"He's gone, Arthur."

Sweat dripped down Arthur's bare back as he looked about the room frantically, heart thundering in his chest, before his eyes finally settled on a concerned Mary Linton. She held onto his hand in a death grip, her voice and eyes pleading with him. Her dark hair was loose, about her shoulders in a messy tumble, and she wore a modest, lacey nightgown. Candlelight reflected in her captivating eyes, which Arthur had trouble looking away from.

He had no memory how he had gotten here. His last memory had been fighting with Micah, being left by Dutch – Arthur gasped and fell back on the bed, his whole body shuddering at the memory. Dutch hadn't cared. He had left Arthur behind without a second glance.

"Did they get away? John?" Arthur heaved out through choked breaths. His voice was scratchy; he had no idea how long it had been since that moment.

Mary bit her lip. "I- I don't know, Arthur. All I know is what the papers say. They say you died on that hillside. That the van der Linde gang is no more, but Dutch – he escaped. He's still out there."

Arthur was silent. He looked about the room and saw he was in some slump of a room, with a broken window and glass splattered about. The furniture in the room was decaying or broken, and the bed he laid on was lumpy and had a peculiar smell to it. This wasn't a usual place for Mary. What was she doing in a dump like this?

"You were screaming about Micah," she said. "Is he the one who done this to you?"

Arthur looked down at his black and blue torso and gave a slight nod. His ribs were more visible than he liked; his muscle had wilted away to nothing. The wrath of tuberculosis had plagued him for months, weakening his body, forcing him into awful coughing episodes. It was strange, really. He didn't feel the disease in his lungs. He had thought that night on the mountainside with Micah would be his last.

Mary let out a long sigh and let go of his hand. "You must have a lot of questions. I, too, have many myself. How long have you had tuberculosis?"

"'bout half a year," Arthur mumbled. He licked his lips; they were chapped to high heaven. He accepted a glass of water from Mary and drank heavily. Despite being only water, it tasted divine. He handed her back the empty glass and settled back down in the bed. "How am I not dead, Mary? I felt it, you know. I felt death in my bones, my body…"

"This man named Francis Sinclair. He's not here right now, but he's… peculiar. And knew where to find you. He brought you here, and guided me here. He says… you're to take these pills. It'll help treat the tuberculosis, he says. But he vanished the same night we got you here."

Sinclair. Arthur knew him. Barely. He had sent him locations of odd drawings – and had returned to find Francis Sinclair as a baby. It was too crazy to think of, too insane to think Francis Sinclair had been… whatever he had been. "The man didn't even know I had TB," Arthur said. "How long I been out, then?"

"At least a week. I've had help from an Albert Mason, who says you are a friend?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Albert Mason? This story keeps gettin' crazy by the minute, Mary."

"I know." Mary leaned over and tucked in the heavy blanket around him. "You need to get some sleep. Albert had agreed to escort us out of here whenever you're ready to move."

Exhaustion lingered in his limbs. Arthur watched Mary move to another cot and climb under the blankets. With a soft smile to him, she blew out the candle and the cabin was filled with darkness.

It left Arthur feeling very much alone. He could hear the screaming from Micah, the few words from Dutch, the last look at John's worried face – everyone was scattered. The gang was dead. Arthur's duty to them – was dead. He had made peace with everything on the mountainside, thinking death was around the corner. He had died, he was sure of it.

But as he heard Mary breathing softly, the slight breeze brushing against the trees, the crickets and coyotes… he knew there was something out there calling him back. Death wasn't ready for him. Not yet.

He woke to Mary bustling around the cabin, the smell of bacon and eggs in the air. She had dressed into a simple blue dress, which stood out in bright contrast against the broken shack behind her. She was grumbling to herself as she kicked out a small rat, fury on her face as she looked around for more. That was Mary. Never used to a life outdoors.

"You're awake," she said, catching his eye. "Are you feeling well enough to get dressed?"

"Yes, ma'm," he responded in a cracked voice. In all honesty, he was still feeling like a freight train had ran over him a hundred times over, but his limbs were screaming for some movement. He started to sit up when Mary walked over and helped him.

She said, "Oh, Arthur. You've gotten so thin. There's not one ounce of muscle on you."

Arthur shifted his feet to the floor with a grunt and blinked away the stars and the dizziness. Mary adjusted the blanket around his waist – he was completely bare, only covered in thick, bloodied bandages – and moved to grab the plate of food on the table.

"I'll get better," Arthur said. He accepted the food, his eyes nearly watering at the sight of the simple bacon and eggs. He hadn't enjoyed food in so long. His stomach ached something fierce, and he savored the taste.

"Mr. Mason returned with some clothing for you, I'll go fetch him-" Mary left and quickly returned with a grinning Albert Mason in tow.

"Mr. Morgan! I'm so glad you're awake!" Albert said. He looked the same, dressed in fine clothing, his beard freshly trimmed. "You're looking better with every hour."

Arthur wanted to chuckle, but his chest hurt too much. "You don't have to lie to me, Albert."

Albert grabbed a broken stool and dusted it off. He sat on it carefully. "Ah, well. You're no longer look a step away from death, so there's that."

"Mr. Mason and I have been talking…" Mary began and sat down on her cot. "The papers say you're dead, Arthur. But we're still close to the Pinkertons. Too close for comfort. They and bounty hunters are out and about for the rest of the gang. Mr. Mason has seen a few patrols on the roads. We best get you out of this state, to be safe."

Arthur chewed on a strip of bacon. "I thought we would find John-"

"No," Mary said firmly. "Look what they done to you, Arthur. You were crying in your sleep about how Dutch left you. Don't deny it. Your own… father, basically… left you. Hosea's gone, I read that. There isn't anything left you here."

"John's… he's my brother, Mary."

"And he thinks you're dead."

"How?" Arthur questioned them both. "There's no body left for them to discover."

"Pinkertons claim they saw your body burn. Your weapons, clothing, your hat – it all matched. Sinclair made it convincing, he said," Albert Mason reasoned. "It was more than enough for them."

"I can't leave them-"

Mary stood, her fists clenched at her sides. "Always you and the damn gang!" she exploded, tears in her eyes. "You and your stubborn loyalty, Arthur Morgan. You need to live for yourself for once! And what do you have to go on? You have no money, no weapons, no horse, no gang. There is nothing for you here."

Arthur flushed and looked down at his empty plate, angry at her truthful words. She was right. John could take care of himself. The women in camp were taken care of. Sadie – his sucked in a breath thinking of her. Beautiful Sadie. He hadn't wanted to think of her – they hadn't been an item, per say, but there had been a spark there, one had wished to pursue more, had life gone right.

He could always come back, later. Once he was completely healed and had the means to continue on. There wasn't even a cent to his name at the moment. He wished Sadie was there right now, with her temper and determination to go on.

But she wasn't, and for once, Arthur's burden of his gang was lifted from his shoulders, though it was difficult to fathom.

"We… Arthur. I have to return to New York," Albert said, his voice light. "Mary and I find ourselves close neighbors, in fact. I can find you a simple job. I have a small apartment there, and there's a spare bedroom for you. We can get you started over, Arthur."

"My brother's going to college there, as well," Mary sniffed and sat back down on the bed. "Jamie has found work at an orchard farm, as well. He wouldn't mind having you around."

New York. A few state lines away from all of this. A few state lines away from Sadie, John, Abigail. The thought of losing them hurt more than anything. But Mary and Albert offered stability, a future, for surely Arthur had none if he stayed where he was.

"Let me think on it," Arthur said tightly, and that was that.

A week later, when the rain had cleared and the skies were bright and blue, Arthur stood alone in the cabin, his mind completely made up.

He would leave.

Albert had gone out and bought the local papers. The gang had disappeared without a trace, and the Pinkertons were still on the hunt. Arthur hoped beyond hope John had headed west, or to a state that didn't have a wanted poster with his name on it. It was pointless to track John down. He wouldn't want to be found. If the Pinkertons were struggling, so would Arthur.

Arthur's bruises had faded to dark yellows, his eyes had finally become less swollen and he could stand straight without getting light headed. Riding a horse was out of the question. His limbs were still exhausted, his lungs still ached from time to time, but the pills Sinclair had left him seemed to be working. There was exactly one crate of pills, which would last him a few months. Arthur wouldn't question how Sinclair had come across such a treatment. It was a hope Arthur would continue to live, that tuberculosis would no longer be a threat.

He was tired of being cooped up in the tiny cabin. The plan was to ride out that morning. Arthur had donned on crisp, dark pants, a white shirt, and a dark blue vest. The jacket he wore was lined, fit nicely and brand new – Albert had spared no expense in purchasing a new wardrobe for Arthur. Lastly, Arthur had decided to grow his beard in, and wore a simple town hat to match his clothing. Nobody would question him, and if they did, Arthur would go by a new name.

"What would that be?" Albert had questioned him. "The good ole' Tacitus Kilgore?"

"No. Adler. Arthur Adler."

"Still too close to your name," Mary reasoned. "How about Atticus Adler? It's such a lovely name."

Atticus. Of course Mary had chosen that name. In another lifetime, that had been the name she had wanted to name her future child. They had talked about it, once. It seemed like so long ago. "Fine. Atticus it is."

It felt like a foreign name, like it didn't belong to him. And of course it didn't. He supposed over time he would have to get used to it.

They left that morning just as the sun crested through the trees. He sat in a wagon with Mary, and Albert trailed behind on his horse.

"You'll like it," Albert said a few hours down the road. "New York City, that is. My, it's a bustling place. Have you ever been?"

"Can't say I have," Arthur said, flicking the reins encouragingly as the horses waded through a tiny stream. Mary sat behind him, her head drooping sleepily. He was still confused as to why it was Mary who Sinclair had recruited to tend to him. He would have to ask her why she agreed; they hadn't talked much, despite being cooped up in a cabin together. Too many unspoken words filled the air between them, and they weren't ready to bare all to each other. Arthur had simply thought he had seen the last of her, after helping her find her father a few months ago.

The air was thick between them, like it always had been. The attraction was still there. Arthur had moved on – or had tried to, with Sadie. And he had. There was no going back to what it had been with Mary. Instead, he hoped they could become friends. It felt like they were strangers, most of the time, despite knowing each other inside and out.

Albert was rambling on. "My family, terrors that they are, own a rather large house and are very well off. They never approved of me traveling, taking photographs, you see. Wanted me to be a businessman. Well, I'm a bit too old now for them to think any different, but they still provided me with an apartment I can call home. We'll stay there a while, Arthur, until you're on your feet."

Time seemed to pass as a blur to Arthur as they traveled. It turned out the Pinkertons were no longer an issue as they went, no one questioned who they were, where they were going. Arthur felt naked, traveling without a gun at his hip, knowing at any moment they could be robbed. Mary and Albert insisted this was for the best, that there would be no issue. Arthur was doubtful, but eventually relented. He would travel without a gun for their sake. They didn't want him causing a ruckus or drawing attention. That was fine. For now.

Once they reached a train station outside of Lemoyne and any place Arthur could be recognized, they bought train tickets and would ride all the way to the city. Arthur watched the passing scenery from his train seat, still not believing he was headed to the city. The summer was nearing an end, and the chill of fall threatening to begin. They passed through all sorts of towns, some large, some small, and they all were getting impatient from the constant travel.

Arthur tried to take a nap as Albert and Mary made quiet conversation on the home stretch to the city. He fell asleep easily, dreaming of Sadie. He regretted leaving her something fierce. They hadn't promised love to one another – Arthur had refused any mention of love, knowing he would be dead in a few months. He couldn't have done that to Sadie, dying on her like her husband, with a promise of love between them.

He was alive now. Life had him headed in another direction entirely. Maybe it was better off she thought he was dead. She could move on. Arthur knew he couldn't. Maybe, when life was looking up for him, he could go looking for her. Maybe.

The strong smell of manure stirred Arthur awake. He blinked away the grogginess and forced himself to sit up. He blearily followed Albert and Mary out of the train, his tired limbs struggling to keep up. He could hear the chatter around him, the chime of incoming trains, and nearly blanched at the tall buildings surrounding him. He was instantly reminded of St. Denis, with the sky clouded by black smoke, people of all ages crowding the streets, the buildings tight and practically on top of one another. He looked front and back, and saw the streets continued on forever.

They traveled deeper into the city. Arthur was sorely regretting his choice of agreeing to come here. There were no rolling hills, no lush trees – the streets were filled with horse shit, muddy as far as the eye could see, street rats running about robbing people blind. Store fronts were filled with restaurants, tailors, butcher shops, bookstores… too many to count. People cluttered the sidewalks and the streets.

It would take some getting used to, to be sure.

Albert looked back at him and gave him a nervous smile. The smell of murky water filled the air and they halted on a wooden pier, offering a glimpse at the sea. People moved to and fro, going about their busy lives. "You see that?" Albert pointed out into the water. He handed Arthur binoculars.

Arthur squinted and found a tall, copper statue out on the water. She held a torch and stood proudly, a stark contrast against the city behind her.

Albert cleared his throat. "That's the Statue of Liberty, in all its proper glory. It represents freedom, and the like. Welcome to New York City, Arthur Morgan."