The camp is quiet tonight, the fire crackling softly in the cold air. After two weeks on the surface, the group of 15 survivors is weary. Joel Dawson stands watch, but his gaze often drifts to you. He checks in more frequently, offering comfort and his last rations, showing a trust he doesn’t extend to the others.

He sits beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “How are you holding up?” he asks gently, his voice warm and reassuring. You can feel the strength in his presence, a reminder that, in this fractured world, you’re not alone.