The storm had passed, but its shadow lingered.
They left the mountain early, packs light, spirits even lighter. Wyatt rode in silence halfway back in the column, that red glow still faint behind his scarf. Most of the gang still didn't know what to make of him — especially the new ones. To them, he wasn't the ghost of a boy presumed dead. He was just… strange.
Dutch led from the front, coat flapping in the wind, Hosea right beside him. Wyatt noticed how their movements matched like old gears still turning, slow but dependable.
The rest followed behind, horses tired, hooves crunching over thawing snow.
Arthur broke the silence.
"I broke the goddamn wheel " he groaned, dismounting and eyeing the wagon with the sort of weary frustration only a man like Arthur Morgan could radiate.
"Why does this not surprise me?" Javier muttered.
"You wanna fix it then?" Arthur shot back.
"I'm good."
Dutch walked over, hands on his hips. "We're not far from the valley. Everyone off — we'll get it sorted."
Wyatt helped unload the wagon without a word. He and Charles lifted the crate of supplies while Uncle complained about his back and Sean mocked from behind.
"You always this quiet?" Charles asked.
Wyatt glanced at him. "Only when people talk too much."
Charles raised an eyebrow and gave a small grin. "You might actually fit in."
By dusk, they reached the cliff overlooking the valley below. Dutch pulled up and gestured out across the view.
"Look at this, boys and girls. That's what I call civilization."
The wind blew tall grass in waves, the town in the distance barely visible. The warmth in Dutch's voice felt genuine — like hope finally cracked through the frost.
Hosea chuckled. "I see a saloon."
Arthur rubbed his jaw. "I see trouble."
Wyatt said nothing. But the view reminded him that the world kept moving — even when you tried to disappear.
They set up camp at Horseshoe Overlook, the river glittering nearby and the town of Valentine a day's ride west.
Wyatt worked. He cut wood, lifted tents, carried supplies. He didn't speak unless spoken to. But he watched — always watched. The others started noticing.
"He's quiet," Tilly said.
"Dead quiet," added Mary-Beth. "But he's got kind eyes… even if they are red."
"You're all crazy," said Micah. "That boy's a freak. Just look at him."
"He's more decent than you've ever been," Susan snapped back.
Wyatt, nearby, just listened — not smiling, not frowning. Like he'd heard it all before.
The next morning, Dutch called Arthur and Hosea aside.
"We need supplies. Real ones. Can't eat snow and sentiment forever."
Hosea rubbed his temples. "You want to send a party into Valentine?"
Dutch grinned. "I want Arthur and Wyatt to go first. Scout the place. Keep it subtle."
Arthur shot Wyatt a look.
"You up for it?"
Wyatt nodded. "I'll follow your lead."
The ride into town was quiet at first, just the sound of hooves and the wind in the grass.
Arthur finally spoke.
"You ever actually been in a town?"
Wyatt shrugged. "Not in a long time."
Arthur chuckled. "Well, here's your refresher: don't shoot nobody, don't stare too long, and don't let Micah talk."
Valentine wasn't much, but it was loud — dogs barking, mud splashing, drunks yelling.
Wyatt flinched as someone crashed out of the saloon door.
Arthur grinned. "Welcome to civilization."
They picked up tools, some salted beef, spare rounds. Wyatt's gaze lingered on a mirror in the general store. His reflection — same age as when he vanished. Same eyes. But something deeper in the pupils now. Something old.
Arthur noticed.
"You alright?"
Wyatt blinked and nodded. "Just tired."
That night, back at camp, they gathered around the fire. Dutch was in rare form, wine in hand, gesturing at the stars.
"We are rebels, my friends," he declared. "Not thieves. We take from the corrupt and give to those who've been bled dry we're just caught in a bad way for now."
Wyatt sat beside Hosea and Arthur, quietly listening.
Someone passed a bottle to him. He sipped, just to be polite.
Later, Abigail tucked Jack in. Uncle snored loudly against a tree. And Dutch wandered off into the dark with a map in one hand and a dream in the other.
"You're settling in," Arthur said beside him.
Wyatt looked up at the moon. "I don't know if I can."
"You already are," Arthur said. "Whether you mean to or not."
That night, Wyatt sat with Hosea beside the fire, just the two of them.
"You've seen death," Hosea said quietly.
"I was death," Wyatt answered. "For a while."
"You still carrying it with you?"
Wyatt opened his palm. The strange coin pulsed faintly. No one else ever noticed it. Not yet. But Hosea's eyes narrowed, like maybe he felt something.
"What is that?"
"I don't know," Wyatt admitted. "It came to me after the fire. When I should've died."
Hosea hummed.
The silence stretched.
"Stay," Hosea said. "Whatever it is — whatever you are — you're still one of us."
Wyatt looked at the coin one more time, then closed his fist.
The fire crackled low as the gang drifted to sleep.
Out past the trees, in the direction of Valentine, Wyatt heard something — not quite a whisper, not quite wind. Like a voice speaking through the bones of the earth.
He stood slowly.
Watched the stars.
And for the first time in years… didn't feel alone.