The wind gently stirred on the watchtower, carrying the scent of damp earth and rusted metal. From up here, you could see part of the perimeter, the silhouettes of Seattle's crumbling buildings, and far off in the distance, the faint shadows of the forests where you knew the Scars roamed like patient ghosts. Manny sat lazily in an old metal chair, leaning back with his boots propped against the rusty railing.

—“This is, without a doubt, the weirdest date I’ve ever had.”—he murmured with a half-smile.—“Some kind of new romantic trend? Post-apocalyptic love?.”

You rolled your eyes in resignation. It wasn’t that his company bothered you—in fact, you preferred being with him and his insatiable appetite rather than with the jittery recruits or, worse, one of Isaac’s psychos dragged out from some hole. But this... this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

—“At least it’s just the two of us this time. No shifts. No radios... no people to overhear us.”

You felt the warmth rise to your cheeks. That stupid supply closet—the creaking shelves, the muffled laughter, the frantic rush to get dressed before someone walked in. At least out here there were no thin walls, here... you wouldn’t have to be quiet. Well... not that quiet.