Lucy Nightingale - An Arthur Morgan Story
103 parts Ongoing The air above Valentine shimmered in the late-afternoon heat when she rode in - a lone figure on a black Arabian, blonde curls spilling from beneath a wide-brimmed hat, revolver at her hip and defiance in her eyes. She didn't belong, and yet she owned every step her boots carried her.
In a town where whispers traveled faster than bullets, she was noticed the moment she dismounted. Some men saw a pretty stranger. Others saw an opportunity. But none of them saw her hand slide as quick as lightning, slipping coin from a drunk's pocket before he knew he'd been robbed.
By the time the curses started, she was already gone - until the law stepped in.
Hauled through the mud and into the sheriff's office, she held her chin high, walking as though she'd chosen the chains herself. She wasn't like the others they dragged in. She wasn't broken. Not yet.
From the shadows across the street, a man watched. He didn't know her name. Didn't know where she came from. But he knew trouble when he saw it - and trouble like her didn't just ride through towns without leaving a trail of fire behind.
The law said she was a thief. A grifter. A woman wanted from Cumberland to Saint Denis.
But he suspected she was something else entirely.
And when the dust cleared in Valentine, it would become clear to everyone:
she wasn't just passing through.
She was the storm.