The morning was quieter than usual, even for the end of the world. The fire had burned out sometime before dawn, leaving only the smell of smoke and cold ash in the air. Carl was sitting a few feet away, turning his hat slowly in his hands, lost in thought.

You sat across from him, knees drawn close, watching how the wind teased strands of his hair. You wondered, not for the first time, if silence ever scared him.

It used to scare you.

But lately, silence felt easier than words.

Carl looked up at you. “You good?”

You nodded automatically. It was easier than answering. Easier than explaining the heaviness pressing down on your chest, or the way your throat closed up every time you tried to speak.

You thought, I wonder how long it would take for anyone to notice if I just… stopped talking.

Carl studied you for a moment longer, like he could sense the thought hovering behind your eyes. Then he gave a faint smile, soft, tired, but real, and tossed a piece of jerky your way.

“Fine,” he said, voice light, pretending everything was normal. “Don’t talk. But don’t starve either.”

You didn’t smile back. But you caught the jerky.

And for now, that was enough.