Jack skidded onto the cobblestone streets when she was shoved, the rough stone scraping her skin raw as she landed hard on her shoulder. Bam. The gun went off. Jack squeezed her eyes shut at the sound for just a moment, an echo of all of her nightmares about Donovan's death. No. This couldn't happen now, not after she had finally found a way to save him. Jack rolled over on her back. Maybe he wasn't dead, she reasoned. Perhaps the bullet had caught him in the arm or the leg. When Jack looked over to where Donovan and Max had faced each other only moments ago, there was a body on the ground, but it wasn't Donovan's.

Max Slate had crumpled to the ground, his revolver discarded at his side, and a fresh bullet wound in his chest oozed red blood. Jack's eyes leapt from Max's body to Donovan, who remained standing in front of him, breathing hard. His hands hung empty by his sides, formed into fists. Jack clambered to her feet and her eyes scanned the crowd that had retreated from the scene though they watched with widened eyes. No gun.

Words came back to her: "This won't end until one of them is dead." She thought of Julius and the story he told her about his son's unjust execution, his quiet rage and impotence. She remembered him saying that he would hide on the roof of the newspaper with a gun just in case things went awry, which she had taken at the time to be a joke. Her eyes shifted to the newspaper building, but she could see nothing. There was no evidence of who had shot Titus, but Jack knew, and her heart swelled with gratitude. Julius.

Slowly the shock wore off from the crowd; they inched closer, and Jack awoke from her paralysis and looked to Donovan. The fists he had formed relaxed, and she saw a sadness on his face that she hadn't expected. How could he be sad, after everything Slate had done to them? How could he grieve the death of his greatest enemy? But when Jack looked at Max, crumpled on the ground with no life in his dark, shifting eyes, she understood. Donovan hadn't wanted him to die; he hadn't wanted anyone to die, but now all three of the Slate brothers and Titus were dead because of this undying hunger for greed and revenge. Jack hated Max Slate, but she had had enough death.

Donovan's eyes, webbed at the corners, turned to look at Jack as if finally remembering he and Max weren't alone, and he attempted a smile. His full lip was still split from the kidnapping, and he moved with the stiffness of a man twice his age thanks to the burns that riddled his body, but he was alive. Still, in his final moments when he thought Max was going to kill him, he pushed Jack out of the way. As much as Donovan's disregard for his own safety angered Jack, she now saw it for what it was: pure selflessness. Undying love.

He moved towards Jack with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and for the first time since they'd met just a few months earlier, nothing stood in his way. Jack felt an unfamiliar wave of anxiety. Would he still want her after everything that had happened, all of their arguments and disagreements, every time she disregarded her opinion? But there was no doubt in Donovan's eyes as he moved towards Jack and reached for her, pulling her against his chest. Jack clung to him, soaking in the moment that had been so absent since their fight and Donovan's days in the jail. His arms encircled Jack, and for a moment she forgot about all of it, everything that had filled her mind for the past months. It evaporated as Donovan held her, his hands clenching the loose material of her dress at her waist.

"Jack," he whispered. "You should have let me go."

Jack held him tighter, her head in the crevice between his shoulder and his jaw. She could never have let him go, and now she never would. They were free--finally--and Jack planned to hold on as tight as ever.

"Why would I do something that stupid?" Jack said, and she felt Donovan's chuckle rumbling through his chest.

"I should have known better," he said.

"And I should have known you would try to save me when Max went crazy," Jack said with a frown, remembering the way Donovan had shoved her out of the way.

"I've told you a thousand times, Jack. I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me." His breath was hot in her ear and Jack struggled to focus on the words he was saying.

She leaned back and looked up at him, to his swirling black eyes and bruised face. He was even more handsome to her now than he had been when he was merely the mysterious stranger with the enigmatic grin. She reached for his face, running her thumb along the split in his lip.

"Do you still wish I'd let you go?" Jack said, a grin tugging at her lips.

Donovan's hand rose to Jack's face, brushing hair from her cheek. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now, Jack." He leaned in, and Jack's eyes fluttered closed, but right before he kissed her, he paused, a hair's breadth away. "Just in case I never get the chance again, I want to tell you I love you, Jack."

Jack flinched and pulled back, her hand on his chest. "In case you never get the chance? What sort of lunacy are you planning now?"

Donovan smiled. "Nothing, I swear. I just--that's what I regretted, when I was sitting in my cell in the jail. I spent too much time fighting with you and not enough telling you the truth. So come what may, I swear I'll tell you everyday, Jack. I love you."

All of Jack's hesitancy dissolved and she leaned into him, clutching the material of his torn shirt, and kissed him. Raw hunger ached between them, a desperation born of long separation and the expectation of despair. Jack didn't care about the crowd of people watching the display or Max's body or the anger and fighting that preceded the kiss; she cared about now, this very moment, in which nothing mattered besides the two of them.

The moment lingering between was broken by the clearing of a throat only a few steps off. Jack groaned at the sound, sinking her head into Donovan's chest. After everything that had happened, couldn't they just be given a moment alone? She heard Donovan laugh a little, and Jack pulled away from him to see Oliver standing a few feet away, visibly pale. His bulging eyes shifted from them to Max's dead body.

"Someone remove the corpse immediately!" he exclaimed, and a few of the men on the firing squad did so, grumbling as they went.

"Who shot him?" a man shouted from the crowd, his query reinforced by the crowd's murmuring.

Oliver blustered for a moment, finally saying, "Well, I don't know, but I'm afraid that his death is quite justified. We'll have him buried and notify next of kin."

A woman in a stained blue dress, her eyes looking around her warily, yelled, "Are we in danger?"

Jack almost laughed; if the shooter was who she suspected, they were safer than they'd ever been. Oliver cleared his throat again. "Well, I suppose so. I believe this counts as a defensive action to defend the life of Mr. Donovan, here, who has been proven innocent on all accounts."

Donovan raised his eyebrows as he watched Oliver. "Does that mean you'll return my deed to me?"

Oliver bobbed his head, reaching for the inside of his waistcoat. "Of course. It is my pleasure as the mayor of Irvington to clear you of all charges and return to you your rightful property."

Donovan accepted it and bowed though Jack didn't miss the hint of humor playing at his lips. "I appreciate it."

The crowd buzzed, but Jack couldn't tell if they disapproved or were merely curious. Finally, Reverend Smalley stepped forward, a bowler hat on his head. "Mr. Mayor, Mr. Donovan, Miss Harrison," he said, bowing his head to each of them, "I believe you owe this town an explanation. Our sheriff's dead, two men came into this town and were killed, and we nearly had an execution in the town square!"

All eyes fastened on the mayor, and Jack grinned at his discomfiture. Truth be told, Oliver hardly knew more than the townspeople, yet he had acted as if he understood the situation entirely. "Well," Oliver said. "I'm afraid that's privileged info-"

"Please, Mayor Walker. You've had an exhausting day," Donovan said, resting a hand on the mayor's shoulder. Jack wondered if she was the only one who noticed the quirk of Donovan's lips as Oliver retreated. "People of Irvington, I'm afraid that I'm part of the reason for all of the death and destruction in the past few weeks. Please forgive me. When I came here, it was to escape the Slate family who wanted me dead, but I never expected to bring them here." He hung his head for a moment, his long black hair shading his face. "Many of you have accepted me as a schoolteacher, a friend, as family, and for that I'm grateful. To thank you for that, I will tell you everything that led to this moment."

In the minutes that followed, Donovan explained in his clear, crisp voice all of the events leading up to that day from Willie's death, Matthew being drafted, Donovan defending Soka and her land. He told them about escaping and running to Irvington and how the Slates were bent on revenge, bringing them here. He told them about the night Max and Clyde had almost killed Jack and about Titus's murder and the fire.

"It was always going to end in death," Donovan said, shaking his head. "But I'm sorry that Titus was apart of that."

Silence reigned over the crowd, and Jack looked to Hannah. The girl stood in black with her head bowed and her hands knotted, tears dripping down her face. Jack felt that familiar pang of sadness, but it was no longer guilt. Max was responsible, and he had paid for his crime dearly. The pain would linger, but at least it was resolved. At least an end had come after everything.

"So thank you," Donovan said. "And I'm sorry for the pain I've caused. If I am granted the opportunity to stay in Irvington, I swear I'll cause no more of these problems."

Though a few people scowled at his speech, Jack beamed. Stay in Irvington? Though the proposition of running away with Donovan had its appeal, this was still Jack's home and she would always be tied to it for the people she cared about--her nieces, the Benjamins, the Bookers.

"Yes, well, I think it's time we disband this gathering. We certainly have had enough excitement for one day," Oliver said, his fatigue evident by the way he rested his weight on his cane.

No one protested though surely many of them had lingering questions about Donovan's tale. With a few backwards glances, the people of Irvington dispersed to their various jobs with less chatter than usual, and Oliver turned towards Donovan and Jack. She wondered if her ill-timed attempt at bribery had only instigated further hatred from Oliver, but he looked exhausted rather than infuriated.

"Now, Donovan," he said, facing the man with a curl of distaste on his lips. "I understand that you weren't entirely responsible for the events of the past few weeks, but as the mayor of this fine town, I expect you to adhere to the town bylaws, maintaining peace and nonviolence."

Jack frowned at the word "nonviolence." Had it been nonviolent to execute him publicly in the town square? Still, Jack had no fight left inside her for such a petty squabble. Donovan was safe, and Max was dead; nothing else mattered.

"I assure you, Mayor Walker, I have no intentions of disturbing the peace anymore," Donovan said with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm quite ready to settle into domestic life."

Jack nearly burst out laughing at the blatant lie. Nothing about Donovan was suited to domestic life; he was a traveler, a nomad, and that desire to experience the world was what had interested Jack in the first place.

"Yes, very well," Oliver said. "I'm afraid I must be going. Goodbye."

When he finally left them alone, Donovan turned to Jack and took her hands in his. His expression was lighter and easier than she had ever seen it, with a smile on his face and his eyes bright.

"Well, Jack," he said. "I'm free. What now?"