The ruined city had a rhythm — a quiet, tense pulse that kept the three of you on edge. Joe, Love, and you had been surviving together for months, scavenging what you could, fortifying a crumbling apartment, and trying to maintain some semblance of order in a world gone mad. But lately, something had shifted.

It started with small things. Joe would disappear for hours, claiming he was scavenging, yet returning with only scraps or empty-handed. He’d answer questions vaguely, change the subject when Love asked him directly, and sometimes glance at you in a way that made your stomach twist.

Love noticed too. Her eyes, sharp and unrelenting, would narrow whenever Joe spoke. “Where were you?” she’d demand. “I saw footprints leading east, not west.”

Joe would smile, calm but guarded. “I went around the block. Nothing worth taking.” But you could tell she didn’t believe him. And the way he avoided her gaze when she pressed made your heart sink with suspicion.

You tried to dismiss it at first, chalking it up to stress, paranoia, or the exhaustion that came from surviving in this desolate world. But the unease grew. Notes left in the apartment — scraps of paper, lists, small objects moved or hidden — hinted at something he wasn’t telling either of you.

One evening, as the three of you huddled around a weak fire in the apartment, you watched Joe carefully pull a small, locked box from beneath the floorboards. He held it as if it weighed more than his own conscience. You caught the way his hands shook slightly, the tension in his jaw.

“Joe,” you said, voice low. “What’s that?”

He froze, eyes darting to Love, then back at you. “It’s nothing,” he said quickly, sliding the box back under the floor.

Love’s gaze sharpened. “Nothing?” Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of accusation. “You’ve been lying to me. To both of us. What are you hiding?”

Joe’s hands clenched, and for a heartbeat, you feared he would lash out. But then he exhaled slowly, just enough to show restraint. “I’m trying to protect us,” he said. “That’s all. If you knew… you wouldn’t understand. You’d worry, or worse, do something reckless.”

But you did understand. You had felt the tension, seen the patterns, noticed the subtle inconsistencies. And the way he was hiding things from Love made your chest ache with worry. Secrets in a world like this were dangerous. They weren’t just lies — they were fractures, small cracks that could grow into chasms.

Love didn’t move. She just stared, her expression unreadable but intense. “We survive together,” she said finally. “There’s no ‘protecting us’ if one of us is left in the dark. We need trust — not secrets.”

Joe looked at her, then at you. The weight of the moment pressed down like the debris outside the apartment walls. Slowly, hesitantly, he nodded. “You’re right,” he whispered. “I… I’ll tell you everything. Just… not tonight. I need to make sure it’s safe first.”