For what felt like the hundredth time that night, Jack woke up in a cold sweat. It had been a few days since he had read about the discovery of Ross's disappearance, and he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep since. He had been having endless nightmares every night, all illustrating in disturbing detail how he would be caught and punished for his crime. He watched himself being hanged, then being shot up like his father was, then rotting alone in a dirty prison cell. He couldn't decide which of the three was worst.

Each time, he'd wake up with a sore throat and his heart pounding out of his chest. And each time, he'd calm himself and return to sleep, naively thinking that maybe the nightmares wouldn't resume that time. But they always did. He prayed that they wouldn't stick around for long; sleep was one of the only solaces he had— the only way he could totally escape his thoughts. Now even that was being taken from him.

Jack sat up in bed and looked around the room, which was now dimly illuminated by the golden light of dawn peeking through the curtains. Luckily, he hadn't woken up with a hangover, as he had made a great effort to cut back a bit on drinking over the last few days. He feared that if he continued his budding habit of drowning his thoughts in obscene amounts of alcohol, he would inevitably end up doing or saying something that would get him into serious trouble. And that was the last thing he needed.

He was still terribly exhausted, but the thought of shoving himself back into another nightmare kept him from lying back down. He decided that, instead of sleeping, he would get out of town for a while, as he had begun to feel a bit stir-crazy. He hoped the fresh air of the country surrounding Blackwater could do him some good.

Sighing, he tossed his thin blanket off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood and stretched his stiff limbs before making quick work of getting dressed and vacating the room.

As he descended the stairs, he yawned and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wipe away his tiredness. He expected the place to be deserted at such an early hour, but as he reached the bottom of the steps, the smell of coffee and food filled his nose. When he heard Mrs. Howard's cheerful voice, he looked over to the bar to find her serving herself a plate of breakfast.

In front of her stood Lilly, who was holding a cup of coffee in both of her hands and taking small sips as the older woman spoke to her. He furrowed his eyebrows, surprised to see the young woman there. She had been in the bar since before he woke up the day prior and was still awake when he turned in late last night, yet it didn't appear that she ever left. Jack swore the girl must never sleep.

He had tried talking to her a few times over the past couple of days, but their conversations never lasted long nor went anywhere. She was always friendly but still seemed to be somewhat wary of him since the night he had unfairly snapped at her. Of course, he couldn't blame her, but it was frustrating nonetheless; he wished he could undo it.

Mid-sip of coffee, Lilly glanced over at him, and he quickly took his eyes off of her, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

Mrs. Howard then looked at him as well and raised her eyebrows. "Well, you're up early," she greeted him, a gentle smile spreading across her face. She pointed at the plate of food on the bar in front of her and asked him, "You want some breakfast?"

He shook his head and replied, "Maybe later," as he started to make his way towards the bar's exit.

She called after him, "The food ain't gonna be warm for much longer. You really oughta—"

With his back turned to her, he gave her a dismissive wave and said, "I'm busy." Though that was sort of a lie. He had no real plans for the day, beyond just riding around aimlessly; he would have had plenty of time to eat if he wanted to. But after the night he'd had, the last thing he wanted to do was stand around making small talk with anyone.

He heard the woman sigh and say in a hushed, exasperated voice, "That boy's gonna starve to death, I swear."

He rolled his eyes at the woman's fussing as he exited the building and stepped into the crisp morning air. Wasting no time, he began the short walk to the town's stables, where his horse had been housed for the past weeks, likely enjoying her vacation from his antics.

When he quickly reached the building, Jack grabbed the door handle and pulled, only to find that it was still locked. Furrowing his eyebrows, he checked his pocket watch; the place was supposed to have opened ten minutes ago. He sighed and looked around for any sign of the stable's owner, but he was nowhere to be found.

Resolving that he'd have to wait, he sat down on the curb by the entrance and slouched. He took in the sights of the city, noting how different its atmosphere was at that early hour. The sun was still low in the sky, bathing everything in golden light. The usually bustling streets were empty, bar a few shopkeepers setting up for the day and a group of four suited men gathered at the train station.

The latter gripped his attention, and he slowly sat up straighter, squinting through the blinding sunlight to stare intently at them. As he studied them, he could just make out the glint of the tiny silver badges adorning their coats and their trademark bowler hats. His face contorted in disdain, and anxiety began to tug at his chest. Why were the stupid bureau agents already out tramping around so early?

A cluster of clouds passed in front of the rising sun, dimming its light enough for Jack to get a better look at the men. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat when he recognized a couple of them. The tallest of the four was Archer Fordham: a man who he'd never met but had heard about plenty of times during his stay in town. He had become the bureau's new shining star, receiving endless praise and promotions until he eventually secured his position as director not long after Edgar Ross retired. And according to that newspaper article that had been tormenting him for days, he was currently in charge of investigating Ross's disappearance.

Yet somehow more alarming was the man with glasses standing in front of Fordham: the agent that Jack had approached weeks earlier and questioned about Ross's whereabouts.

The familiar man was speaking animatedly to Fordham, who wore an unmistakable look of dissatisfaction that deepened with every statement that left his mouth. Putting a hand up to silence him, Fordham snapped, "I'm not interested in the excuses, Sawicki. All I want to hear about is who you talked to and what you told him."

The spectacled agent, who Jack now knew to be named Sawicki, cowered a bit and hesitantly continued talking. Jack felt his heart quicken; he wished he could hear what the man was saying. He didn't want to believe that they were talking about him— about how he'd approached Sawicki in search of Ross— but he was almost certain that they were. It was too much of a coincidence.

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself before he could start panicking. He was fine. If they were having that conversation, they obviously hadn't figured out who he was yet, and that fact brought him a sliver of comfort. He had begun to think that it was only a matter of days before they busted down his door to arrest him; he'd never been happier to be proven wrong.

"Hey there."

Jack nearly jumped out of his skin when a calm voice greeted him from behind. He opened his eyes and whipped around to find the stable owner smiling down at him. Eyes wide, he stammered a hello in response.

"Sorry I'm a lil' late," the man said as he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket to begin fumbling with the lock on the stable door.

"That's alright," Jack muttered, standing up and brushing off his pants.

As the stableman worked on unlocking the door, Jack looked back to the group of agents to catch the tail end of their interaction. Fordham was now standing inches away from Sawicki, talking to him through gritted teeth while the two unfamiliar agents beside him silently watched. When he finished speaking, he took a step back and scowled at the man for a brief moment before turning to leave, motioning for the other two to follow behind him.

Sawicki stared after them as they rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Then he plopped down onto a bench and buried his head in his hands.

"You coming in?"

He brought his gaze back to the stable owner, who was staring at him with a raised eyebrow as he leaned against the now-open door to keep it from swinging shut.

Muttering an apology, Jack brushed past him to enter the building. It was still dark inside, and the corner of his lip twitched up slightly when the familiar pungent odor of a barn filled his nose. He wasn't as desensitized to the smell as he had been growing up.

The stableman followed him inside, allowing the heavy door to slam shut behind him, and opened a few windows to let the sunlight in. He then returned to Jack and clapped his hands together. "Okay, what d'you need, Marston?"

"Just pickin' up my horse."

"Sure. She's the Paint over there, right?" the stable owner asked, pointing towards one of the stable stalls.

Jack followed the man's finger and nodded in confirmation when his eyes landed on his horse. The owner started towards the stall to retrieve her for him, but as Jack continued to look at her, he felt a sinking in his chest. She was the same horse he had taken out to track down Edgar Ross. If that agent sitting outside happened to see her and recognize her…. He cut the thought off before it could spiral out of control.

Perhaps he was just being paranoid— there were plenty of similar-looking horses out there— but he didn't want to take that chance.

"Uh, actually," Jack blurted out, stopping the stableman in his tracks. "The other one."

The man's brows drew together as he turned back around to face him. "What other one?"

Jack scanned the stalls in search of the other horse and felt a stirring in his chest when he quickly laid eyes on him standing in the back corner of the building. It was his father's old mount: a brawny stallion with a dark, glistening coat and striking white mane. It had been a while since he had last seen the horse. He had brought him there a few months ago when he and his mother started running out of money. They could hardly afford food, much less the doctor's visits and medicines that his mother needed to have any chance at overcoming her sickness. Desperate, she had tearfully told him to go and sell the prized stallion.

But Jack, being Jack, refused to do as she asked. His father had loved that horse; there was no way in hell he was going to just get rid of it. So instead, he obtained the money they needed in other ways— ways his mother certainly wouldn't have approved of— and left the horse there at the stables so she wouldn't find out.

Jack swallowed and pushed the memory away. "The dark one in the back," he told the stable owner and pointed out the horse. "His name's Ace." He smiled a little at the name his father had given the horse, inspired by his love of poker.

The man looked to where Jack was pointing and pursed his lips when his eyes landed on the horse. "Oh, right. Him." He sighed and muttered to himself, "God help me."

Jack furrowed his eyebrows at him and asked, "What?"

The owner wiped the frown from his face, shook his head, and said, "Nothing. You can have a seat if you want." He pointed at a small stool in the corner of the barn. "I'll go ahead and get him tacked up for you."

Jack thanked him but opted to stand and lean against the wall rather than sit down. As the man got the horse ready for him, he mindlessly dug at the dirt floor with the toe of his boot and looked silently out the window at the rolling plains in the distance. He couldn't wait to get out of the city for a while; it was getting old fast.

When the stable owner suddenly cried out, he snapped his head back to him to see him drop the bridle he had been trying to put on the stallion and clutch his hand.

"What happened?" he asked, pushing himself off the wall to stand up straight.

"Bastard bit me," the man grumbled, shaking out the hand that Jack presumed had been nipped.

Jack frowned in confusion; he didn't remember the horse ever biting anyone when he was living at the ranch. "Why?" he asked. "What'd you do?"

"Didn't do nothing. He's just a damn demon." The man bent down to pick the bridle up from the dirt floor and sighed as his anger towards the stallion was quickly diffused. He apologized for his outburst and explained, "I think he just ain't much of one for the stable life. He's had an attitude since you left him here."

Thinking it over a little more, Jack supposed that made sense. The horse always had a lot of energy and had gotten used to being taken out on adventures nearly every day before he was brought there. He had seen too much excitement in his life to be satisfied with the boring routine of the stables. Jack felt a bit guilty for leaving the horse there for so long, but it wasn't like he had much choice.

"Let me do it then," he said, making his way to the back of the building to join them.

The stableman shrugged and stepped back from the horse, extending the bridle out for Jack to take. "Just know I ain't liable if you lose a finger," he joked.

Jack scoffed at his warning as he snatched the leather bridle from his hands and approached his horse. The stallion seemed to recognize him immediately and let out a light whinny as if to greet him. He gently patted the horse, who leaned into the touch, and ran his fingers along the familiar network of scars along his neck. He had asked his father about those scars on a few occasions, wanting to know where they came from, but he was always given a vague answer or told not to worry about it.

Jack made quick work of getting the bridle onto the horse, receiving none of the attitude that the stableman had warned him about. "Some demon," he mumbled with a sarcastic glance back at the man, who chuckled in response.

After ensuring that the stallion was ready to go, Jack thanked the stableman for his time and led the horse out of the stall and outside, where he quickly mounted up. He looked back at the train station to see if that bureau agent was still sitting outside, and sure enough, he was. Not wanting to risk being seen by the man, he immediately pulled the reins and began riding out of town in the opposite direction.

—

Jack rode around the plains surrounding Blackwater for a few hours, careful to avoid the areas around his family's deserted ranch. He spent much of the time watching and admiring the various animals that inhabited the area. He was especially enamored with the bison that dotted the landscape, shaking the earth as they stomped around. There weren't nearly as many in the area as there had been when he had first moved to West Elizabeth; they had become such a rare sight as the city grew. So many things were changing fast, and he suspected that it was only a matter of time before the area became completely unrecognizable.

Whether he'd be around to witness those changes, he didn't know. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to.

When he eventually grew bored of the endless expanse of grass, he made his way up to Tall Trees for a change of scenery. There he followed the winding, shaded paths until Ace started to protest and make his fatigue known.

Jack decided to stop at Aurora Basin so they both could rest. He led Ace to the water and hopped off, praising him for his good work throughout the day.

As the horse lowered his head to drink from the lake, Jack sat down next to him in the sparse grass that grew along its bank, stretching one of his legs out and bending the other to rest his arm on his knee. Staring out at the rippling blue waves, he breathed in the crisp lake breeze and basked in the sunlight that hit his cheek and the peace the atmosphere brought him. In the distance, he could see a herd of elk wading through the water to cross to the other side. Over the years of living in West Elizabeth, he had slowly grown to love the lake and the woods surrounding it.

It was hard to believe that, at one point, he hated venturing far from the ranch. His father had taken him fishing at that lake once before when he was about thirteen, and he had made such a big stink about going. He had wanted to stay in his bedroom and read whatever book he had been engrossed in at the time, but his mother ended up guilting him into going. She said that his father was making an effort, so he ought to at least try and do the same.

When they arrived and started fishing, it became clear that the fish in that lake were too big and too strong for Jack to have even a chance of catching them. He kept snapping his line until he gave up and threw his rod onto the ground in a fit of frustration at his incompetence. He then sat off to the side and moped as his father continued fishing. When he excitedly showed off a big bass he had caught, Jack just bitterly said that he wanted to go home, effectively souring his father's good mood. So they packed up and rode back to the ranch in silence, and his father didn't ask to spend time with him again for a while.

Jack sighed and bowed his head. That stupid kid didn't know how good he had it…. His mother had always told him that he would one day regret not cherishing the time he had with them; he wished he would have listened. As much as he still hated fishing, he would give anything in the world now to go fishing with his father again. He wished he could go back in time, grab his younger self by the ear, drag him back to that lake, and make him fish with his father all day.

He looked somberly back at the lake, finding that the scene had lost its appeal as it was poisoned by his memories. He noticed that his horse was no longer standing beside him, and after looking around, he spotted him rooting around in some blackberry bushes by the road.

Jack stood up and called for him, but the horse ignored him and continued to munch on the berries. He sighed and looked up to the sky. Based on the sun's position, he deduced that it must have been a little past noon.

Figuring that it was about time for him to head back to town, he approached Ace and grabbed his reins to pull him out of the bushes and back onto the path. He hopped on the horse and began the trek back to Blackwater.

—

After dropping Ace back off at the stables, Jack entered the bar and headed straight for the staircase leading to his room, giving Mr. Weaver and Mrs. Howard a simple wave when they welcomed him back. His lack of sleep the previous night had rapidly caught up to him during the ride back, and each step felt like a chore for his wearied body as he slowly ascended the stairs. He had done far too much that day on far too little sleep, and he couldn't wait to flop over onto his bed. He hoped the nightmares would take pity on him and leave him alone this time so he could finally get the rest he had been deprived of for days.

He froze at the top of the steps when he saw Lilly sitting on a little sofa beside the door leading into his room. She was reading and tapping her foot to some imaginary beat, seemingly too engrossed in her book to notice his arrival. Taking one of her hands off the book, she reached up to cover her mouth as she yawned. Seeing her slumped posture and the exhaustion clear on her face, he assumed that she still hadn't left the bar.

"Hello," she said, briefly peeking over the top of her book. Apparently, she had noticed him.

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and greeted her back, "Miss Adams."

A slight frown flashed across her features, and she dropped the book a little. "It's just Lilly," she corrected him. "Or Lillian if you'd prefer."

"Oh… I'm sorry," Jack mumbled, glancing at the floor, then cleared his throat. "Uh, whatcha readin'?" he asked and motioned to the thick, hardcover book she held in her hands.

"Just a book," she said with a shrug and a diffident smile.

Jack suppressed a sigh. He would say the same thing whenever his parents had asked him what he was reading; he never realized just how aggravating the response was… "Well, what book?" he asked, biting back his annoyance. "I like books."

She lowered the book a little, looked him up and down, and snorted. "Really? You don't look like the type. You seem more like a… cowboy than a bookworm."

Her statement prompted him to look down and examine his clothing, which was covered in a layer of dirt from his time spent outside. He supposed she had a point. Returning his gaze to her, he responded, "Well, looks can be deceivin'."

"I suppose they can."

"Guess you're sorta right, though," he conceded as he plopped down onto the sofa beside her with a sigh. "Ain't really done a lot of readin' lately."

"Why?" Lilly asked. "Can't find the time in your busy schedule of drinkin' and yellin' at people?"

Jack frowned and bowed his head at the reminder of his outbursts. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I know. I was just teasin'," she said, her tone softening. "Haven't actually seen you do that in a few days."

He shrugged and let out a humorless chuckle. "Well, I don't want Weaver puttin' me in time out again."

She laughed then looked back at the book in her hands. Folding the corner of the page she was on, she closed it, now giving her full attention to the conversation. "What kind of books did you used to read then?" she asked, changing the subject.

He froze for a second, feeling a strong urge to give a generic, nonanswer as he usually did when asked about anything he enjoyed. He didn't like to put his passions on display for possible ridicule; it was easier to keep them to himself. When she leaned in, expecting an answer, he told her with a half-hearted laugh, "Just… y'know… stupid westerns and stuff."

Her face fell slightly, and she drew back, pulling her book closer to her chest. "Why do you think they're stupid?" she asked. "I always sorta liked them..."

"W-Well I…" Jack sighed, looked away from her, and reached up to rub the back of his neck. "I don't," he admitted. "Just… was always told they are," he mumbled.

"Ohh." She looked down and nodded in apparent understanding before setting her book down on a small side table beside the sofa. "My mother always said they were stupid too." She snorted and shook her head. "But every time she said it, my father would go into the city and buy me another one, just to spite her." When Jack raised his eyebrows at the statement, she added, "Um, they didn't like each other very much."

Jack just stared at her with furrowed brows and widened eyes, unsure of how he was supposed to respond to that. He didn't want to upset her— not when it seemed she was finally willing to speak to him for more than just a few minutes.

Her eyes widened when she looked at his face, and her cheeks flushed. "I'm sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to overshare."

"N-No, that's okay," he said, putting his palms up. "That's… real nice of him."

"It was," she replied with a nod and a sad smile. "There was this one he bought me that I always loved— wish I still had it." Her shoulders slumped. "Was about a girl from New York who runs away to the west to start a new life."

"Think I might know the one you're talkin' about," Jack said, perking up a bit. "She joins a group of outlaws in California? Named her horse somethin' dumb…." He reached up and stroked his chin as he racked his brain for the name and snapped when it finally came to him. "Goat."

Lilly straightened up and giggled. "That's the one. It's such a great story." She shook her head, staring off into space for a moment until her smile wavered. "Well, except for when—"

"Jesse dies," Jack finished the sentence in unison with her. He remembered that scene in the book— and how angry it made him— all too well. The character had practically carried the entire story yet was killed within a paragraph and hardly ever mentioned again. Part of him wanted to tear out the offending page and pretend it never happened.

Lilly stared at him with her eyebrows raised and a hint of a grin on her face. She looked down at her lap and replied with a chuckle, "Yeah."

Jack sat back on the sofa, smiling gently to himself, as the conversation fell into a lull. He was surprised. He had never met anyone who shared his love of those kinds of books— though he admittedly never got out much growing up. He had always pessimistically assumed he was alone in his interests because, from his perspective, he had been.

Encouraged by her responsiveness thus far, he broke the silence by softly saying, "I used to wanna be a writer— write books like that about the old west."

She smiled at him and said, "Really?" Then her eyebrows drew together. "Why used to?"

Jack frowned at the floor. He had abandoned all of his old ambitions because he was too busy obsessing over avenging his father; he ceased to care about anything else. Of course, he couldn't tell her that, so he just shook his head and responded, "It's a long story."

"Well, maybe you should write about it."

"I don't know about that," he replied with a weak laugh. "Don't think I'd be much good at it at this point." It had been so long since he had read anything and even longer since he had tried writing anything. It had been a long time since he'd done much of anything, really….

"You don't have to be good at it to do it," Lilly said. "Just fake it well enough, and no one'll know the difference. That's what I do."

"You write?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "I just mean I do that in general. With everything." The gentle smile on her face faltered, and she briefly broke eye contact with him.

"Like what?"

She looked up in thought, a subtle frown tugging at the corner of her lips, before shrugging and replying, "Well, playin' the piano for one."

Jack's eyebrows furrowed. As far as he could tell, she wasn't any different in skill than any other saloon pianist he had heard. "That's different," he told her. "You are good at that."

"Good enough to get by, I guess." She breathed out a laugh. "But not quite as good as Lauterback. And definitely not even half as good as my father was."

"Well, he must've been Mozart or somethin' then."

She laughed and rolled her eyes. "Maybe it was a bad example," she said. "But the point still stands."

"If you say so," he said, still unconvinced.

"Miss Lilly?"

The pair looked to the staircase to see Mrs. Howard making her way up. When she reached the top of the stairs, she paused and looked curiously between the pair.

"Yes?" Lilly prompted.

"Mr. Weaver wanted me to ask you to come down to play whenever you're ready."

"Okay, thank you," she replied. "I'll come right down."

Mrs. Howard nodded and smiled at her and then at Jack before turning around to head back down to the bar.

Lilly looked back at Jack and smirked. "Speak of the devil…" she mumbled as she stood up. "It was nice talkin' to you." She gave him a little wave, which he returned, before starting towards the stairs.

Jack mindlessly glanced to the side as she left and noticed that she had left her book behind. "Hold on, you forgot somethin'," he called after her and leaned over to grab the book off of the side table.

Lilly turned around, eyebrows raising, as Jack held the book out to her. She took it, giving him a thankful smile, and tucked it under her arm. She began to leave again but hesitated and looked back at him. "Um, I'm almost finished with it, and it's pretty good," she said, nodding towards the book. "If you'd like, I could lend it to you when I'm done. Give you somethin' to do."

He immediately shook his head and replied, "You don't have to do that."

"No, but…" Her voice softened, and a hopeful gleam appeared in her eyes. "It'd be nice to have someone to talk about it with."

He certainly understood the feeling; perhaps she had been as alone in her passion for reading as he had. And he did miss the days when he could lose himself in books for hours at a time. It had always been such a blissful escape— one he needed now more than ever. He wasn't sure if he would be able to focus on a book anymore, but he supposed he could give it a try. He sighed and relented, "Sure. What's it about?"

"It's just another stupid western," she joked. "I don't wanna give anything away. I'll let you know when I've finished."

He laughed a little and said, "Alright."

She smiled and gave him a nod goodbye before heading downstairs.