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To meet the demand for their deposits and loans, there's... a lot more cash in the bank than usual.

Maybe... enough to let a large group of people start a new life in the frontier.

...So, that's the situation.

That's it? What are you getting at, Sylvia?

...Someone actually sober wouldn't be asking that, Leone.

But here's my question.

If you're saying what I think you are, I need to know.

Sylvia, do you expect us to return the money to its rightful owners?

Or do you want us to take it...?

By force.

Sylvia nods slightly in an almost unrecognizable manner, then continues fidgeting with the ring on her chest while waiting for the final judgment.

The diner is deathly quiet.

...At least we're all on the same page.

Leone, you in or not?

Say something.

No, I... I know this money should've been ours, but... I don't wanna be criminal scum. Like those bandits.

You really think the bandits were the biggest crooks in Davistown?

So, you're with her, Woodrow?

...No.

No?!

I admire her courage, but this is too much of a long shot.

For example... Sylvia, you got a map of the bank?

...Yes.

Give it here.

I don't have anything on paper, but I do know that it's a hundred paces from the bank's front entrance to the master control switch. Based on my stride, that'd make it about two hundred feet...

Before that, there are three turns, at steps forty-four, seventy-four, and ninety-three. The landmarks are a potted plant, a floor lamp, and a counter.

From the master control switch to the entrance of the vault, you have to pass through the reception room, go through a hidden doorway, and then down a thirty-six-step stairwell. Afterward, there will be a straight path, which will take—

You... You actually memorized all that?

Doubtful.

Sylvia, how far is it from your seat to the entrance of the diner?

I just walked eighteen paces, and after the sixth step, I made a right-angle turn for a total distance of about thirty-six feet.

She didn't memorize it... She's just been there countless times. As you just heard.

Woodrow, what do you reckon our odds are if you joined us? And what about with Leone?

How're we supposed to get all this cash out to the frontier without leaving any traces?

I can take care of that.

I don't doubt you can survive out there, but what about the money...?

Helena lets out a sigh. She nimbly hops over the bar counter, picks up the knife on the table, and bends down to pry up the floorboards.

Creak, creak...

Pop.

A cloud of dust, ancient and full of history, rises from her feet.

Don't act like you got me all figured out just 'cause you found that box when the water leaked.

The man who left me this place as well as his passbook... Any idea when I met him?

Surprise me.

When I was eighteen.

At the time, my old man was trying to sell me to his boss's son, so he could climb up the ranks.

When I heard the news, I ran to the bar and hid there all night, which is where I met him... In the end, we hopped on his burdenbeast in the dead of night and rode until that stifling old place was nothing but a distant memory.

Wait, you eloped with him when you were eighteen, but by the time you got here...

We'd broken up. Hadn't seen him for over two decades.

I lived by my lonesome in the frontier for over twenty years.

You think after all that time, I wouldn't have learned how to line my petticoats with goldbacks?

Helena flashes a sweet smile, removes the weapon from her shoulder, and places it on the table in front of Sylvia.

If you boys ain't in, I'll do it myself.

You and Sylvia... are going to rob a bank? Just the two of you?

Maybe I'll be caught outside the vault, maybe I'll get trapped inside and end up a pile of bones buried in cash. Maybe I'll die trying to escape... Either way, as long as I draw breath, I <i>will</i> see this done.

That's how I'm approaching this, anyhow.

Now, I need to know where you two stand.

Leone takes out a wrench from his toolbelt and places it next to Helena's weapon.

Your move, Woody.

Who's there?!

Jessica? What are you— Why now of all times?

I... I don't know.

You don't know?

But... I need to do something. I need to make a difference.

If what Miles said is still bothering you, you'd best just forget about it.

You still got the time, the energy, to do so many great things. No need to tie yourself down to Davistown and a bunch of old fogeys past their prime.

No, Woodrow...

Too many times now, I've had the drive, but kept falling short for any number of reasons... I didn't have the ability, or the time. The situation changed on me. Orders, or requests.

Even now, I'm not sure what it is I can do.

I'm stuck watching helplessly as you're all driven away one by one, to an uncertain future in the frontier.

If I don't make a difference this time, I feel like... I might get used to it. To never making a difference.

And if that happens, I can see myself believing—to protect my own mental health—that I've always been incompetent. That I could never protect anyone.

I can see myself thinking there was never any special meaning to picking up a gun. That I'd just made a wrong turn somewhere in life and was stuck with it.

I... I don't want that to happen.

So much so that I'd die to make sure it doesn't.

Um...

Sylvia?

If you truly see this as your last chance... Well, this is also our last chance to take back what's rightfully ours from the bank. Will you help us, Jessica?

As soon as Sylvia stands up, Jessica sees the look on her face.

Her complexion is frighteningly pale, but her cheeks are unusually sanguine in a way that only serves to make the former more shocking.

Enough.

Woodrow? Why are you pointing your gun at me?!

Forget everything you just heard, and scram.

Why? What's the meaning of this?

We have to get to the bank...

Sylvia...

...and take back what belongs to Davistown.

...Take back?

Go, Jessica. Go back to your friends.

Woodrow!

You came here for a shoulder to cry on, and we offered you a hot drink and a pat on the shoulder. No more, no less.

You're still young. Every day of your life is a new beginning. I'm serious.

As if her tears had frozen over and evaporated, Jessica's vision suddenly becomes clear.

She sees the unusual blush across Sylvia's cheeks. She sees the wrench and the unfamiliar weapon sitting on the table. She sees the dark hole in the muzzle of Woodrow's gun.

For the first time in her life, she makes up her mind in a split second.

She walks towards Woodrow's pistol, approaches Sylvia, and draws her own gun from her waist before placing it in on the table front of her.

I'm in.