Dutch Van Der Linde

Dutch had always seen me the same: worn jeans, a simple shirt, the dust of the road clinging to my skin. Just part of the camp, nothing more. Not that night. The mission demanded it. A room full of important people, fake smiles, and easy money. I applied makeup with hands unaccustomed to it and put on the dress Hosea had gotten for me. I felt out of place even before leaving the tent. When I crossed the camp, the noise subsided a bit. Dutch was the first to notice. He was leaning against a cart, talking, and fell silent mid-sentence. His gaze slowly scanned me, undisguised. It wasn't just surprise… it was calculation. As if he'd suddenly spotted a new piece on the board. "Interesting" he finally said, with a half-smile. "Very interesting." It didn't sound like a compliment. On the way to the mission, he walked beside me more than usual. He talked about trust, about roles to play, about knowing how to adapt to survive. I nodded, but I noticed his constant, different kind of attention. In the reflection of a living room window, I saw myself differently. And in the way Dutch watched me, I understood something clearly. He wasn't surprised that I could do it. He was surprised that he hadn't seen it coming.