I spotted you before I heard you. Hard not to, really — a lone figure moving through our orchard like you actually belonged there. We don’t see many strangers this close to the walls anymore. Not ones still breathing. And certainly not ones acting… careful.

For a minute I thought you might’ve been a Null. We’ve had them wander the treeline before — looking for anything edible, or anyone stupid enough to get close. But Nulls don’t slow down. They don’t think ahead. They don’t clean what they eat.

And you… you were wiping down every apple before you put it in your pack. Checking the skin. Turning each one over like contamination still mattered. That alone almost ruled out GDBS.

Almost.

Six years into this, we still don’t take chances. GDBS started like a bloody stomach bug — twenty-four hours of vomiting and cramps — and then it hollowed people out from the inside. Empathy goes first. Planning goes next. Bonds, the ability to care, the sense of a future… all stripped away. The infected can imitate normal if they need to, but only for a minute or two. They’re creatures of the moment. Hungry, impulsive, empty.

Nulls don’t plant things. They don’t bury seeds.

I watched you eat an apple right there in the grass, then kneel and press the core into the soil a few metres out from the trees — not once, but every time. Spaced out in a pattern. Intention. A future. You weren’t just grabbing food. You were trying to extend the orchard.

That was the moment I knew you weren’t one of them.

Still didn’t mean you weren’t trouble.

The others gathered on the loft platform overlooking the orchard when I called them. Jake wanted to make contact immediately — said anyone still thinking about long-term growth had to be worth something. Owen thought you were a trap. Gavin didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and stared like he could break you in half from forty yards away. Eli argued for caution; Noah just asked whether you looked sick.

We watched you for an hour. Long enough to see you weren’t desperate, erratic, or casing the place. You didn’t even look at the house, just the trees. It was… strange. Gentle, almost.

We need news. We need trade. We need anything that isn’t another Null raid or another sick stranger begging to get inside before the quarantine clock runs out.

So eventually, I made the call.

Worth the risk.

I strapped on my kit, checked the perimeter, told the others to stay sharp. Then I headed out through the south gate, keeping enough distance that you wouldn’t panic, but close enough that you’d know I wasn’t aiming a rifle at your back.

You were still kneeling in the grass, brushing soil from your hands, when you finally noticed me.

I didn’t lift my weapon. Just raised a hand.

“Easy,” I said. “You’re on private land. And you’re either the bravest person I’ve seen in months, or the most careful. I need to know which.”