down the spines of the innocent bystanders who were caught in the crossfire.

"Okay, now then. Arthur, would you please have Señor Bank Manager here open up the vault?" Dutch continued, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was going to try anything heroic.

"Open the vault, come on!" Arthur barked, his voice rough and dangerous as he followed Dutch's lead.

Meanwhile, Nerissa stood watch near John and Lenny, her senses on high alert for any signs of trouble. She knew that the Pinkertons were closing in, and that Hosea was in their custody. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for the inevitable showdown.

Arthur continued to empty out the vaults, but suddenly heard Nerissa yell out, "We got trouble! Looks like the law!" He knew that they were running out of time, and that they needed to act fast if they wanted to make it out alive.

"Think we got a problem out here!" John added, his voice thick with tension as the three of them ran into the bank and took cover.

"Come out, it's over!" Milton's voice boomed through the streets, sending a chill through the air.

"Dutch, get out here! Get out here now!" Milton yelled, his voice dripping with menace as he dragged a captive Hosea and pointed a gun at him.

"Shit, Abigail…" John whispered, his eyes darting nervously from side to side.

"Father!" Nerissa cried out dramatically, her voice filled with despair as she tried to run towards Hosea. But she was quickly stopped by Javier, who grabbed her waist and pulled her away.

"Someone must have squealed." Dutch gritted, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene.

Nerissa finally freed herself from Javier's grip and ran out the front door, her gun aimed straight at Milton. She stood face to face with him, her eyes flashing with anger and determination.

"Nerissa!" Arthur yelled, trying to get her to come back into the bank before it was too late.

"Mr. Milton… let my friend go… or folks… they are gonna get shot unnecessarily." Dutch yelled, his voice trembling with emotion as he tried to negotiate a deal.

"Your friend? Ha, why would I do that?" Milton laughed back; his gun pointed at Hosea's temple.

"Please, Agent Milton," Nerissa begged, using all of her theatrical tricks to try and save Hosea's life.

"It's over. No more bargains. No more deals," Milton yelled, nodding slightly at Nerissa to show that he would honour their agreement.

"Mr. Milton… this is America. You can always cut a deal," Dutch pleaded, still trying to save Hosea's life.

"I've given you enough chances…" Milton warned as he pushed Hosea into the street and pulled the trigger.

Nerissa's heart-wrenching scream echoed through the dusty streets of Saint Denis as she dashed towards her father's body lying in a pool of blood. Her tears flowed like a river down her cheeks as she knelt beside him, holding his lifeless form close to her chest, all for the sake of the dramatic performance that was now a tragic reality.

Milton, stowed away his gun, looking smugly at Dutch, who stood with a shocked expression on his face. The tension was palpable, and the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and death.

Nerissa's horse, Noir, stood obediently nearby as she lifted her father's body onto its back, her face twisted with anger and grief. She didn't say a word to anyone; she didn't need to. The look on her face said it all. She had just witnessed the devastating consequences of Dutch's reckless actions.

Milton broke the silence, "There's your deal, Dutch." His voice was cold and calculated, the words dripping with disdain. Dutch's eyes flickered towards Milton, his expression quickly turning to one of anger.

Nerissa's fingers clenched tightly around the reins of Noir, the horse's eyes reflecting her own anger as she took off without another word. She left behind a trail of dust as she rode away from the scene, her heart shattered, her father's blood still fresh on her clothes.

Chapter Text

Day 1 – Saint Denis, Emerald Ranch & Shady Belle

Nerissa rode Noir, to gallop as fast as they could through the murky bayou. They had to reach Emerald Ranch before the break of dawn. Hosea needed the medicine she had stashed there. Though he wasn't at death's door yet, the injuries he sustained during the bank robbery convinced the gang otherwise, mainly due to Nerissa’s performance

"Stay with me, father, just a little longer," Nerissa murmured, her voice filled with worry and desperation. They had barely passed the Eris Fields when she stopped to catch their breath. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow across the landscape. Noir was trembling and frothing from the arduous ride, but he knew his loyalty lay with Nerissa, who had raised him since he was a foal.

As night fell, Nerissa could see the outline of Emerald Ranch on the horizon. She breathed a sigh of relief, knowing they had made it. They entered Seamus' barn, where Nerissa had previously arranged to let her father rest for the night. She carefully lifted Hosea off Noir and laid him on a bed of hay.

Nerissa quickly set to work, rummaging through her saddlebag for bandages and herbs. She found some Turmeric, which she had brought from her homeland, and quickly made a paste to apply to Hosea's wound. After dressing it, she whispered, "This will prevent infection," she then tended to his wound and administered tonics to ease his pain.

Several hours passed before Hosea finally regained consciousness. The darkness was all around him, but he saw a light. It was his light, who had saved his life with her determination and her will for freedom.

"You're going to be all right, father," Nerissa said, her voice filled with tenderness. Hosea smiled weakly, knowing that his daughter's love and devotion had saved him from the brink of death.

As the first rays of sun illuminated the dusty barn, Hosea's eyelids fluttered open. The scent of hay and the gentle whinnies of horses filled his nostrils, and he groaned in pain. The wound on his shoulder throbbed with a dull ache, but he was alive. He struggled to sit up, his thoughts muddled with confusion.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"You got shot," Nerissa replied, as she tended to his wound with a fresh turmeric paste. "But you're safe now." Nerissa replied, offering him a cup of tea.

Hosea furrowed his brow. “But why am I here?”

Nerissa took a deep breath before confessing, “A few weeks ago, I went to Blackwater to pay off your bounty. But then Milton found me and made a deal to free you from Dutch.”

Hosea's eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“You're a free man now,” Nerissa continued. “You and I both know that Dutch has gone mad. I can't let you die for him and his mistakes.”

Hosea sighed, knowing the truth of Dutch's change. “Where am I supposed to go?”

Nerissa handed him a stack of money. “I have a small safe house near Manzanita Post. Go there and stay until you're healed. Then I suggest you buy the land for Beecher's Hope. It's enough for you, me, Arthur, and the Marstons.”

Hosea nodded, his mind racing. “Guess I should get going, just wish Silver Dollar was here.”

Nerissa smiled before whistling for the mentioned horse, and there Silver Dollar was. “Thank you for everything, father. But I need you to go. I've packed everything you need.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Hosea said before mounting his horse. He rode off into the sunrise, ready to start a new chapter for his family.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow across Lemoyne, Nerissa hastily packed her belongings and settled her debt with Seamus for his hospitality. She swung herself onto Noir and set off towards Shady Belle. Her heart was heavy, for she had not seen since the bank robbery, and she yearned for his company and support.

As she approached the camp, a sense of foreboding washed over her. The usually bustling site was eerily silent and empty, save for the horses that milled about. Nerissa dismounted Noir and crept towards the house, only to be greeted by Abigail, who threw herself into Nerissa's embrace.

"Thank goodness you're alive," Abigail breathed, and Nerissa furrowed her brow in confusion.

Nerissa was bewildered. "What do you mean? Of course, I'm alive!" she exclaimed.

"When Charles returned, we thought you were dead," Abigail clarified, and Nerissa's heart skipped a beat.

Rushing into the house, Nerissa was relieved to see the familiar faces of the ladies, Pearson, Strauss, and Charles, but no sight of Arthur or anyone else who was at the bank. They too were overjoyed to see her alive, but their joy was short-lived as they noticed the blood on her clothes.

"Whose blood is that?" Mary-Beth asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Nerissa's throat tightened with emotion as she revealed the truth. "Hosea's," she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "After he got shot, I buried his body near Saint Denis. I just need to put up a gravestone."

The gang fell silent, their heads bowed in respect for the fallen patriarch. Nerissa retreated to her room, slipping into fresh clothes, and struggling to process her grief. As she lay on her bed, lost in thought, a gentle knock sounded on the door. Charles entered, settling down beside her and offering a sympathetic ear.

"How are you holding up?" he asked softly, and Nerissa's resolve crumbled.

"I'm heartbroken," she confessed, the weight of her loss crushing. "He died because of Dutch's mistakes."

"What happened? After I rode off," Nerissa asked, her voice choked with emotion.

Charles took a deep breath before relaying the events that occurred after she left. "When you departed, everything fell into chaos," he began. "Lenny was shot on the rooftop, and we had to hide in a nearby building. We managed to hold out until nightfall, but then Pinkertons swarmed the town. We had to sneak our way to the docks, and while I distracted the agents while the rest of the gang got onto a boat."

Nerissa's tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she heard of Lenny's fate. She couldn't help but remember their special bond, which was more like that of a sister and younger brother. Lenny was a bright light in her life, and she held him in the highest regard. She treasured their adventures together and always appreciated his assistance when teaching Sadie. They shared their struggles with each other, and he confided in her about the discrimination he faced. She felt his pain and understood his struggles all too well, having experienced similar prejudice herself. Despite everything they endured, their friendship grew stronger every day, and they remained loyal to one another until the end. It was unbearable to think that he was truly gone.

Nerissa's heart ached as she spoke the words, her voice barely above a whisper, "We should bury him next to Hosea." Her tears flowed freely now, leaving salty trails down her cheeks. "I'm guessing Arthur was on that boat?" she asked, her voice barely holding back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Charles nodded, confirming her suspicions.

"I need to rest," Nerissa said, her voice firming up as she took charge. "Tomorrow, you will help Miss Grimshaw and Pearson pack everything. We need to move quickly. Meanwhile, Sadie and I will try to find a place for us to lie low." Sadie soon entered the room, and Charles left to relay the message to the rest of the gang.

"Wanna tell me the truth?" Sadie said, her eyebrow raised in question.

Nerissa took a deep breath before confessing, "I made a deal with Milton to save Hosea from Dutch. He's currently on his way to Manzanita Post to a safe house."

"I would've done the same," Sadie replied, her voice full of understanding. "I've found a place in Lakay where we could lie low until the rest of them return."

Nerissa nodded wearily. "Let's look at it tomorrow. I need rest. The day has been too long for me, and I need to sleep." As Sadie left, Nerissa collapsed onto her bed and fell into a deep slumber, her mind filled with thoughts of the past and uncertainty for the future.

Day 2 – Saint Denis & Lakay

As the sun began to rise over the rugged terrain of the Wild West, Nerissa awoke with a heavy heart. Her eyes were heavy from the tears she had shed the night before. The thought of Arthur being lost forever at the bottom of the sea or at some island made her heart ache. But there was no time for mourning now. They had to pack up and move on quickly.

Nerissa mounted Noir, and rode alongside Sadie in silence as they made their way towards Lakay. The bayou was eerily quiet, with only the sound of their horses' hooves hitting the muddy ground. When they arrived, they dismounted and quietly approached the empty buildings. The air was thick with the scent of decay and swamp water.

Nerissa gripped her repeater tightly and joined Sadie in scouting the area.

"We should continue on foot," Nerissa whispered, dismounting Noir.

"You should look inside, I'll guard out front," Sadie suggested. Nerissa laughed,

"How come?" Nerissa asked suspiciously 

"You're the better shot," Sadie confessed, earning a laugh from Nerissa.

"Alright, I'll yell if I need help," Nerissa said, walking towards the buildings.

The wooden houses and piers for fishing were abandoned and dilapidated. The ground was muddy and unstable, but it would have to do for now. Nerissa knew little about the place, but she had heard rumours of it being haunted and locals were afraid of it. As she made her way into the big house, she searched it thoroughly. It was empty, just as she suspected. Nerissa then made her way into the small shed, which appeared to be empty. But suddenly, she was attacked from behind and thrown to the ground. Her attacker repeatedly punched her, and she felt a sharp sting across her eye and down her cheek.

Nerissa managed to stab her attacker in the side and shoot him in the head before he could do any more damage. She could feel blood running down her face and her vision was blurred.

"Sadie!" Nerissa yelled as she stumbled out of the shed. Sadie ran towards her, trying to stop the bleeding.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Someone came from behind and cut my face. I stabbed him," Nerissa said, trying to catch her breath.

"How bad is it?" she asked. "Looks like he cut straight down from your eyebrow, eyelid and cheek," Sadie replied. Nerissa couldn't help but feel self-conscious as Sadie wrapped her face in bandages. But Sadie's smile and words of encouragement made her feel a little better.

"Still beautiful, though," Sadie said. They made their way back to Shady Belle, where the rest of the gang was waiting.

"It's Sadie and Nerissa!" Charles yelled out as they approached.

"Have you found a place?" Tilly asked.

"Sure did, only cost me an eye," Nerissa joked, making everyone laugh.

Abigail looked worried, "We'll be okay, right?" she asked.

"We sure will," Nerissa reassured everyone before leading the group out of Shady Belle and towards their new home in Lakay.

Day 3 – Lakay

The sun rose over the gang's camp at Lakay, signalling the start of another day. The girls were already up and about, performing their daily chores, while Charles headed out to hunt. Nerissa, however, was still recovering from the brutal attack she had suffered the night before. Despite the pain, she felt a sense of comfort as she lay in the hammock, surrounded by the makeshift home that Miss Grimshaw had created for them. Even though the place was falling apart, it had a certain charm to it that made it feel like home.

Sadie was preoccupied with thoughts of John, who had been captured by the Pinkertons while the rest of the gang managed to escape on a boat. Nerissa could see the worry etched on her face and decided to offer her some comfort.

"Anything new?" Nerissa asked, joining Sadie and Miss Grimshaw outside.

"Nothing yet," Sadie replied, her voice laced with frustration.

"We'll find him," Nerissa reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll bring him back."

"Oh, Miss Matthews, you should be resting," Miss Grimshaw scolded her.

"I'm alright, Miss Grimshaw. Worry about the other girls," Nerissa dismissed her concern.

"Let me have a look," Miss Grimshaw insisted, and before Nerissa could protest, her bandage was already being removed.

Miss Grimshaw, always the caregiver, scolded Nerissa for not resting enough and insisted on changing her bandage. As she unwrapped the bandage, Nerissa couldn't help but ask, "How does it look?"

"See for yourself," Miss Grimshaw replied, handing Nerissa a small handheld mirror. Nerissa gazed at her reflection. The cut, which stretched from above her brow, down her eyelid, and on her cheek, was still visible, but it seemed to be healing well. Miss Grimshaw applied a bit of tonic water to the cut and left it open to breathe and heal into a scar.

As Abigail and Jack joined them, Jack asked, "Does it hurt, auntie Nessie?"

"Not at all," Nerissa replied, smiling at the young boy as he ran off to play. While Sadie and Abigail continued to discuss John's fate, Nerissa lost herself in thoughts of the future.

"We'll be okay," she thought to herself, determined to stay strong for the gang.

Day 4 – Lakay

Nerissa lay in the hammock, recovering from the attack. The gang was bustling with activity; the women were sweeping and cooking, and Charles was out hunting for food. Yet, there was still no news of John, and Sadie was growing increasingly restless as she tried to figure out where he was and how they could bring him back.

Nerissa couldn't help but think of Arthur. She wondered where he was and what he was doing, hoping that he was safe and well. As the day dragged on, Nerissa tried to stay positive, reminding herself that they had survived countless hardships before, and they could do it again.

Despite the uncertainty of their situation, Nerissa remained optimistic, her mind drifting to thoughts of a brighter future. She imagined a life outside of the gang, where she could finally settle down and start a family, with Arthur, away from the violence and chaos of the outlaw life.

As the sun began to set, Nerissa's thoughts drifted off to sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring better news and a step closer to a peaceful life.

Day 5 – Lakay

Nerissa's hand trembled slightly as she took out her leather-bound journal, the cover worn from constant use. She flipped through the pages, the words she had penned over the past months reminding her of everything she had experienced with the gang. Finally settling on a blank page, she uncapped her pen and began to write.

It's been five days since I last saw Arthur. The world seems a little dimmer without him around, like a candle flickering in the wind. Charles says he's on a boat, but where that boat is, is anyone's guess. I pray he's safe, wherever he may be. Hosea, too. It's been far too long since we've heard from him. I fear the worst, but I can't let myself dwell on that thought.

Nerissa paused, her mind drifting to the chaos that had enveloped the gang in recent weeks. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before continuing.

The gang is still bustling with activity, everyone pitching in to keep things running. Charles has taken on the responsibility of hunting, his sharp eyes and steady hand providing much-needed sustenance for all of us. As for me, I've been forced to rest and recover from the attack that left me battered and bruised. It's given me time to think, to reflect on everything that's happened and what's to come.

The sound of the nearby river provided a soothing background to Nerissa's writing, the rustling of the leaves in the breeze punctuating the quiet of the night. She dipped her pen back into the inkwell, ready to continue.

Sadie is out there searching for John, determined to find him no matter the cost. I pray for her success, for his safe return to us. The thought of losing anyone else is too much to bear. But until we know what's become of him, all we can do is wait and hope.

Nerissa trailed off, her thoughts muddled as exhaustion began to set in. She closed her journal, tucking it safely into her satchel before making her way back to camp, the stars shining down upon her like a thousand twinkling diamonds. Another day had passed, but the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, the future uncertain and fraught with danger.

Day 11 – Lakay

It had been almost two excruciatingly long weeks and for Nerissa, life had become an unendurable struggle. She was transformed, becoming introverted and quiet, bearing the weight of the loss of Lenny and “loss” of Hosea only added to her grief, she missed her father’s presences. The pain she felt was unexpected and beyond measure, haunting her with nightmares and memories of the trauma she had endured. The scar on her face served as a constant reminder of the chaos she had suffered. Nerissa passed her days sitting alone on the pier, gazing out at the trees. Today, she was joined by Abigail, who had noticed the change in her friend.

"How are you?" Abigail asked with concern.

"I'm fine," Nerissa responded in a cold tone. She didn't intend to be distant, but it was beyond her control.

"You've changed," Abigail observed. "I miss the old you."

"I know," Nerissa said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I miss her too."

"I'm here if you need me," Abigail offered, standing up and placing a comforting hand on Nerissa's shoulder. Nerissa appreciated the gesture, but she knew that her pain was something that she had to endure alone.

"What's the word on John?" Nerissa inquired, hoping for any shred of hope.

"Sadie heard that he's at Sisika Penitentiary," Abigail answered, her voice heavy with sadness. "He was arrested during the bank robbery and he's working in a chain gang."

Nerissa's heart sank at the thought of John being imprisoned and forced to work. "We'll get him back," she vowed, determination flickering in her eyes.

Day 13 – Lakay

Nerissa stood in front of the mirror eyeing her scar. The scar was a reminder of the horrors she had endured, but it had healed without a trace of infection. Her once vibrant hair had lost its lustre, and her complexion had turned pale, a shell of her former self. As she stood before the mirror, she couldn't help but notice how much she had changed. Her thoughts were interrupted by Sadie, who presented her with a letter from Hosea.

"Hey, there's a letter for you," Sadie announced as she placed the letter in front of Nerissa. "It's from Him."

Nerissa's eyes lit up, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She would read it tonight. Before she could put the letter away, Sadie suggested a new look.

"Have you thought of cutting your hair?" Sadie asked, her fingers tracing the length of Nerissa's hair.

Nerissa considered it for a moment, imagining how she would look with shorter hair. Without hesitation, she reached for her knife and cut off a few locks. Her once long, curly hair now hung in loose waves just above her shoulders, a new look that suited her.

"Thanks, Sadie," Nerissa said, admiring her reflection. "I like it."

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Nerissa settled into her hammock to read the letter from her father. It detailed his safe arrival at Manzanita Post and the nearly healed wound he had sustained. He even mentioned being greeted by name by the local sheriff in Blackwater. A small spark of warmth ignited inside Nerissa as she read the words, a reminder that amidst the chaos and violence of the Wild West, there were still moments of kindness and connection to be found.

Day 14 – Lakay

Nerissa woke up to the sound of rain pattering against the cabin's roof. She knew what she had to do next, it had become her daily ritual - sitting on the pier and waiting for Arthur's return. Two long weeks had passed since she last saw him. The rain poured down in torrents as she sat there, lost in her thoughts, until two familiar voices caught her attention. Micah and Javier had returned, which meant Arthur would be back soon.

Nerissa continued to sit outside, braving the rain and the cold, hours passing by until Pearson's voice boomed through the air.

"Arthur's here!" he yelled.

Nerissa stayed back, a mix of emotions churning inside her. She longed to see him, to feel his embrace, but at the same time, a part of her didn't want him to see her in her current state. "Oh, Arthur, you're alive!" Abigail said whilst hugging him.

"Just about," Arthur replied, his voice sounding tired and strained.

Abigail ushered him inside, calling out to everyone that Arthur had returned. "How y'all doing? Hey, old man, wake up!" Arthur shook Uncle's hammock, grinning widely.

Abigail wasted no time filling Arthur in on what had happened since he'd been gone. "They got John," she said, her voice heavy with worry.

"Yeah, he got arrested," Sadie added, her eyes flicking over to Nerissa.

"He ain't hung yet?" Arthur asked, scanning the faces around him.

"Not yet," Sadie said grimly. "They moved him to Sisika. He's been working on a chain gang."

Arthur's eyes scanned the room, searching for Nerissa. "Where is she?" he asked. the others quickly made themselves scarce, eager to give the couple some privacy.

"She's out on the dock," Abigail replied, pointing towards Nerissa.

"Thank you," Arthur said, his heart racing as he made his way towards her. He knew she had changed since he left, but he couldn't wait to see her. Before he reached her, Sadie pulled him aside.

"She's been through a lot," Sadie warned. "She's not the same as when you left for the bank robbery."

"I need to see her," Arthur demanded, brushing past Sadie and Abigail.

Nerissa looked up and saw him approaching. She couldn't help the swell of emotion in her chest as she took in his rugged appearance. He had missed her too; she could see it in his eyes.

As Arthur approached Nerissa, his eyes couldn't help but linger on her changed appearance. Her once flowing mane of hair had been trimmed into a shorter style, and a new scar marked her once unblemished face. But even with these changes, to Arthur, she remained as beautiful as ever.

"Hello Sweetheart," he said, pulling her up to her feet.

The weight of Hosea, Lenny, and his own absence was all too apparent in Nerissa's tearful expression, but Arthur was there now, a source of comfort and strength. "I'm here, I won't leave again," Arthur promised, holding her close. For hours, they talked and caught up, their stories a respite from the harsh realities of their world. Nerissa told Arthur of the gang's relocation to Lakay after the attack, and Arthur shared his tales of adventure from Guarma. It was clear to him that Nerissa had grown strong in his absence, and he was immensely proud of her.

"Arthur I want to leave… Dutch has changed, and don’t want to live this way," Nerissa explained with conviction.

"I understand, darling. I truly do, but what about us?" Arthur pressed, his heart heavy with uncertainty.

"Once we get John out, we all leave," Nerissa declared.

"Alright," Arthur agreed. He had finally come to terms with the truth. "I agree. Dutch has changed," Arthur revealed, and Nerissa was left stunned. Dutch had become a different man.

Arthur looked into Nerissa's eyes, his heart pounding with nervousness and excitement. He took a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly as he reached into his pocket and produced a small, shiny object.

"Nerissa, I need to ask you something," he said, his voice tinged with emotion.

Nerissa looked up from the book she was reading, intrigued by the sudden seriousness in Arthur's voice.

"What is it, sweetie?" she asked, setting the book aside.

"I want to leave this life behind, start anew with you," Arthur said, his eyes never leaving hers. "But before we do that, there's one thing I need to do. Nerissa, I need you to become my wife,” Arthur declared. Nerissa's breath caught in her throat as she gazed down at the ring that Arthur had, recognizing it as the one Hosea had given to Bessie many years ago.

Nerissa gasped, her heart leaping in her chest. She had never imagined Arthur asking her such a question, and yet, she could feel the sincerity of his words. As Arthur got down on one knee and presented her with a beautiful ring, she knew without a doubt that this was what she wanted.

"Oh, Arthur, of course I'll marry you," she exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down her face.

Arthur slipped the ring onto Nerissa's finger, his eyes brimming with emotion. He knelt before her, and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. For a moment, they were lost in each other, their love a shield against the cruelty of the world around them.

But their tender moment was short-lived, as the sound of Dutch's return interrupted them. Arthur and Nerissa broke apart, their hearts pounding with fear and anticipation. They knew that their lives would never be the same again, but with each other by their side, they were ready to face whatever lay ahead.

Chapter Text

As the tumultuous atmosphere consumed the cabin, the couple stood united on the dock, relishing their intimate moment amidst the chaos that surrounded them. They yearned for the day when they would officially become one, but for now, they had to retreat indoors and join the rest of the gang for Dutch's return. The rain poured relentlessly in the bayou, casting a veil of darkness over the night.

Amidst the flurry of questions and concerns hurled at Dutch, the couple basked in their togetherness, a respite from the tumultuous world.

“How’d you folks find each other? What happened? Can… can somebody get me a cup of coffee or something?” Dutch chuckled while covered in rain.

“It was Ms. Matthews who saved us, Dutch. After the robbery in Saint Denis… she got us away from the camp before the Pinkertons turned up. Then Ms. Matthews, Mrs. Adler and Mr. Smith… drove away the degenerates who were living here.” Strauss proudly declared, while Nerissa stood in the background, shielding her face. She didn't seek attention or recognition; she merely did what Hosea would have done.

"Ms. Matthews, we owe you our gratitude. Thank you," Dutch raised his cup, receiving a simple nod from Nerissa.

"It's been damn tough, Dutch... We've been barely surviving. What are we gonna do?" Tilly voiced her concerns, her eyes filled with worry.

"Times have been hard... There's no denying that. But trust me, I'll get us out of this mess. This ain't the end," Dutch assured them with conviction.

"We buried Lenny, Dutch. Charles and I snatched his body from the law one night gave him a proper burial. It was real nice. And Nerissa took care of Hosea," Abigail sighed, her voice heavy with sorrow.

"I laid Hosea to rest in a serene spot between two trees, where vibrant flowers bloom and the river stretches out before him," Nerissa explained, withholding the truth that he was alive and well. The cabin fell into silence, heads bowed in solemn respect, only to be interrupted by the boisterous entrance of Bill Williamson.

"Well, look who's here. I asked everyone I could find, and finally, someone spilled the beans. Said you idiots were holed up out here. Damn... get me a drink or something," Bill bellowed.

"Pour your own damn drink!" Sadie fired back. The two locked eyes, their tension palpable. Suddenly, a familiar voice echoed from outside.

"This is Agent Milton of the Pinkerton Detective Agency. On behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth, we are here to apprehend you. Surrender with your hands raised," Milton's threatening voice boomed. With lightning speed, Nerissa armed herself and ushered the women into hiding. The real battle was about to commence.

"Here we go," Nerissa whispered to herself, exchanging a swift nod with Arthur and Sadie, before the Pinkertons unleashed a hailstorm of bullets upon the cabin. In a desperate scramble, everyone sought refuge on the floor, evading the deadly rain of gunfire.

“Everyone get down!” Dutch commanded, finding refuge behind a sturdy post.

“Asked everyone you could find did you, Bill?” Micah snapped at Bill, irritation evident in his voice.

"Nerissa, follow me!" Sadie yelled, crawling out of the cabin skillfully, dodging the relentless barrage of bullets.

"Stay down, all of you!" Arthur shouted; concern etched on his face. "Where are you two going?" he questioned the crawling women.

"There's a trapdoor leading to the other house. We can try to flank them," Nerissa yelled, joining Sadie in their daring maneuver. Through the trapdoor they went, with Sadie and Arthur taking up positions on each side of the door, while Nerissa made her way onto the roof.

“You fools weren’t listening to me, were you? I showed mercy. You mistook it for weakness. Now I will show strength and you may mistake it for brutality. There is no escape for any of you. I shall hunt you to the ends of the earth and the end of time. I’ve killed your friends and I’ve enjoyed killing them and now I’m gonna kill each and every one of you!”Milton's voice thundered with menacing resolve. Before long, Nerissa unleashed a storm of bullets, swiftly taking down the agents, while Arthur kicked open the cabin door, joining her in the fierce firefight. The cabin became encircled by the Pinkertons, well-prepared for a defensive battle. Only through their sharpshooting skills and rapid gunfire could Arthur and Nerissa survive amidst the chaos.

"You need to push them back!" Nerissa's voice resonated from the rooftop.

“Okay, let’s go! They’re coming from the side! Come on, let’s push ‘em back!” Sadie's commanding voice rallied the trio. Assisting the women down from the roof, they made a daring sprint towards the trees, showing no mercy to the agents in their path.

“They’re hiding in the trees. Get after ‘em!” Arthur bellowed, the trio standing side by side, fingers poised on their triggers.

After multiple reloads and countless fallen Pinkerton agents, the last of them began to flee into the murky depths of the bayou. The trio regrouped at the large cabin, Nerissa still grappling with the aftermath of the bloody massacre. She had changed, and not for the better.

“You saved us, Arthur.” Dutch acknowledged, emerging from the cabin, followed by Micah.

“Well, me and… Nerissa and Sadie.” Arthur replied, he couldn’t take all the credit.

"What do we do now, Dutch?" Arthur inquired, his voice weighed down by the toll recent events had taken on their leader's psyche. Dutch, usually composed and confident, was beginning to show signs of crumbling sanity.

“Clearly we need to leave. It’ll take them some time to regroup. Mr. Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, start packing up. Javier, Micah and Bill… get outta here. Go scare off any scum still loitering about… we need a couple of days. Now! Please, gentlemen,” Dutch issued his orders sharply. "Miss Matthews, please rest. From what I've heard, you need it," Dutch said to Nerissa, who stood in the shadows, still processing the magnitude of what had transpired.

“What's next, Dutch?” Nerissa asked him, her voice filled with worry.

“We just need some time… I just, I, I need some time. Now we can’t go east… ’cos then we’ll be in the ocean… so we’re gonna have to go north, I guess? I just need somebody to buy me some goddamn time, one of you.” Dutch explained, his voice tinged with urgency.

“You’ll figure it out, boss. You always do.” Micah interjected with unwavering confidence.

“What are you gonna do about John, Dutch?” Abigail pressed, her eyes filled with worry.

”W-w-we’ll get him… Abigail. Just not, not yet.” Dutch replied dismissively, striding away from her. Abigail stood in shock, unable to finish her sentence as Dutch brushed her off so callously.

“I’m begging you two. He’s… they’re gonna hang him. It would break my… the boy’s heart. Please, do something.” Abigail pleaded with Arthur and Nerissa, recognizing that they were their last hope.

“We will.” Nerissa assured, her voice steady and determined. She placed her cold yet comforting hand on Abigail's shoulder, offering a glimmer of solace.

“Sadie’s been looking into how to save John, told me to meet her at Doyle’s Tavern on Milyonne Avenue in Saint Denis. You should go instead of me” Nerissa informed Arthur as she made her way towards Noir.

“Alright, where you goin now?” Arthur inquired, his gaze fixed on her.

“To the Wapiti Indian Reservation to help Eagle flies and his father Rains Fall, I stumbled into them in Saint Denis, they need help with the military” Nerissa replied resolutely, mounting her horse and preparing to ride north.

As Nerissa embarked on her arduous journey towards Wapiti, she couldn't help but feel a heavy weight upon her shoulders. The kilometres stretched before her like an endless trail, mirroring the tumultuous path she had walked since those early days with the gang. The West had a way of changing people, and Nerissa was no exception.

Her mind wandered back to a time when kindness flowed through her veins like a steady river. She used to be the gentle soul who would offer a helping hand without hesitation, who would go out of her way to bring comfort and solace to those in need. But the harsh realities of this unforgiving world had etched their mark upon her, leaving scars that ran deeper than any physical wound, one of the many scars was visible down her eye.

Nerissa's heart yearned for the innocence she had lost, for the person she used to be. She wrestled with the choices she had made, questioning whether she had become a mere shadow of her former self. The line between right and wrong had blurred, and she often found herself standing on the precarious precipice, torn between survival and holding onto her fading morality.

The image of Hosea, a wise and kind figure, flashed before her mind's eye. He had been the heart and soul of the gang, the voice of reason amidst the chaos. Nerissa's heart ached with guilt as she recalled the moment when she turned her back on Dutch and sided with Hosea, revealing Dutch's plans to the Pinkertons. It was a painful sacrifice, a choice made out of desperation and the flickering hope for a better future.

But in that act of betrayal, Nerissa had inadvertently saved Hosea's life. The realization brought a bittersweet solace. Although her actions had shattered the gang's trust and forever altered their dynamic, it had also allowed Hosea to escape the clutches of Dutch's deteriorating leadership. Nerissa clung to the belief that somewhere, in the safety of Manzanita Post, Hosea was living as a free man, shielded from the consequences of Dutch's descent into madness.

However, as she rode through the rugged terrain, her determination remained unwavering. The journey to the Reservation symbolized more than just a physical destination; it represented a chance for redemption, a glimmer of hope to rediscover the kindness that had been buried beneath layers of hardship.

Nerissa knew that the road ahead would be fraught with danger and difficult decisions within her. Yet, deep within her, a flicker of that benevolent spirit remained, refusing to be extinguished completely. It was that spark, however faint, that fueled her purpose and propelled her forward.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the vast plains, Nerissa's thoughts were consumed by the complexities of her own transformation. She yearned to find a balance between the strength she had acquired and the compassion she still held dear. It was a delicate dance, an intricate tightrope she had to walk amidst the chaos of the Wild West.

As Nerissa made her way through the dense forest, she stumbled upon a serene clearing, bathed in dappled sunlight. The gentle rustling of leaves and the faint fragrance of wildflowers in bloom filled the air, inviting her to pause and take respite from the challenges that lay ahead.

She dismounted Noir, and found herself drawn to a weathered log nestled amidst the vibrant blossoms. Taking a seat, she retrieved her worn journal from her satchel and opened it to a fresh page, her pen poised to capture the tumultuous thoughts swirling within her.

In that tranquil moment, surrounded by nature's beauty, Nerissa found solace in the act of writing. The ink flowed from her pen, words forming on the paper like whispers from her soul. She poured her heart onto the pages, the weight of her past and the dreams of a future intertwined in her expressive script.

She wrote of the battles fought, both on the open plains and within the recesses of her mind. The sacrifices made, the friendships tested, and the fragile hope that still flickered in the darkest corners of her being. Her words became an intimate confession, a testament to her longing for redemption and a fervent plea for forgiveness from those she had wronged.

As she wrote, the words brought her clarity, guiding her through the tangled maze of emotions that threatened to consume her. The act of putting pen to paper became a cathartic release, a way to reconcile her past actions with the person she aspired to become.

And as she glanced up from her journal, her gaze fell upon the surrounding wildflowers. Their delicate petals danced in the gentle breeze, a reminder of the resilience of nature and the inherent beauty that could emerge from even the harshest of circumstances.

Nerissa closed her journal, the weight of her thoughts momentarily lifted. She felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. The path ahead remained uncertain, but within her heart, a seed of hope had taken root. She would continue her journey, not only in search of redemption but also in pursuit of a future where kindness, compassion, and forgiveness reigned.

With a final glance at the blossoming wildflowers, Nerissa mounted Noir once more, ready to finish the ride to the Reservation. Her journal tucked safely away, she urged her horse forward, her spirit bolstered by the blossoms' reminder that even amidst the darkest storms, there was always the promise of a new dawn.

With each passing mile, she grew closer to the Reservation and to the pivotal role she would play in the struggle against the encroaching military forces. Nerissa knew that the battles she would face went beyond bullets and bloodshed. The greatest fight she would wage was the one within herself, the battle to reclaim her true essence and restore the kindness that had once defined her.

As the wind whispered through the trees, carrying fragments of the old world and promises of a new one, Nerissa rode on, her resolve unyielding. She was determined to reconcile her past and present, to embrace the strength she had gained without losing the compassion that still beat in her heart. The journey ahead was as much a quest of self-discovery as it was a fight for justice, and Nerissa was prepared to confront her own demons to become the person she was meant to be.

Chapter Text

Nerissa's journey brought her to Donner Falls, where the enchanting melody of rushing water and the play of sunlight on its surface offered a brief respite from the emotional turbulence that swirled within her. As she neared her ultimate destination, the Wapiti Indian Reservation, the landscape transitioned from a once majestic expanse to a secluded village cloaked in the shadowy embrace of Ambarino's forested wilderness. This settlement had once epitomized strength and wisdom, adorned with skilled warriors and revered healers, a testament to a nation's enduring spirit.

Yet, the echoes of conflict with the encroaching military presence had left an indelible mark. The proud natives, once unwavering, had become apprehensive, as fear now tangled with their daily existence. Nerissa could sense the heightened tension as she approached the heart of the Wapiti Reservation, an atmosphere infused with a blend of curiosity, caution, and a guarded hope.

Upon her arrival, the inquisitive gazes and hushed whispers of the reservation's residents followed her every move. Her presence, marked by the turmoil she had survived and the resilience she exhibited, piqued their curiosity. It was clear that Nerissa was not just an outsider passing through; she brought with her an aura of determination and a resolve that whispered of possible salvation

With a profound sense of humility and purpose, Nerissa dismounted and respectfully acknowledged the Wapiti villagers. The weight of her past actions and the journey that had brought her here were mirrored in her eyes. She carried the burden of betrayal towards those she had once called family and the hope of mending the bonds that had been severed.

The reservation, steeped in both natural beauty and the weight of adversity, bore witness to this encounter, as two worlds converged. In the quiet forested enclave, Nerissa stood at the threshold of redemption, seeking not just the salvation of one soul, but the healing of a fractured nation.

Nerissa moved with deliberate steps through the bustling camp of the Reservation. The canopy of the forest gave way to the flickering glow of firelight, casting elongated shadows across the path. As she approached the heart of the camp, the outline of a grand teepee loomed, its entrance inviting her within. The soft crackling of a fire inside offered an atmosphere of warmth, in stark contrast to the storms that raged within her.

"I apologize if I am late," Nerissa uttered softly, her voice carrying the weight of countless experiences etched into her very soul. "I ran into some trouble and lost my way."

Rains Fall, the wise chief of the tribe, looked up from his contemplative trance by the fire. He offered a nod of acknowledgment, but his gaze held something different. A trace of disappointment, perhaps, as if he perceived a change in Nerissa that couldn't be concealed by mere words.

"Then I hope you find your peace again," Rains Fall replied, his tone layered with understanding, hinting at the chasm of turmoil that had replaced the calm woman he'd met in Saint Denis.

"I hope you are right," Nerissa confessed, her thoughts drifting to the chaos of recent months, battles fought, and the innocence lost forever.

"Did you have fun with my son, the impetuous Prince? I believe you went on a raid with him," Rains Fall inquired, his voice gentle and inquisitive.

"I'm sorry, that was Arthur, not me, but I apologize on his behalf," Nerissa clarified, a shadow of regret in her eyes.

"I suppose I lack the grandeur of a conventional king?" Rains Fall mused while tending to a Native's wounds, the camp's silent suffering echoing around them.

"The kings I know were great men like yourself," Nerissa said, her gaze wandering to her homeland's distant memories, where regal rulers once stood tall.

"Colonel Favours… he has already exacted some measure of revenge for the raid… two women were assaulted by his men," Rains Falls confessed, the weight of it evident in his deep sigh.

"I'm very sorry about all of this," Nerissa expressed, her voice holding a touch of sorrow for the women who had suffered because of their actions.

"Yes, sometimes the correct path, the bravest path… is the least obvious, and also the gentlest. I’m… I’m a great disappointment to my son," Rains Fall admitted, his shoulders heavy with the burden of leadership and paternal concern.

"Your son seems to want a war," Nerissa remarked, her words reflecting the complexities of a situation teetering on the brink of conflict.

"My son thinks there is glory in death. Maybe he’s right… but for me… I saw death being handed out so freely by the most foolish of men… I never could equate it with victory. Glory has come in service… maybe not, I don’t know," Rains Falls contemplated, a sense of exhaustion shadowing his eyes. "Your friend, Mr. Van der Linde, he talks a lot… I don't know him, but my son is easily led."

"I fear he may be," Nerissa said with a sadden tone, pondering the weight of Arthur's influence on the young Native warrior.

"Well, perhaps we could go for a ride? I’m an old man… my whole life I have tried to bring peace," Rains Fall suggested. The air outside seemed to hold a promise of respite from the complexities of their world.

"It would be my pleasure," Nerissa smiled warmly, appreciating the opportunity to stand by the side of a man who had witnessed a lifetime of conflict and yearned for the elusive embrace of peace. As they exited the tent into the forest, their steps were interrupted by the distant clatter of hooves, heralding the arrival of a military rider.

The man's frantic words pierced the serene, untamed air. He approached with haste, each breath clawing at his lungs as he fought to catch his wind.

"Sir! I'm relieved to have found you, sir…" The man gasped for breath.

"Captain Monroe," Rains Fall acknowledged, introducing the newcomer to the graceful figure beside him. "Allow me to introduce you to my esteemed friend, Miss Matthews."

Captain Monroe extended his hand toward the woman, his eyes alight with a blend of anticipation and curiosity. "Nerissa Matthews," she stated, her voice carrying the unmistakable allure of the West.

"It's an honour, Miss Matthews. I've heard tales of your remarkable endeavours," Monroe greeted her with admiration, his countenance revealing his deep respect for the woman.

"How can I help you, Captain?" Rains Fall inquired, his eyes locked onto the man, his demeanour reflecting the solemnity of their land's plight.

"I was just in Saint Denis," Captain Monroe began, his words a harbinger of foreboding. "I had a conversation with the mayor. I'm afraid the news isn't favourable. May I accompany you for a brief ride?" They started to make their way towards the awaiting horses, the trail of dust and hoofbeats hanging in the air.

"Of course, join us," Rains Fall welcomed the captain, his voice resonating with stoicism as they mounted their steeds, beginning their journey from the reservation's embrace.

"Where are we headed?" Nerissa inquired, her gaze sweeping across the awe-inspiring landscape as they trotted forward.

"I wish to take you to a place nestled high in the mountains," Rains Fall revealed. "It is a sanctuary, a site where reflection and healing merge. Now, Captain Monroe, what news do you bear?"

The captain took a measured breath before sharing the unsettling developments. "As I mentioned, I spoke with the mayor and the Bureau of Indian Affairs in Saint Denis at length. Unfortunately, it appears the oil company has already secured the approval to commence drilling on the reservation's sacred land."

"I suspected as much," Rains Fall acknowledged, his gaze lingering on the verdant expanse as he considered the implications. The ever-watchful Nerissa stood by her ears attuned to the conversation's undertones.

"What does this signify for us now?" Rains Fall inquired, his tone a resonant blend of determination and uncertainty. Nerissa continued to lend her undivided attention.

"I assure you; I will exert all efforts within my reach. Miss Matthews, would you consider lending a hand in these matters? I would prefer certain actions to be undertaken by those beyond the tribe." Captain Monroe directed his query at the attentive woman.

"Of course," Nerissa responded swiftly, her resolve palpable.

"Excellent news," Monroe noted, gratitude in his eyes. "I would be pleased to have your assistance. Whenever you can spare a few hours, kindly join me at the reservation. For now, my time among you is at an end. I'll return shortly. Good day, gentlemen, and ladies," he concluded, steering his horse into the verdant woods, leaving Nerissa and Rains Fall to proceed with their climb up the sacred mountain.

The two horsemen continued their journey in stoic silence, their steeds forging a path through the rugged wilderness. It wasn't until they found themselves amidst the serene grandeur of nature that Rains Fall finally broke the quietude. His voice, like a whisper in the wind, carried a gravitas earned through a lifetime of leadership. The horizon, adorned with a blazing, copper sunset, stretched infinitely before them, casting a warm, golden glow over the vast, rolling plains. The air was thick with the scent of sagebrush, and the only sounds that broke the serene silence were the rhythmic hoofbeats of their horses. Rains Falls, finally broke the silence, his voice carrying the weight of generations, as he remarked, "Well… I fear they will find a way to blame it on us anyway."

The two riders continued their journey, the serenity of the untamed frontier contrasting starkly with the impending uncertainty. Rains Falls, his eyes drawn to the untamed beauty of the natural world, added, "We'll continue on this way. I'm going to look for some herbs to give you." He pointed toward a distant pack of wolves, their fierce and primal elegance displayed as they feasted upon the remains of a fallen horse. "Brutality and beauty are both all around us, yet so often we're unable to see past our own grievances. This is what I try to teach my son, we can talk if you want, Miss Matthews, but don't feel like you have to. It's a beautiful ride ahead if you need some time to think " he mused.

"Of course, sir," Nerissa replied with a longing for solace in her heart. "I think this ride might give me some peace, but I must confess, I don't know why Dutch is getting involved in your situation, and… this ain't easy to say, but… I just don't trust that he's got your son's best interests at heart."

The enigmatic expanse of the horizon stretched out before them, and Rains Falls turned his gaze toward the distant peaks, as if searching for answers among the towering mountains. "So, what can we do?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of the world.

Nerissa offered assurance, "I don't rightly know. Charles and I just thought you should be aware. Maybe there's a way to stop things from getting any more out of control."

"Thank you, miss," Rains Falls replied with a sense of gratitude. As they approached treacherous, winding paths, he cautioned, "Be careful. There are some steep turns up ahead. But the views are beautiful from up here."

Nerissa, her curiosity piqued, inquired further, "Are things that bad on the reservation?"

Rains Falls responded with unwavering candour, "Yes. This conflict with Colonel Favours and his regiment at Fort Wallace continues to worsen. Many of the elders are sick, and the young feel that any compromise… is an admittance of defeat. But I have to continue to seek… to resolve matters through peaceable negotiation. War would be futile."

With an admiring glance at the awe-inspiring panorama from their elevated vantage point, Nerissa acknowledged, "Your people are lucky to have you." The journey had been punctuated by brief pauses, allowing them to gather herbs and appreciate the vastness of the wilderness.

Curiosity burned within Nerissa as she asked, "And that feller, Monroe, how do you know him?"

"Captain Monroe was reassigned here from a regiment in the north," Rains Falls replied, his voice betraying the complexities of diplomacy. "Apparently the news of our conflict… has spread all the way to Washington. He's a good man, he wants to help."

Nerissa, ever the pragmatist, commented with a hint of resignation, "Well, guess that's something at least."

Rains Falls, carrying the weight of history on his shoulders, offered a profound insight, "The army aren't all bad men, just as my people aren't all good. But this Colonel Favours, he walks an old line, he's obstinate and he hates Monroe. I just hope between us we can work this out."

The descent down the mountainside was a slow and deliberate journey, the fiery sun descending in the western sky, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the rugged terrain. The two riders carried on their course with an occasional exchange of words but largely adhered to a contemplative silence. For Nerissa, the world seemed to harmonize with her inner self, a harmonious symphony of nature and solitude.

As they rode, the tranquillity of the wilderness enveloped them, and Nerissa's thoughts began to quiet their tumultuous dance. Her heart, once heavy with the trials and tribulations of recent times, felt the gentle touch of serenity returning. It was a welcomed respite, a glimmer of the peace that had so often eluded her in this unforgiving land.

Rains Fall gestured toward a collection of herbs he had gathered throughout their ride. These gifts from nature, a symbol of their shared journey and its revelations, were extended to Nerissa. The Native leader's eyes held a quiet depth, and his words were filled with sincerity.

"Thank you for joining me on this ride. Take these herbs I've collected, and most importantly, I hope you can discover the solace you seek within yourself."

Nerissa accepted the offered herbs and nodded appreciatively. Their interaction had carried an unspoken understanding of shared experiences and personal transformations. She gazed at Rains Fall, her voice touched by gratitude.

"Thank you, Chief," she responded. As their paths diverged, Nerissa felt a renewed sense of hope. A connection had been formed, and her quest for inner peace had gained fresh momentum. With a final nod of farewell, they went their separate ways, each carrying the weight of their unique burdens and the hope for a better tomorrow.

Nerissa's return to the dense, untamed wilderness brought forth a profound sense of solitude and solace that had eluded her for far too long. She had ventured far and wide, deep into the heart of the forest, where the towering trees reached toward the heavens, their branches forming a verdant canopy that painted shifting patterns of dappled sunlight and shadows upon the forest floor. A gentle, cool breeze stirred the leaves, creating a symphony of whispers that seemed to carry ancient secrets of the land.

The earth beneath Noir’s hooves was uneven, covered in a mosaic of pine needles, fallen leaves, and the occasional underbrush, all beneath the watchful gaze of towering, moss-draped trees. It was as though the very spirit of the forest enveloped her, offering a refuge from the tumultuous world beyond.

But the tranquillity of this sacred place was momentarily interrupted when Charles emerged from the wilderness, his presence heralded by the soft but unmistakable clip-clop of his horse's hooves on the forest floor. The wilderness had, indeed, whispered her name and guided her steps to this very spot, and it seemed it had done the same for Charles. Their eyes met in a shared moment of recognition, an understanding that transcended words. It was as if the forest itself had orchestrated this meeting, knowing that both of their souls were in need of solace.

Acknowledging one another with solemn nods, they wordlessly agreed to ride together, their destination being the new campsite that the rest of the gang had been diligently preparing during Nerissa's absence. The journey was, for the most part, a reverent pilgrimage, each stride of their horses taking them closer to a place of refuge, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of their lives.

The world around them was alive with the subtle sounds of nature. The breeze that rustled the leaves carried with it the fresh scent of pine and earth, a reminder that the land itself had a story to tell—one older and more enduring than any conflict they had ever faced. The call of distant birds and the occasional chatter of squirrels created a symphony that harmonized with their thoughts and inner contemplations.

As they rode in tranquil companionship, a meditative silence enveloped them. Words seemed inadequate in this ancient forest, where time itself moved differently. Here, the heart and the spirit could find solace, and both Nerissa and Charles were aware of the healing that could occur when one embraced the stillness and harmony of the natural world.

They knew they would soon reach the new campsite, a place where the gang would once again come together, and their lives would be intertwined with the relentless pursuit of freedom. But for now, in the heart of the wilderness, they were free from the burdens of their past and the uncertainties of their future. The world was, for a brief interlude, a place of tranquillity, and within its embrace, they sought the inner peace that had eluded them for so long.

Chapter Text

The new campsite, nestled within the heart of a hidden forest cave, had a certain murky aura. Ancient trees stood as silent sentinels; their branches shrouded in a misty fog born of the nearby Kamassa River. The campsite itself seemed to be holding its breath, the gang members enshrouded by whispered rumours that clung to the air. Dark tales of John's alleged hanging and Dutch's apparent descent into madness had cast an eerie pall over what was once a lively and close-knit community. The camp, once filled with laughter and camaraderie, had now grown eerily quiet, with an unspoken tension that gripped every soul, suffocating even the faintest whisper.

As Nerissa entered the camp, her keen eyes caught Sadie's watchful gaze. The widow's eyes held a fiery intensity, a reflection of the same fiery determination that Nerissa had in Lakay. There was a shared understanding between them, a bond forged through the trials they had faced.

Sadie walked over to Nerissa, and as she did, a hint of warmth crept into the widow's gaze. "How was your trip up north?" she inquired, her voice a mixture of concern and camaraderie.

Nerissa's smile was small but genuine, a glimmer of hope and healing that spoke to the deep well of resilience within her. "Peaceful," she responded, the single word conveying a sense of inner peace she had longed to rediscover. The camp might have grown frigid, but she was on a path to thaw its icy grip.

"It's good to have you back, girl," Sadie said, placing a comforting hand on Nerissa's shoulder. The simple gesture spoke volumes of the bond they shared.

"It's good to be back," Nerissa replied, her smile growing brighter. As Sadie reluctantly returned to her duty of guarding the camp, Nerissa made her way to the ammo tent. Inside, Arthur rested, his gentle snores a testament to the peaceful respite he sought.

Nerissa's heart warmed as she gazed upon him in slumber, his rugged features softened in repose. "Hiya, Darling," she whispered, her hand tenderly brushing a few strands of his hair from his forehead.

Arthur stirred; his eyes still closed. "How was your trip, Darling?" he grumbled, still half in the realm of dreams.

"Quiet," Nerissa replied, her voice a soothing melody.

"Explain," Arthur requested, now fully awake and starting to dress.

Nerissa recounted her encounter with Rains Fall and Captain Monroe. "We rode up the mountain and talked for a while," she shared. "He helped me find peace and gave me some healing herbs. I won't lie, it was really soothing, and I can feel that I'm becoming myself again." Her smile radiated a newfound strength and clarity.

"Good," Arthur said, with a look that conveyed his unspoken pride. "We need your strength, honey."

But Nerissa, ever curious and not one to let Arthur off the hook easily, arched an eyebrow playfully. "Do tell me what you've been up to?"

"We found John, and Sadie wants to head to Sisika today," Arthur explained as he loaded his bandolier with additional shots.

"I'll ride with you," Nerissa declared, and they began to prepare their horses. However, Sadie was nowhere to be found. "Where did Sadie go? She was here when I came back."

"She's waiting for us at Copperhead Landing," Arthur replied. Together, they walked to their horses, masking their destination with a veil of secrecy, knowing that in the current state of camp, it was best if no one knew where they were headed or why.

The road leading to Copperhead Landing was a treacherous path, meandering through the wilderness of the bayou. Murmurs of alligators lurking in the murky waters were the ominous backdrop to the quiet conversation between Arthur and Nerissa. Their love was an unbreakable bond, and as Nerissa gazed at the ring on her finger, her heart swelled with affection. It was the same ring that Hosea had given to Bessie, a token of love and an heirloom that held a deeper meaning.

"It shines, huh?" Arthur teased, his eyes twinkling with affection. He found solace in seeing Nerissa wear the ring, a symbol of their love, but also a bridge to the love Hosea had held for both Nerissa and Bessie. The knowledge that Arthur believed Hosea was gone pierced Nerissa's heart, yet the truth remained locked away, known to her alone.

"It does, Mr. Morgan," Nerissa teased in return, a playful sparkle in her eyes.

"Good to hear, soon-to-be Mrs. Morgan," Arthur remarked with a radiant smile. The thought of their impending union filled him with happiness, envisioning a future where it would be just the two of them, facing the world together.

Their shared happiness was interrupted by the sound of a heated argument between a frustrated mother and the fiery widow.

"The thing is, Sadie, I really can’t… I must come, he’s my husband!" Abigail protested.

"I know he's your husband, but it's gonna be... well, it's gonna be violent," Sadie replied, securing the boat.

"I insist!" Abigail asserted, her resolve unwavering.

"Inisist all you like, ain’t happening. Arthur, tell her," Sadie implored.

Nerissa scoffed, "Tell her what?"

"She ain't coming with us to collect her husband," Sadie barked.

"Abigail, you ain't coming. That's the end of the matter," Arthur declared, the weight of responsibility in his voice.

Nerissa chimed in, standing by their decision. "Sadie's right. It'll be quicker and easier with just the three of us. Plus, John will be calmer without worrying about you. It ain't complicated."

Abigail's eyes welled with tears, but she tried to hide her gratitude, not wanting to appear too vulnerable. "Well, well, I ain't the cryin' sort, but... I'm real grateful."

"We know you are. We'll bring him back to you," Nerissa reassured Abigail with a gentle smile as they boarded the boat.

"Thank you! Thank you all!" Abigail's voice echoed from the pier, fading into the distance as the boat rowed toward the penitentiary.

"Alright, here goes nothing. The place is surrounded by marshland, which should hopefully give us some cover to move close enough to find a spot to look for John. This time of day, prisoners will probably be working the fields," Arthur explained as he rowed.

"Then all we gotta do is take out all the guards... and row our way out of there," Sadie remarked with a hint of determination.

"Seems simple enough," Nerissa shrugged, her resolve unwavering.

"How many times, Marston?" Arthur whispered, earning a light slap on the thigh from Nerissa, a silent reprimand for his pessimism.

The boat ride eventually came to an end as they reached the shore, disembarking from the boat and stepping onto the ground of the forbidding penitentiary. The three of them moved stealthily through the rugged terrain, shadows and foliage concealing their movements.

"Stay low," Nerissa whispered, her voice barely more than a breath of wind, as she pointed out a watchtower guard who surveyed the area from above.

"Okay. I'll deal with him," Arthur responded, his movements fluid and silent as he made his way up the rickety tower, approaching the guard from behind. With swift precision, he subdued the watch guard.

"Okay, come on up," Arthur gestured to Nerissa and Sadie, who joined him atop the tower.

"Alright... where's John..." Sadie murmured, her binoculars trained on the scene below, where prisoners toiled in the fields and guards maintained their watch.

But Nerissa couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty as the bullets, from Arthur, found their marks, and it became evident that John was not among the captive laborers.

"I don't think that was John," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with concern.

"Alright, let's get over there and see," Arthur decided, leading the way as they descended from the watchtower and approached the heavily guarded fields.

"I think one of those guards was still moving," Sadie noted, suspicion in her eyes as she aimed her weapon at a prone guard. She called out to him, her voice a steely demand.

"You... mister... you know John Marston?" Sadie yelled, her impatience showing.

"He... he ain't... he ain't working today," the guard stammered, fear evident in his voice.

In an unexpected twist, another guard appeared, a gun levelled at Sadie's head, unaware that he was stepping into a carefully laid trap.

"Put the gun down, lady," the other guard insisted, his voice brimming with misplaced confidence. Yet, it was Arthur and Nerissa who had the upper hand, their guns aimed directly at his head.

"No... you put the gun down," Nerissa stated firmly. The tension in the air was palpable.

"Now! Where's John Marston?" Arthur's demand was punctuated by his revolver pressed against the guard's head.

"He ain't in the work detail today," the guard answered with trembling lips.

"Okay, well, I guess we'll go and get him together," Arthur said, taking the guard hostage, a cold and determined resolve in his eyes. Together, they moved through the fields, the captor leading the way, while Nerissa and Sadie took care of every other guard they encountered, ensuring their silence and incapacitation.

"Come on. March him straight up to the front gate," Sadie commanded, her voice laced with authority.

"We better hope someone in there actually gives a damn about this fool," Nerissa mused with a hint of concern, her eyes scanning the prison complex.

"Guess we'll see. We're gonna have to shoot our way out of here regardless," Sadie concluded, her gun ready and her spirit unyielding.

"Hold your fire!" a voice echoed from inside the prison, a surprising twist.

The tension hung heavy in the air, like the low-hanging storm clouds that threatened rain. Arthur held his revolver steady, its cold metal pressing against the guard's temple. Beads of sweat glistened on the unfortunate man's forehead.

"Okay, friend, be cool now. Just do as I say," Arthur's voice was low, his eyes locked on the quivering guard.

Sadie, with her fiery determination, had her shotgun trained on the prison guards. Her voice cut through the air like a whip's crack, "Put the weapons down, now!"

"Jameson! Is Jameson in?" Arthur demanded; his tone unwavering.

"He's in Saint Denis," a guard called out from the prison's elevated platform.

"They got Milliken!" another guard hollered; his voice tinged with panic.

"Got him and going to kill him... unless you bring me John Marston! Right now. You got one minute. I'm counting! One! Two! Three!" Arthur's fingers curled in sequence; each number pronounced with calculated force. "Uh, Milliken is it? Will you count for me? I got talking to do."

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. From one or four, sir?" Milliken replied, the quiver in his voice revealing the grave predicament.

"Oh, very funny... no, we must be at eleven by now," Arthur snickered, Nerissa joined in, her laughter a respite from the tension.

"Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen," Milliken counted, his voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Now, hurry up or this poor fool's gonna get his brains shot out... and over what? For nothing. M-Milliken... don't stop counting, I can't hear you," Arthur retorted with a hint of sarcasm, his gaze locked onto the guards.

"Hurry up and bring that asshole out here, you bastards! Come on…" Milliken implored, his voice strained with urgency.

"They're bringing out John," Nerissa reported, her fingers tensing on the trigger, ready to unleash bullets if the situation took a violent turn.

"Hello, you three," John's voice cut through the tension, a touch of laughter evident in his words. Sadie worked quickly, her shotgun blast freeing John from the ankle shackles that bound him.

"Now, no funny business… or Mr. Milliken here will stop crying once and for all," Arthur warned, his boot sending Milliken sprawling before the four outlaws found refuge behind a makeshift barricade of crates, just in time to shield themselves from the inevitable storm of bullets.

The chaos unfolded, a symphony of gunfire, chaos, and determination. The quartet of escapees, John, Sadie, Arthur, and Nerissa were like a force of nature, each contributing to the chaotic orchestra in their own unique way.

“John, take my pistol! Let’s clear these then make a run for it! Cover us! John, let’s move!” Sadie's voice cut through the pandemonium, her eyes blazing with determination, as she tossed her gun to John and dashed back into the field.

The prison guards were relentless, shouting, "They're escaping over the bridge! Get after them!" As they bore down upon the desperate fugitives, the very shadows of death seemed to envelop them.

“We can’t keep this up, let’s move!” Arthur's voice, laced with urgency, was a rallying cry to keep them pressing forward.

“More behind us, find some cover!” Nerissa's words were laced with grit and determination as she continued to mow down any guards who dared to pursue them. Their escape was a chaotic ballet of life and death, every step fraught with danger.

“Let’s get to the boat, come on!” Arthur yelled as he pushed the vessel into the water, the creaking wood and churning waves the only sounds in the sudden lull of the battle.

“You always seem to need rescuing, Marston,” Arthur quipped as he pushed, while John, visibly worn, finally caught his breath.

"Nice to see you, Arthur," John replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion and gratitude. His eyes were filled with questions, and the scar on Nerissa's face was an enigma he couldn't ignore.

“Ah, there's some fellers coming here… don't look too friendly, we best get out of here," Nerissa observed, ever watchful, as danger was never far behind.

"Come on, boys, let's move. I'll row… you two shoot," Sadie declared, pointing to Arthur and Nerissa, who promptly took their positions.

“Seriously?” Arthur questioned, and Nerissa couldn't help but snicker at the playful banter.

“Let me, you… You’re a better shot,” Sadie admitted, acknowledging their expertise.

“Right, fine. You just relax and enjoy yourself, John. Leave the real work for them who can still handle it,” Arthur remarked, and the duo continued to lay down suppressing fire as Sadie rowed the boat back to the mainland, to the same pier from which their daring rescue began.

Once they reached the safety of the mainland, Arthur helped John onto Sadie's horse, and the four fugitives set off at a brisk pace.

“We should get out of here quickly before the law gets wind of this,” Nerissa suggested, her voice hinting at the urgency of the situation.

“So what the hell happened in Saint Denis? Is Abigail alright?” John inquired, seeking answers and worried about his family.

“She’s fine, Jack is too. She managed to escape when they got Hosea,” Sadie informed him, her eyes darting to Nerissa for a moment.

“Hosea. That still don’t seem real, somehow. All them years, Arthur… he was like… like family,” John mused, the loss of their dear friend weighing heavily on him.

“Yeah… we lost young Lenny too,” Arthur said with a heavy heart, the weight of their losses almost unbearable.

“No… what a goddamn mess. And did we… what about…the-the money?” John's curiosity was unabated.

“Lost somewhere at the bottom of the ocean,” Nerissa replied, her eyes filled with the recollection of their "adventures" in Guarma.

“What? How the hell did that happen?” John asked, his surprise evident.

“We hid on a boat; it was our only way out of there. The boat went down in a storm, and… we ended up stranded on an island somewhere near Cuba,” Arthur recounted, the memory of their misadventures still vivid.

“Cuba? Wait, you’re gonna have to tell me all this again, and what happened to your face,” John said, his gaze now fixed on the scar that marked Nerissa's face.

“It’s a long story, but… things ain’t been good, John,” Nerissa confessed, the gravity of their predicament hanging over her.

“We’re holed up now in the mountains to the north… near Roanoke Ridge in some caves there. The Pinkertons caught up with us again, and we had to move,” Arthur added, the reality of their situation sinking in.

“Yeah, seems Molly ratted us out, the bitch, so she’s dead too,” Sadie interjected, this revelation being news to both Nerissa and John.

“Jesus, maybe you should have just left me to hang,” John said, guilt and regret tinging his voice.

“And… I should warn you… Dutch didn’t want us breaking you out. Said it wasn’t the right time, so… it might not be the hero’s welcome you’re imagining,” Arthur reminded him, the cloud of uncertainty looming over their reunion.

“So much for no man left behind. I can’t stop thinking about this… in the bank… when they grabbed me, he saw it… The felt almost like he had a… a moment to do something and didn’t,” John admitted, the doubt creeping into his perception of their leader.

“Dutch ain’t himself right now… or… maybe he just ain’t who we thought he was,” Nerissa replied, her words carrying the weight of her own disillusionment.

“Guess we don’t need to worry about who’s his favourite no more…” John chuckled, a sombre humour in his words as they continued their journey through the forest, their destination the camp in Beaver Hollow.

Abigail's voice pierced the air, her emotions barely contained as she ran towards them. She extended her hand to John, helping him down from Sadie's horse with a profound mixture of relief, joy, and gratitude. It was a long-awaited moment that had finally arrived, and the weight of it tugged at Abigail's heartstrings.

"You brought him back to me," Abigail spoke, her voice quivering with the raw intensity of the moment.

"We told you we would," Nerissa responded with a warm, comforting smile as she dismounted from Noir. The bond between these women had grown stronger through shared trials and tribulations, and the triumphant return of John was a testament to their unyielding determination.

Yet, their jubilation was short-lived as an irate Dutch approached, his anger palpable in every tense muscle and harsh word.

"John! What are you doing here?" Dutch barked; his words punctuated by a venomous undercurrent of frustration.

"It's good to see you too, partner," John retorted, not allowing Dutch's hostile reception to diminish his own elation.

"I meant I hadn't sent for you yet," Dutch hissed through clenched teeth, unable to conceal his anger.

Nerissa, the embodiment of unwavering determination, interjected firmly, "I went." Her declaration bore the weight of her conviction.

But before Dutch could further berate the situation, Arthur stepped in, his voice steady and decisive, "Yeah, I know what you said. I felt different."

Dutch's frustration lingered, yet he relented with a begrudging "Is that so?" as the situation took an unexpected turn.

"Yes," Arthur affirmed tersely, his patience worn thin, and he walked away, heading with Nerissa towards their tent. They sought solace and respite from the growing tempest of emotions.

Dutch, however, remained outside, his rage echoing in the air as he lamented, "And when springing John brings the law down on all of us... what then, Arthur?"

Arthur, not in the mood for further discourse, offered a simple retort, "Well, I guess we'll have another fight on our hands." His voice brimmed with the weariness of someone who had faced countless battles.

But Dutch's anger could not be quelled so easily, and he raged, "Loyalty, Arthur, it ain't... I had A GODDAMN PLAN! John... you are my brother... you are my son... I was coming for you..."

John's voice, now tinged with frustration, reverberated through the camp as he retorted, "They were talking of hanging me, Dutch."

Dutch's heated response came quickly, "They were talking... they were talking. And now they may come and hang us all." He stormed away, his emotions in tumultuous disarray, leaving Arthur and Nerissa to sit within their tent, silent witnesses to the storm that had erupted within the camp.

As the hours passed, they took solace in each other's presence, resting and reflecting upon the tumultuous events of the past few days. It was a rare moment of respite, a brief interlude in the turbulent symphony of their lives.

Abigail's voice broke the silence, gratitude and vulnerability lacing her words, "Thank you. Thank you so much." She stood at the entrance of their tent, her eyes reflecting the tumultuous emotions that had swept through the camp.

"We ain't done yet, Abigail. Dutch seems..." Nerissa began, searching for the right words.

"To have lost his mind? I know," Abigail finished Nerissa's thought, a shared understanding coursing between them.

"Just be careful," Arthur cautioned, his concern palpable.

Abigail's reply was filled with quiet strength, "I don't have to be careful. I... I have you as a friend." With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Arthur and Nerissa to contemplate their next moves. As the sun dipped below the western horizon, bathing the camp in a warm, golden glow, Arthur and Nerissa found themselves ensconced within the confines of their modest tent. The dim light filtered through the canvas, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mirror the complex dance of emotions playing out in their lives.

In this hushed sanctuary, the camp, once a vibrant hub, now resembled a shadow of its former self. Laughter had been replaced with whispers, and the shared joy of the gang had given way to an atmosphere of uncertainty and foreboding.

Abigail's tearful gratitude still hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the high stakes they faced. Their triumphant rescue of John had been overshadowed by Dutch's brooding anger, a tempest that showed no signs of abating. The sense of loyalty that had once bound them together was now fraying at the edges, like a well-worn map exposed to the relentless elements of nature.

In the stillness of the tent, Arthur and Nerissa contemplated their next moves. The camp's simmering tensions, like smouldering embers beneath a calm surface, left them with a sense of unease. The path ahead remained uncertain, akin to the labyrinthine trails that meandered through the unforgiving wilderness that had become their life.

With every twist and turn in their journey, they navigated treacherous terrain both within and outside themselves. The rugged landscapes of the American frontier mirrored the ruggedness of their hearts, tested by the fires of adversity. They clung to the flickering hope that, despite the trials and tribulations, they could forge a future together in this unforgiving world.

Chapter Text

The events of yesterday's daring rescue and the relentless fight still cast their haunting shadow across Nerissa's thoughts. It seemed as if time itself were galloping forward, one mission blurring into the next, with respite but a distant mirage.

As dawn painted the horizon with golden hues through the many trees, Arthur had already left to ride into Annesburg to meet with Dutch and Micah. Nerissa's heart yearned for his safety; a silent prayer whispered to the vast expanse of the western sky. Recollections of John's words haunted her, resonating with an eerie truth that refused to be ignored. But what could Hosea have done amidst the tempest of chaos? Dutch’s sanity eroding like a cliff battered by relentless waves. The descent into madness had been gradual, almost imperceptible. It reminded Nerissa of the men in her homeland, where power and madness were in equal measure.

Nerissa couldn't escape the overwhelming sense of fear that had begun to loom over her like the gathering storm of clouds. However, she was determined not to let this fear consume her. Finding refuge within the shelter of her and Arthur's tent, she decided to write a heartfelt letter, aimed at bridging the chasm of time and distance that separated her from her father.

Dear father,

Since I last saw you, much has happened. We moved from the house to Lakay and a squatter crossed my path, his violent intrusion resulting in a permanent scar upon my face. But to my relief, Arthur still gazes at me with the same adoration as before, if not more.

Of course, you know of his proposal, a question that left me with but one answer – an obvious 'yes.' Our love started when we were young and though we lost our way our hearts still found a way to beat in unison again

Yet, the camp has changed. Dutch has become a shadow of his former self. His ear, once listen to our counsel, now bends toward the insidious opinion of Micah, a man with motives darker than the devil's soul. The conflict is palpable, and my concerns grow like stormy clouds.

Yesterday we broke John out from Sisika penitentiary. Unsurprisingly, Dutch voiced his objections, he did not want us to break him out of jail. Dutch’s madness has reached a level that I fear even you could not save. It is becoming increasingly evident that I, Arthur, and the Marstons may need to seek our own path to salvation.

In the envelope, you will find a check amounting to $5000. It is crucial that you travel to Blackwater, to pay off Arthur's and the Marstons bounty with the sheriff. Once he is free from the law and Dutch we will be free and come home to you.

With love ,

Nessie"

Nerissa carefully folded the letter and the check, sliding them into an envelope that she stowed away in her saddlebag. Her moments of reflection were abruptly broken by the arrival of Sadie.

"You holdin' up alright?" Sadie asked, her fingers running over the sleek black coat of Noir.

Nerissa met Sadie's inquisitive gaze, a hint of weariness shadowing her features. "As well as one can be, I suppose."

Sadie's concern remained unrelenting. "You're sure about that, Nerissa?"

Nerissa's shoulders lifted in a noncommittal shrug, an air of resignation surrounding her. "I fear, even Hosea's wisdom couldn't pull us from this pit now."

Sadie leaned closer, her request carrying a weight only those who've suffered could fathom. "I've a favour to ask, Nerissa."

A faint smile played upon Nerissa's lips. "You need but ask, Sadie."

"I need someone to ride with me," Sadie declared, her gaze unwavering.

Nerissa's curiosity piqued. "For what adventure?"

"Finish off them O’Driscolls. I hear the last of ‘em is holed up at Hanging Dog Ranch," Sadie announced, her tone resolute.

Nerissa hesitated; her resolve having ebbed away with time. "Sadie, my thirst for vengeance has long dried up. Colm, the man who hurt my family, he's long gone, and I have no care left for revenge."

Sadie's eyes flashed with the fiery determination that had carried her through hell and back. "I was a married woman. You know what they did to me… and to my husband. Look, you're the only damn soul in this group I trust. I’ve gotta do this”

Nerissa acknowledged the fire burning within Sadie, her voice softened by empathy. "Alright, Sadie. I'll do it for you. But I need somethin' in return."

A puzzled expression flickered across Sadie's face. "What's that?"

"When the time comes, you promise me you'll make sure Abigail and Jack get out of this mess," Nerissa entreated, her concern etched deeply into her eyes.

Sadie comprehended the gravity of Nerissa's request. "You mean get 'em out of here? To him?"

Nerissa nodded, her resolve unyielding. "We're just ghosts, Sadie, driftin' through this damned world. But Abigail and Jack, they deserve a chance to live."

Sadie's agreement was firm. "You have my word, Nerissa. They'll make it."

A bond sealed in the vast wilderness, they rode together, their destination clear. As they galloped through the sprawling forest, Sadie could only imagine the name that lingered unspoken between them, a testament to the secrets and shadows that bound their world. "We'll make a stop at the post office near Strawberry, Nerissa. You can send that letter."

Their journey had stretched on for days, a relentless traverse through the unforgiving wilds. Each day, the sun cast its fiery judgment upon them, only to be replaced by the cool embrace of night as they pressed onward, resolute in their mission.

Nerissa's voice pierced the weary silence as they prepared to dismantle their temporary haven. "You see anything down there?"

Sadie's gaze remained locked on her quarry. "Yeah, I think there’s a bunch of them down there and mostly drunk. But one of them, he’s a fat feller with a beard. Him, he’s mine. It’s a big ranch that’s run down, lots of folk there, but spread pretty thin. I’ll set it off and then we’ll take it from there"

Nerissa, her eyes narrowing in anticipation, sought clarity. "Take it from there? Okay. So… no real plan, then?"

A confident grin crossed Sadie's face. "I got a plan, alright. Just follow my lead."

Nerissa couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Sadie's unorthodox tactics. "No plan, but trustin' you, Sadie?"

Sadie's laughter punctuated the air, her fiery spirit unyielding. "I've got a plan, alright. Now, come on."

The two women navigated through the overgrown grass, their steps like whispers against the sprawling canvas of the ranch. Sadie's fiery intent ignited the assault as she lobbed a Molotov cocktail with precision. The ensuing chaos played to their advantage as they advanced, bullets flying in a deadly ballet.

"Sadie!" Nerissa yelled as they moved closer to the barn, their coordinated attack taking shape.

"You take the barn; I’ll take the farm house. And remember… if he’s fat, and he’s got a beard, he’s mine!" Sadie yelled, determination evident in her stride.

Nerissa made her way to the barn, her trusted Repeater poised like an extension of her arm, and meticulously scoured the first floor for any adversaries.

"Barn's clear!" she called out.

"Alright, going for the farmhouse!" Sadie's voice echoed, signaling the unfolding chaos of their audacious attack. Nerissa quickly followed Sadie into the farmhouse and, upon ascending to the second floor of the farm house, she bore witness to a sight both shocking and furious. Sadie, towering over a fat man with a bristling beard, plunged a knife into his chest. A tempest of emotions swirled in Sadie's eyes, a storm of rage and retribution, eerily reminiscent of the fire Nerissa had seen within herself when Micah dared to lay a hand on her.

"You bastard piece of shit! I told you you’d see me again!" Sadie's voice rang with raw vengeance.

Nerissa, unfazed, questioned Sadie with an arched eyebrow. "You good?"

Sadie, still atop the lifeless man, displayed a mix of emotions, her voice cracking as she spoke. "Yeah. He was a good man, my Jakey. We was always sweet on one another, like you and Arthur”

Nerissa extended her hand, offering a comforting touch to Sadie's shoulder. "I'm sure you was."

Tears welled in Sadie's eyes, the trauma and tragedy of her past ever-present. "I miss him every day, every moment. They turned me into a monster, Nessie. But my memories of him, they remain pure."

"Aside from Jake, you're one of the best people I've known," Sadie said with tears in her eyes, her voice heavy with emotion.

"We should leave this place," Nerissa suggested, helping Sadie to her feet.

Sadie hesitated; her heart heavy. "I think I need to be alone for a bit."

Nerissa understood and nodded in agreement. "I get that, Sadie. You might wanna freshen up."

Sadie expressed her gratitude with a heartfelt embrace. "Thank you, Nerissa."

Nerissa's response was simple yet heartfelt. "Don't mention it."

She then whistled for Noir, and departed, leaving Sadie to her solitude. The trail ahead was fraught with challenges, but the bonds of camaraderie, forged in the crucible of their shared trials, would persist.

Chapter Text

Hello my darlings

firstly hello, its been a long time <3. truthfully I just lost all motivations to write this story, and I became interested in other fandoms. NOW I CANNOT LEAVE A FIC JUST LIKE THAT AND I WONT! HOWEVER wtf is even this tory MY GOD it sucks. like no im sorry it's so fkn boring and truly sucks, my main character is a joke, im sorry but no. I love writing strong female characters and sadly nerissa is a pick me bitch I cannot🤚🏽 so what now you ask? well I plan on re doing the ENTIRE story, same character but new. I plan on a new backstory, and just making it all better, it's too structured and I dont like it. so over the course of the summer holidays I will redo the entire story. I will try to keep most things but a lot is going to change. also this story doesnt match my current writing style, there isn't enough focus on the romance and lets be honest, a love with Arthur Morgan is dirty and sweaty and filled with lust. MAN IS A BEAST okay. so yea, I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions and if u disagree do let me know and yea I hope u are still with me <333

MUCH LOVE DUSHIE <3