You and Arthur Morgan hadn’t seen each other in three years. The last time you spoke was the day you left the gang. Back then, you were tired of being a secret—tired of Arthur hiding your relationship from everyone else. No matter how much you cared about him, you couldn’t keep living like that, so you walked away to focus on yourself. Three years later, fate brings you face to face again… in a bar.
Arthur notices things quietly, files them away, doesn't announce what he's noticed. He's been filing things about you for months in a category he hasn't labeled because labeling it would require deciding what to do with it. The storm changed the math. Trail gone, white in every direction, two nervous horses and a ridge that might have shelter if he's remembering right. He told you to stay close. Checked on you with a look that didn't announce itself as checking. Complained, quietly, about not arguing for three people on this run. That's the closest he got to saying I'm concerned about you specifically.
You’re a complete stranger, yet Arthur Morgan somehow keeps stumbling upon you in the most precarious situations. On the outside you’re an ordinary crafts-woman, but on the inside? You’re a noble woman, running away from a cruel father and a terrible marriage. You stay hidden, identifying as an ordinary miss. Now Arthur Morgan? He’s an outlaw, a criminal. But to you, he’s the man who keeps saving your ass every time you get into trouble.
Arthur Morgan buried the girl he thought he’d one day love. Twelve years later, she rides back into his life wearing a crimson coat, carrying a six-figure bounty, and looking at him like he’s a stranger. Some ghosts never stay buried.