The frost of morning clung to the grass as I cinched my saddle. The cold bit through my coat, but the weight I carried wasn't from the weather.
Arthur rode up beside me, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed at the sight of Strauss waiting with his ledger.
"I hate this," Arthur muttered.
"Then why do we keep doing it?" I asked, my fingers brushing against the coin in my pocket. It hummed, not loud—just present, like a whisper I couldn't quite catch.
"'Cause it's what needs doin'," he said without conviction, then added, "You don't gotta come with me if you don't want to."
I nodded. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone."
Thomas Downes
Strauss sent Arthur after a man named Thomas Downes, said he'd been late too long. We found him on his worn-down farm, dirt-streaked face and a cough that rattled his lungs like chains being shaken.
"You here to beat money outta me?" Downes wheezed, already leaning against the fence post for support.
"Just pay what you owe," Arthur said, already tense. "It don't gotta get ugly."
"I don't have it…"
Arthur stepped forward. Downes tried to pull away. I stood back, uncomfortable—this man couldn't defend himself if he tried.
"Arthur—" I started, but Arthur was already grabbing him by the collar, pushing him back.
Downes coughed violently. Blood hit Arthur's cheek.
He stepped away then, flinching—not from fear, but something deeper. He wiped the blood off absently, disturbed.
Downes slumped to the ground, coughing again. "I've got… nothing… just my family… please…"
Arthur stared down at him, fists still clenched. Then he turned and walked off without another word.
We left in silence, the only sound the wind moving through the bare trees and that awful cough echoing behind us.
Back on the trail, I glanced sideways.
"You alright?"
Arthur grunted. "Yeah. Just a scratch." He rubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Guy's probably got something nasty, though."
The coin pulsed again, and I frowned. Not at it—at the sick feeling twisting in my gut. Something had just shifted.
Later That Night
Back at camp, Strauss sat with his smug little book and that ratlike smile. Arthur dropped Downes's meager belongings at his feet without a word and walked off.
I sat beside the fire, watching Arthur in the distance as he scrubbed his hands like he could wash something off that wouldn't leave.
Charles sat across from me, sharpening an arrow. "He'll carry that for a while," he said.
I didn't respond. I already knew.
The coin in my pocket had quieted—but I felt a weight building in the air, like pressure before a storm.
And somewhere deep down, I think Arthur knew too.
The nights got colder after the Downes job.
Arthur hadn't said much since. He'd gone quieter than usual—not his normal gruff silence, but something heavy, like he was carrying a body across his shoulders and didn't want anyone to see it.
The others didn't notice. They joked, drank, played cards.
I watched him from across the fire that night. He was hunched over his journal, staring down at the page like it owed him answers.
I sat beside him. He didn't look up.
"You ever write down the things you don't want to forget?" I asked.
"No," Arthur said. "I write the things I can't seem to forget no matter how hard I try."
We sat in silence. The flames popped and cracked. The others laughed on the other side of camp.
"You alright?" I finally asked.
Arthur blinked like he'd forgotten I was there. He nodded once, then hesitated.
"No."
The Days After
He didn't get out of bed the next day until the sun was halfway up. When he finally did, he walked past the others and sat down beside me like it was the most natural thing.
"We hurt a good man," he said.
I didn't reply right away. I didn't have to.
He went on. "That man… Thomas Downes… I think I might be sick. I can feel it—my chest ain't right. I know it sounds crazy, but… somethin' ain't sittin' right."
"Then let's not make it worse."
Arthur looked at me. "What do you mean?"
"I mean let's stop collecting from him."
Arthur leaned back. "Strauss won't like that."
"Then let's deal with Strauss," I said, and I wasn't smiling. "You don't need this on your soul, Arthur. Not again."
Arthur looked down at his hands. Calloused, bruised, stained. Then he nodded, once, sharp. "Alright."
That Night
We stood outside Strauss's wagon. The old man poked his head out, ledger in hand.
Arthur stepped forward first. "Thomas Downes is off your list."
Strauss blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said he's done. No more visits. No more collections. He's dying, for God's sake."
"I don't think you understand how this operation works—"
Arthur grabbed the ledger and tossed it into the mud. "I understand fine."
"You'll regret this, Arthur," Strauss hissed.
Arthur looked over his shoulder at me. "Maybe. But not today."
Plot Shift
That night, as I sat by the fire, the coin in my pocket grew warm, almost hot. I pulled it out and held it in my palm.
The coin hummed softly and glowed for just a moment — a soft golden pulse, like a heartbeat. I could feel something flood into it.
Energy. A surge.
Because we changed something. A small act in a brutal world — but it meant something. Maybe it always had to.
I clenched the coin tight and whispered, "I get it."
The Third Night
Arthur passed me a flask as we sat watching the stars.
"You ever think about leaving?" he asked.
"Sometimes," I said. "But I think I already did. Whatever I was before… this is who I am now."
Arthur smirked. "You're weird as hell, you know that?"
"Yeah," I chuckled. "You too."
He looked at me then. Not like an outlaw or a soldier. Just… a man. Tired. Scarred. Human.
"I ain't ever had a real brother," he said quietly. "But if I did…"
"You do," I cut him off.
Arthur smiled, and it was the first real one I'd seen in a while.
"Guess that makes us a pair of fools."
"Guess so."
We leaned back and listened to the wind run through the trees. No words needed.
From that moment on, I wasn't just some outsider who'd stumbled into their camp.
I was his brother.