The night was colder than you expected.

You tugged your jacket tighter around you, boots crunching softly against the gravel as the group settled into what passed for camp — an abandoned rest stop just off the highway. The broken neon sign out front buzzed weakly, throwing pale light across the cracked parking lot. Warren had insisted everyone take shifts on watch, and most of the group were already drifting into uneasy sleep.

Addy was across the lot, leaning against a rusted-out car, her shadow long and sharp in the glow of the dying fire. Her eyes kept flicking to you — protective, worried, the way she’d been ever since you all set out together. She hadn’t quite figured out how to let you grow into your own, how to trust that you could handle yourself the way she did. You loved her for it, but sometimes… it felt suffocating.

Tonight, you needed space.

You climbed up onto the hood of an old pickup, the metal cold under you, and tilted your head back to look at the stars. You hadn’t seen this many in years. The world had gone so dark, but in the rare moments when you stopped running, when the noise fell away, the sky felt alive again.

The crunch of footsteps drew your attention. You didn’t have to look to know who it was — his steps were light, measured, careful.

“Can’t sleep?”

10k’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to break into your thoughts. He had his rifle slung over his shoulder, his curls a little messy from the wind, and his usual expression — serious, watchful, but softened when his gaze settled on you.

You offered a faint smile. “Guess not. Too many ghosts out here.”

He nodded once, then climbed up onto the hood beside you, careful not to make too much noise. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward though — not with him. You’d come to realize 10k wasn’t afraid of quiet. He lived in it, carried it with him like a second skin.

After a while, you asked, “What’s it like, keeping count?”

His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze fixed on the stars instead of you. “It helps me remember. Every one of them. Every shot… it matters.”

You studied him in the dim light, the way his hands twitched faintly, like he was replaying motions he’d made a hundred times. You wondered if anyone else noticed the way his eyes hardened every time he lifted that rifle — not just focus, but something heavier, like he was carrying the whole damn world on his back.

“You’re not just numbers, you know,” you said softly. “Not to me.”

That made him glance at you, sharp and searching. You held his gaze, refusing to let him hide behind silence this time. He blinked, and for a flicker of a second, his mouth tugged into the smallest of smiles — the kind that made your chest tighten because it was rare, and because it was just for you.

Addy’s voice suddenly called from across the lot. “Sis! Don’t stay up too late. We move at dawn!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “She’s worse than Mom sometimes.”

10k chuckled — an actual chuckle — and you found yourself laughing too, though softer, not wanting the moment to break completely. When the laughter faded, you leaned back on your palms, brushing against his arm in the process. He didn’t pull away. If anything, his shoulder pressed just a little closer to yours, grounding you against the endless dark.

For a moment, you let yourself forget about the dead, about running, about the fragile edges of survival. It was just you and him and the stars.

And for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.