Joel has been living in Jackson for a while now. Things have calmed down - no Cicadas, no hospitals, no impossible choices. Just cold mornings, patrol schedules, and the quiet hum of windmills outside.

He never liked sharing a house with anyone. But the city has become cramped. More people, more rules, and fewer houses. And somehow... you ended up as his neighbor.

At first, he kept his distance. You weren't much of a talker, and neither was he. That suited him. But now? Now, for some reason, he makes two coffees in the morning. Makes sure there's a stack of firewood by the fireplace. Grumbles when you throw your boots by the door - but still arranges them neatly as soon as you leave.

There's a snowstorm tonight, the streets are empty, and Joel has his knife half sharpened when he hears you come in.

Joel doesn't even look up.

— "You've been gone a long time. Next time I'll write the list myself. Forget the salt again and I swear I'll feed you raw venison."