Arthur's brow furrowed as he listened from the shadows, a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the chill of the night air. He shifted slightly against the tree trunk, his back pressing into the rough bark, trying to stay unnoticed as the conversation continued by the firelight.
"A working girl?!" Bessie's voice, filled with shock, cut through the night. "Susan, the girl is only fourteen!"
Arthur's ears rang with her words, his mind briefly spinning. Fourteen. Haluna was only fourteen. He had known she was younger than she seemed, but hearing it put into words felt like a slap to the face. She was four years his junior.
"Please, I've known younger girls, turning favours on street corners," Susan scoffed, her voice low and matter-of-fact. "She's already proved she is useful with her hands—who knows what other kind of money she'd be able to make if she used them in another way…"
Arthur felt a flare of heat rise to his cheeks, a knot of anger curling in his gut. He knew Susan wasn't wrong—he had seen girls like that before, forced into things they shouldn't even know about. And it was always men like him who profited off of it. The words stung more than they should have, mostly because he knew exactly what kind of life those girls were leading.
But Haluna wasn't just a girl. She was sharp. Clever. And if anyone could carve a place for herself in this world without losing her dignity, it was her.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Bessie's voice was quieter now, more concerned. "She's not like those others. She might be wild, but I don't think that's something she'd go for. She's… she's different."
Arthur clenched his fists against the tree trunk, barely listening now. He didn't want to hear any more. The idea of them talking about Haluna like that, speculating about her future as if she were some object to be used, turned his stomach.
The silence that followed hung heavy, the only sound the crackling of the campfire and the occasional low murmur from the others nearby.
Then Susan spoke again, her tone much softer. "Maybe she's different, but this world doesn't care, Bessie. We don't have the luxury of being naive. If she doesn't learn how to survive out here, someone's going to make her."
Arthur pushed himself to his feet, the movement so sudden it sent a small cascade of pebbles skittering away from him. His boots crunched against the earth as he stepped out of the darkness and into the firelight. Both women fell silent, their gazes snapping to him in startled surprise.
He gave them both a hard look, his jaw set, voice thick with barely contained frustration. "What you're talkin' about ain't gonna happen," Arthur said, his words calm but firm. "Not on my watch." He glanced briefly at Bessie, then turned his gaze to Susan. "You think she's just gonna end up like one of those girls. Don't bet on it."
He stepped toward the fire, the warmth of the flames pulling him closer. He didn't look at them now, his eyes fixed on the flames, his thoughts far from the words exchanged just moments before.
He turned to leave, his boots making their way back toward the edge of the camp, away from the flickering light of the fire and the conversation he wanted to avoid. The words about Haluna haunted him, lingering in the air long after he'd walked away. Was he just fooling himself into thinking she could outrun this life, or would the world swallow her whole like it did to so many others?
Dutch's presence beside him felt like it had appeared out of nowhere, as if the shadows had simply swallowed him whole and spat him out next to Arthur. The older man chuckled softly, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something more deliberate in his gaze, as if he were trying to measure how close Arthur was to snapping.
"Miss Grimshaw only has the interest of the camp at heart, Arthur." Dutch's voice was light, casual, but there was a tension in his words that made Arthur's stomach churn. He could tell Dutch was testing him, searching for signs of frustration or anger. "We each need to contribute to the cause, and Miss Grimshaw sees there is additional profit to be had from the girl."
Arthur froze, his shoulders stiffening at Dutch's words. It was the same approach that Dutch had used with countless others in the gang—seeing value in everything, even if it meant exploiting those who were new or vulnerable. The cold, calculating way Dutch had phrased it made Arthur's stomach turn.
"She's not some painted lady." Arthur snapped, his voice low but sharp, the words coming out of him like a growl. His fists clenched at his sides, teeth grinding together as he fought to keep his anger in check. "She's still a little girl; we should be protecting her from that kind of life!"
Dutch raised an eyebrow, his chuckle fading into a knowing, almost amused smile. "I think you're forgetting something, Arthur," Dutch said, his voice taking on a more serious tone now, though it still carried a smooth edge. "The world we live in doesn't offer protection to those who don't know how to take care of themselves. Miss Grimshaw might be blunt, but she's right about one thing—everyone needs to contribute. No one gets a free ride. Especially not someone like her."
Arthur's heart beat faster, his body tensing at the implication. He had spent the last few weeks watching Haluna, seeing the way she adapted, her sharpness and cleverness— but also the way she clung to that fierce independence of hers, unwilling to lean on anyone for help.
"I'm not saying she's a saint," Dutch continued, his tone almost coaxing, trying to bring Arthur to his side. "But if she wants to survive here, she'll have to play the game. And the sooner she learns that, the better."
Arthur's chest tightened. The idea that Dutch could dismiss Haluna so easily, as if she were just another player in their schemes, made his blood boil. Haluna was more than that—she had her own fire, her own fight, and he wasn't about to let anyone strip that away from her.
He shook his head, taking a step back, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Dutch. "I don't care what you say, Dutch. She's different. And I'll be damned if I let anyone turn her into one of those….those…"
Dutch's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it, only a sharp, calculating glint. "I'm not saying you have to like it, Arthur. But the world we're in doesn't give us the luxury of playing nice all the time." His eyes softened, just slightly, a knowing look settling into his gaze. "You protect what's yours, and you let the rest fend for themselves. It's that simple."
Arthur's jaw tightened, the weight of Dutch's words sinking in. But still, there was a piece of him that wouldn't let go of the idea that Haluna didn't have to become what the world wanted her to be. Not on his watch.
With a sharp exhale, Arthur turned away, his boots crunching against the earth as he moved toward the tent on the outer edge of the camp, trying to push the anger down, to shove the uncertainty aside. But Dutch's words echoed in his mind, and he couldn't shake the feeling that things were changing in ways he wasn't prepared for.
Haluna's eyes flickered up from her book, the soft glow of the lantern casting a warm halo around her face. For a moment, Arthur noticed the sharpness in her gaze, always calculating, always observant. She wasn't like the other women in the camp, who tended to avoid his gaze or look down when they sensed trouble. She held his stare, as if she was always waiting for something. Her eyes shifted quickly, searching him, reading the tension in his expression.
"What's got your pantaloons all twisted?" Her voice was laced with a familiar sharpness, defensive as she rose to her feet, her stance always a little too ready for a fight.
Arthur bit back a sigh, feeling the weight of the day pressing on his shoulders. He hadn't meant to snap, but the frustration from the conversation earlier still hung in his chest like a stubborn bruise.
"C'mon," he said, his voice rougher than he had intended. "I think it's time you learn how to shoot."
For a moment, Haluna just stood there, her posture a mix of confusion and wariness. She stared at him as if waiting for a punchline, then raised an eyebrow. "Shoot?" she repeated slowly, as if the word itself didn't quite make sense coming from him.
"Yeah," Arthur grunted, crossing his arms. He couldn't help the flicker of annoyance that rippled through him. "I'm not gonna be around to protect you every time things go sideways, you know? And you sure as hell aren't gonna survive out here if you can't defend yourself."
She tilted her head, a little smile pulling at the corners of her lips, but it wasn't one of amusement. It was something deeper. "I can defend myself just fine, Arthur," she replied, her voice quiet, but with an edge that made it clear she wasn't about to be underestimated. "I don't need anyone to teach me how to hold a weapon."
Arthur's gaze hardened, but he could see she was testing him—pushing him to see how far he'd go. He'd seen that look in too many faces before, the one where pride outweighed sense.
"You'll need more than a sharp tongue and quick hands out here." His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something else in his voice, something raw and insistent. He could see the stubbornness in her eyes—he could practically feel the walls going up between them. "Look, I'm not saying you can't handle yourself. But the reality is, you can't do this alone. No one can."
She opened her mouth to retort, but then hesitated, her expression flickering. For the briefest moment, Arthur saw something other than defiance in her eyes—an uncertainty, maybe even a little bit of fear. But it was gone so quickly, he almost thought he imagined it.
"Alright, fine," she said finally, her voice tight but giving nothing away. "But if I'm going to shoot, I want a real gun. None of your fancy little pistols. Something I can actually use."
Arthur couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips. "You got it," he said, already turning to make his way toward the gunrack nearby. "You'll learn fast enough, or I'll be the one sorry I tried to teach you."
Haluna followed him, the hard, confident edge in her step showing she wasn't backing down—no matter how many times Arthur tried to shove her into a mold she didn't want to fit.
As they reached the weapons rack, he grabbed one of the rifles, handing it over with a grunt. "If you're going to do this, you better damn well be ready to put in the work. No shortcuts."
Her fingers brushed the barrel, examining the weight, the craftsmanship. "I'm not afraid of hard work, Morgan. Just don't expect me to follow anyone's rules but my own."
Arthur gave her a side glance, his expression unreadable. "Just make sure you don't break anything while you're at it."
She flashed him a quick smile—more of a smirk, really—before she gripped the rifle and slung it over her shoulder, like she had already claimed it as her own.
Arthur watched her for a second, his eyes narrowing slightly. She wasn't like anyone he'd ever met before. No matter how much he tried to keep her at arm's length, Haluna was like a storm he couldn't predict, and he wasn't sure if he should be worried or impressed by that.
"You got a lot to learn, girl," he muttered under his breath, turning toward the open clearing where they'd start her training.
Haluna's laugh followed him, sharp and defiant as always. "I'm a fast learner, Morgan. Just wait."
And for the first time, Arthur wasn't so sure whether that was a good thing or a dangerous one.
Haluna swatted Bessie's hands away as the older woman fussed over her, plucking bits of debris from her hair.
"Dammit, woman, can I eat my breakfast in peace?" she huffed, though a grin tugged at her lips.
Arthur snorted, trying and failing to stifle his laughter, nearly choking on his food. Haluna shot him a pointed look before turning back to Bessie. "Why don't you go preen Arthur instead? Look at his filthy getup!"
Arthur raised a hand to his chest, feigning a wounded expression. "Now, Mrs. Matthews, I wouldn't dare steal your attention away from your precious daughter here!"
Haluna rolled her eyes and launched her spoon at him. Arthur ducked with a laugh, leaving Bessie shaking her head at the pair of them.
"How's the target practice coming along?" Hosea's voice cut through the quiet as he appeared beside them, his sharp gaze flicking between Arthur and Haluna.
Haluna stared down at her boots, her irritation barely concealed.
Arthur, however, couldn't resist. "Well, if missing every target was the aim, then she's absolutely thriving!" he quipped, a broad grin spreading across his face.
Haluna shot him a glare that could've felled a grizzly, but Arthur just chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. Hosea smirked, folding his arms as he watched the exchange. "Sounds like you're in fine form then, Haluna," he said dryly, earning a groan from her and another laugh from Arthur.
"I'm better with knives anyway," Haluna muttered, her voice low and defensive, eyes fixed stubbornly on the ground.
Arthur's teasing grin faltered for a moment as a flicker of guilt nudged at him. Beneath her grumbling and sharp retorts, he knew there was more to it. Haluna was a perfectionist, through and through. No matter how much she pretended not to care, Arthur could see it—she wanted their approval, craved it even, though she'd rather chew glass than admit it.
Hosea gave a knowing hum, his expression softening slightly. "Well then," he said with a touch of warmth, "perhaps we'll arrange a little knife-throwing session next. Something tells me you'd give Arthur a run for his money."
Arthur smirked. "Oh, now that I'd like to see."
Without warning, a knife buried itself in the ground at Arthur's feet, the blade sticking with a satisfying thud.
Arthur jumped back, eyes wide in disbelief as he stared at Haluna, who was casually wiping her hands on her pants, as if nothing had happened. Where she'd pulled the knife from, he couldn't even begin to guess.
Hosea and Bessie both burst into laughter, their loud chuckles ringing in the air.
Arthur blinked, still processing the speed of it. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, his voice tinged with both awe and a hint of fear.
Haluna shot him a sly grin. "Told you. I'm better with knives."
"And yet you STILL missed!" Arthur grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. Haluna just shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips, her eyes gleaming with quiet defiance.
Things were going well for the gang. The usual cons and schemes were in motion, and the locals nearby were proving to be a reliable source of income. But what really made their operation thrive was Haluna. She'd proven herself invaluable, her quick hands and silent footwork turning her into a ghost among the crowd.
She had an uncanny talent for finding a coinpurse. No matter how bustling the crowd, Haluna could pinpoint the fattest purses from a mile away, sliding through the throngs like a shadow, lifting coins without a soul ever being the wiser. It was almost as if she had a sixth sense for wealth.
"Seems like everyone's having far too much fun," Dutch's voice cut through the laughter, his dark eyes glinting with a familiar calculating gleam. He stood a few paces away, his posture straight and his gaze sweeping over the group like a hawk sizing up its prey.
"If the girl would truly like to prove herself," he continued, his tone colder now, more businesslike, "Hosea, I believe today is the day we make a hit on that stagecoach."
A hush fell over the group. Arthur exchanged a glance with Haluna, who had stopped smirking, her attention now fully on Dutch. Her earlier playful mood vanished as the weight of the moment settled in. This was no small job.
Dutch's eyes lingered on her, the silent challenge clear. Would she rise to the occasion?
"We can even make a competition of it," Dutch added, his smile a sharp curve of mischief. His eyes flicked from Haluna to Arthur, then back to Hosea with a calculating gleam. "Young blood versus old."
He gestured between Haluna and Arthur, then to himself and Hosea. "Let's see who can bring in the most money by the end of the day."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Haluna's gaze flicked to him, her eyes narrowing slightly. The challenge was clear, and neither of them would back down.
Hosea chuckled, the hint of a grin playing on his weathered face. "Now this should be interesting."
Dutch's challenge was more than just a test of skill—it was a game, one where pride would be on the line.
"You and Arthur hit the stagecoach Hosea and I have already set up," Dutch continued, his voice dripping with confidence, "and us men will take a stroll through town to see what we can turn over with these silver tongues of ours." His lips curled into a sly grin, challenging the younger duo.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, feeling the tension of the competition building. But Haluna wasn't about to let him have the last word.
"So long as you two don't drown in your tears when Arthur and I beat you!" she shot back, her smirk widening, her bright eyes twinkling with playful defiance. She was taking the bait, and Dutch knew it.
Hosea chuckled, shaking his head. "You two might just surprise us yet," he said, eyes glinting with a challenge of his own.
Hours later, Arthur found himself crouched low in the bushes, Haluna beside him. Her usual playful energy had vanished, replaced by a focused intensity that was rare to see. She was all business now, her gaze sharp and unwavering as she scanned the road for the stagecoach, which was due to pass any moment. If there was one thing Arthur knew about Haluna, it was that any opportunity to earn Dutch or Hosea's approval turned her into a different person—an eager, driven version of herself.
"What's the plan?" she asked, her voice low, eyes flicking back to him, still searching for the stagecoach.
Arthur grinned, leaning back slightly. "You mean you don't even have a plan?"
Haluna's fist landed lightly on his shoulder, a playful punch, though there was little amusement in her eyes. "I have MANY plans," she retorted, "but seeing as you have the guns..."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You'd be more of a danger to us with guns," he teased. "Not exactly a fan of wearing one of your bullets in my ass."
Haluna rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the faint smile tugging at her lips. "Keep that up, and I might just prove you right."
Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully, the barrel of his gun resting lightly against his skin. "Suppose you'd hate to play the damsel...?"
Haluna's eyes flicked to him, a smirk forming on her lips before she quickly shot back, "Naturally." She paused for a beat, then added with a shrug, "Besides, one look at my colored ass and they'd know something's up."
Arthur snorted, unable to hold back a laugh. "Guess you've got a point there," he said, shaking his head. "You stand out more than you'd like to admit."
Haluna's smile widened, but her eyes remained sharp, her focus still fixed on the road. "Good thing, too. Keeps 'em guessing."
"Well, most folk don't see Indians or Orientals often," Arthur added with a shrug, glancing at her with a mix of curiosity and understanding. "Let alone someone who's mixed, and has such striking eyes."
Haluna's gaze flicked to him for a moment, her expression unreadable. She didn't flinch at the comment, but there was a brief flicker of something in her eyes—maybe amusement, maybe irritation. It was hard to tell.
"Guess I'm hard to miss," she said coolly, her voice steady. "But that's not always a bad thing."
Arthur nodded, respecting the way she carried herself. "No, it ain't," he agreed, the tension between them easing for a moment before they both turned their attention back to the road. The stagecoach could be any minute now.
"My father hated your people," Arthur added after a long moment of silence, his voice suddenly heavy with something unspoken. "Well... anyone who was different, really." He frowned, his mind drifting back to the old man's bitter views, his hatred that had shaped so much of Arthur's own world growing up.
Haluna's gaze softened as she studied his expression, her tone quieter, more delicate than before. "You've never really talked about... your life before," she murmured, her eyes gentle, like she could see the weight of those years in his furrowed brow.
Arthur's jaw tightened as he met her gaze. "I can say the same to you," he shot back, his tone a little sharper than he meant.
Haluna's eyes flicked back to the road, the discomfort clear in the way her shoulders tensed. For a moment, the air between them felt thick, loaded with things left unsaid. "I suppose you're right," she replied, her voice almost a whisper, before she returned her focus for the approaching stagecoach.
Haluna's eyes suddenly darted to the treetops above them, her expression shifting as if a new idea sparked in her mind. "I have a plan..." she whispered, her smirk returning as she began to climb up the nearby trunk with surprising agility.
Arthur followed her gaze, quickly piecing together her intentions. His eyes landed on a limb that stretched out over the road, just above the path the stagecoach would take. She was going to drop down on the wagon—take them by surprise.
Haluna was nimble, quick, and quiet enough to pull it off. Arthur's mind raced as he calculated the timing, knowing he'd need to play his part in drawing attention away from her, keeping the ambush clean and unexpected.
"Always thinking," Arthur muttered under his breath, admiring her boldness.
"I'm guessing you want the 'little lost boy' routine?" Arthur called up to her, watching as she perched herself high in the tree, her silhouette barely visible against the branches. The sound of thundering hooves grew louder in the distance—the stagecoach was nearly there.
"Lost imbecile, more like!" Haluna shot back with a sharp laugh, her voice light and teasing. "I think your days of playing a lost child are beyond you now, Morgan... especially with that beard coming in!" She snorted, clearly enjoying herself.
Arthur chuckled, holstering his gun as he shook his head. "You may be right about that." His fingers brushed the scruff of his chin, more amused than offended. "Guess I'll have to leave the lost boy act to you, then."
Haluna gave him a mock salute before turning her attention back to the road, her body tensing as she prepared for the strike. The stagecoach was in sight.
Arthur waited, poised and tense, watching as the stagecoach grew nearer and nearer. His heart raced, but he focused on his role—his timing had to be spot on. As the wagon approached, he began to stumble out of the treeline, purposefully swaying like a drunkard who had lost his way, making sure the coach could see him.
He exaggerated his movements, nearly tripping over his feet, slurring as he fell into the middle of the road. A drunken fool, lost in the wilderness.
To his relief, the driver spotted him, slowing down just enough to inspect the "stray." Arthur let out a dramatic grunt, feigning a drunken pass-out, collapsing into the dust.
That was all the opening Haluna needed.
With perfect precision, Haluna dropped from the tree, landing silently but firmly on the ground. Before the driver had a chance to react, she delivered a swift, brutal kick to his temple, sending him sprawling out of his seat and crashing to the ground.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He was on his feet in a flash, rushing over as Haluna yanked the reins and brought the horses to a sudden halt. He reached the driver's side just as Haluna steadied the wagon, pulling her gun to guard the coach.
Arthur knocked the driver out cold with the butt of his revolver, ensuring the man wouldn't wake up anytime soon. No need for things to get messier than they already were.
Haluna, quick as ever, had already thrown open the doors of the stagecoach, ready to take whatever was inside. But before they could celebrate their smooth execution, a sudden boom of a revolver echoed through the air, the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.
Arthur's chest seized, panic surging in his veins as his gaze shot toward the source of the shot.
Haluna cursed loudly, her voice sharp with anger and urgency as she leapt inside the carriage. The sounds of a violent struggle filled the air, followed by the unmistakable crack of another gunshot. The shot rang out of the side of the wooden carriage, narrowly missing Arthur as he rushed toward the scene, heart pounding.
The carriage rocked and thumped violently, the struggle still unfolding inside. Then—sudden silence. A tense stillness hung in the air.
Arthur's stomach dropped as he approached the open doors, dread coiling in his chest. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he wasn't prepared for what he found.
Haluna was standing inside, covered in blood. Her face, her hands, everything was stained with dark crimson, the stark contrast to her prior neat, defiant demeanour. She was trembling slightly, her hands shaking as she held the knife—gripped tightly, perhaps too tightly—over the lifeless body of the guard.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the reality of what had just happened settling over them like a cold wave.
Arthur's voice was low, careful. "Haluna…"
She didn't look up, her focus fixed on the body in front of her. Her breath was shallow, almost ragged.
Haluna ignored Arthur, her focus laser-sharp as she shoved the dead guard aside, clearing the way to the chest he'd been blocking. With quick, practiced hands, she fumbled with the lock for a moment, muttering in frustration before she reached into the guard's pocket and retrieved the key.
With a satisfying click, the lid swung open, and Haluna let out a long, appreciative whistle. "I don't know if they were as guarded as they should've been for this."
Arthur climbed into the wagon, his eyes scanning the chest over her shoulder.
What lay inside was nothing short of extraordinary. Gold. Bars of it. At least six, shimmering in the dim light of the carriage. And beneath them, a stack of deeds, thick and official-looking. The haul was bigger than anything Arthur had seen in a long time.
His breath caught, and for a brief moment, all the tension from the past minutes seemed to melt away. This was a score.
"Looks like we hit the jackpot," Arthur said, his voice low, almost reverent as he stared at the gold.
Arthur busied himself with stashing the gold in his satchel, the heavy weight of the bars pulling his shoulder down uncomfortably. As he adjusted the bag, he glanced over at Haluna, who was about to reach for the deeds.
"I'd better..." he started, then paused, noticing the blood still coating her hands.
Haluna frowned but nodded, understanding immediately. She jumped out of the coach, glancing at her stained hands and making a small gesture as if acknowledging she might soil anything she touched.
"You're right," she murmured, her voice steady but edged with urgency. "We'd better get a move on. No doubt someone's bound to have heard those gunshots."
Arthur finished stuffing the spoils into his bag, the weight of the gold almost more of a burden than a prize, then climbed out of the carriage. He turned to find Haluna already composed, her usual fierceness back in place. There was no visible sign of the turmoil she must've been feeling after the kill.
As he looked at her, the weight of the moment settled on him. She wasn't fazed by this. This was clearly not the first time she had killed someone. A part of him wanted to ask her about it—about her past—but the words stuck in his throat. Now was not the time.
Instead, he simply nodded and adjusted his gun, ready to move.
They started making their way back to camp, carefully avoiding the main road to stay off any potential pursuit. The journey was quiet, but the tension of the heist still lingered between them.
Arthur stopped by the riverbank, letting Haluna take a moment to freshen up. She had tried to wipe some of the blood from her face and hands, but the stains on her clothes were hard to ignore. Still, she looked a little more presentable after splashing herself with the cold river water, though it couldn't wash away the reality of what had happened.
Arthur perched on a nearby rock, his legs dangling as he rifled through the stack of papers. He glanced at the fine print, his eyes narrowing as he read through the wording.
"These are mining deeds..." He muttered to himself, his voice low as he turned the papers over in his hands. "Wonder if they're worth much..."
Haluna, now in her undergarments, splashed herself with the cold water again, trying to wash away the lingering feeling of the kill. She didn't look up at him, but her focus seemed to sharpen.
"Could be worth a lot," she said softly, the edge of her voice betraying the calm façade she was trying to maintain. "Depends on where they're from."
Arthur raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You know something about mining deeds?"
Haluna glanced back over her shoulder at him, her eyes flickering. "More than you think." The quiet confidence in her tone was unmistakable, but her gaze quickly shifted back to the water, as though lost in thought.
"Ain't you full of surprises?" Arthur couldn't hold back his frustration, his voice sharper than he intended. He shoved the deed back inside his satchel, the weight of it suddenly feeling heavier. "Also not the first man you've killed, is it?"
Haluna didn't flinch, didn't even turn to face him. Her gaze remained fixed on the river, as if the water held all the answers.
"It's the third," she said, her tone chillingly flat and remorseless. The words seemed to hang in the air, unnervingly calm, as if she were recounting something as mundane as the weather.
Arthur's stomach twisted at the ease in her voice. He watched her back, his own breath catching in his throat. There was something about her that was unsettling—her detachment, the way she had embraced the violence so seamlessly.
"Third, huh?" he muttered under his breath. The thought of it weighed on him, but he didn't push her for more. Whatever demons she was carrying, he knew better than to pry too deeply.
Instead, he glanced at her, trying to read her in the silence.
"The men who burned my home, killed and tortured my people," Haluna murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking it aloud might make it too real. After a long pause, she continued, her eyes distant, lost in something darker. "They were the bad kind of men—savage in nature. Taking advantage of the girls and women while their families were shot and burned alive in front of them."
Arthur's stomach twisted, a pang of guilt laced with a helpless rage. He could see the pain in her eyes now, a sharp, jagged edge to her calm exterior. The weight of those memories was suffocating, even in the stillness of the riverbank.
Haluna paused, and for a moment, everything was silent. Arthur stood frozen, not sure if he should speak or just let her have the space. Then she turned quickly, her eyes meeting his with a fierceness that caught him off guard.
"So yes," she said, her voice steady but raw, "I have killed before. Always in self-defense."
Arthur didn't know how to respond. The words were heavy, and the reality of her past, the violence she had endured, sank in. It was a side of Haluna he hadn't been prepared to face—one that made everything feel even more complicated.
Haluna's icy eyes burned with a fire that unsettled Arthur to his very core. Rage, pain, and a haunting darkness swirled in her gaze, a depth of suffering that left him feeling small and unprepared. There was a rawness in her stare, something primal, as though she had seen and lived through horrors that no one should ever have to endure. Arthur had always known her background was troubled, that there were things she kept hidden beneath the surface. But never in his wildest imaginings had he expected the extent of it—the violence, the cruelty, the unrelenting torment she must've faced.
Her voice broke the silence, quieter now, tinged with a weary acceptance. "I never wanted to talk about my past, Arthur..." She paused, her jaw tightening as if the words themselves were a burden. Then, with a small, forced laugh, she added, "But unlucky for you, I consider you a friend. I guess I get to trauma-dump on you."
The words were meant to lighten the weight in the air, but Arthur saw right through it. He could tell by the tiredness in her eyes that she hadn't truly wanted to reveal so much. It was as though she had fought for so long to bury it all, to keep it locked away where no one could see. Yet here she was, opening up in a way that both surprised and terrified him.
Arthur wasn't sure what to say, how to comfort her. He had never been good at the delicate art of offering solace. Instead, he simply stood there, feeling the gravity of her words settle between them, knowing that the walls between them had just been torn down, and they were standing face-to-face with the ghosts of her past.
A sudden rustling in the brush behind Arthur snapped him into alertness. His hand instinctively reached for his pistol, the familiar weight of it grounding him. He turned, eyes scanning the treeline, only to meet the dark, unwavering gaze of an Indian boy. Around his age, but with weathered features that suggested a life lived hard. The boy's eyes flicked between Arthur and Haluna, reading them both with a quiet, purposeful intensity, as if memorizing every detail. Then, without a word, he slipped back into the shadows, vanishing like a ghost.
Arthur's heart pounded as he leapt to his feet, the air suddenly thick with tension. His eyes shot to Haluna, who looked like she had seen a ghost herself. Her face was pale, her expression stricken with a fear that was almost tangible, the kind of fear that went deeper than just surprise.
"Get your things," Arthur murmured, his voice low but urgent. He kept his gaze fixed on the treeline, the unsettling feeling of being watched crawling up his spine. "We'll head back to camp."
He didn't wait for a response, his instincts urging him to keep moving. The boy had let himself be seen on purpose. That much was clear. And that thought alone sent a shiver down Arthur's back. But what unsettled him more was the way Haluna had reacted, her fear radiating from her like a silent alarm. She recognized the boy.
Arthur's mind raced. Who was he? Why was he watching them? And why had Haluna reacted so strongly? He didn't press her for answers—not yet—but every second that ticked by felt like a threat looming over them both.
As Arthur and Haluna rode back into camp, the familiar sight of the gang bustling around their makeshift campfires greeted them. Cheers and hollers erupted from the group, their voices full of excitement and relief. The mood was lifted by the return of the duo, especially after what had happened earlier in the day. The gang had been anxiously awaiting news of their success, eager to hear about the haul.
However, it didn't take long for Arthur to realize that Hosea and Dutch had done little beyond visiting a saloon or two. Their day of "work" seemed to consist of little more than sipping whiskey and exchanging a few charming words. It was clear the conmen had once again outwitted the youngsters, sending them on a risky mission while they enjoyed the comforts of the town.
Arthur exchanged a look with Haluna, both of them silently acknowledging the familiar sting of being outplayed. But it was hard to hold any real resentment when the wealth they had brought back was laid out before them. The gang's reaction spoke volumes—praise flowed freely, and both Haluna and Arthur were showered with admiration for their haul. The sight of gold bars and deeds, the fruits of their labor, made even the seasoned criminals stop in their tracks, eyes wide with disbelief.
Even Dutch, always the calculating leader, was impressed, his grin wide as he clapped Arthur on the back, "Well done, both of you. This will make a fine addition to our efforts."
Hosea, not one to miss a chance for praise, chuckled and slapped Haluna's shoulder. "I'm surprised you two didn't come back with the entire stagecoach."
Despite the sting of being played, Arthur couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. For once, they had outdone the older generation—and that was worth something, even if it was just a fleeting victory in a game of manipulation and chance. Haluna, standing beside him, seemed to take it in stride, her icy eyes flickering with a mix of satisfaction and wariness.
For now, they were the heroes of the day, and it was hard to deny the thrill that came with that moment.