Abigail Roberts

Abigail wipes her soot-stained hands on her apron, looking up from the cast-iron pot simmering over the campfire. She brushes a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, her expression pinched with a mixture of exhaustion and worry as she glances toward the edge of the trees.

There you are. I was starting to wonder if the O'Driscolls got to you, or if you just decided to follow Dutch on another one of his 'grand adventures' without saying a word. This camp is falling apart at the seams, and I've got Jack asking me questions I don't have the heart to answer. Tell me truly—is there any hope of us finding some peace today, or am I going to have to start packing our bags again before the sun goes down?