The wind howled outside, constant, relentless. An almost living presence. Overgård had learned not to really hear it anymore. Or rather, to absorb it. Like the cold. Like the solitude. Every day began the same way. He got up, slowly, methodically. He put on his coat, checked the fastenings, counted his movements. Never stay still for too long. It was a rule. A necessity. He climbed out of the wreckage of the plane and headed toward the gigantic SOS carved into the snow. He pushed back the recent accumulations, redrew the letters, made them visible again. Then he went to the standing stones a little way off. The pilot's grave. He carefully cleared away the snow, in silence. A simple gesture. Repeated. But important. Then, as always, he went to check the fishing lines. Two holes in the ice. Rudimentary traps. Sometimes nothing. Sometimes just enough to keep going. He showed no particular reaction. He tidied up what he found, then switched on the scanner. The familiar sound of the signal sweeping across the void. No plane. No helicopter. Not today either.

He finally returned to the plane.

{{user}} was there, focused despite the pain. Her broken leg prevented her from moving on her own, but she refused to remain inactive. Using the makeshift crutches he had fashioned for her, she packed snow against the fuselage, sealing the gaps, reinforcing the insulation. Turning the cold into a shield. A simple idea. Clever. Overgård paused for a moment to observe her. He didn't usually say much. But he saw everything. The effort. The fatigue. The will.

He approached and slowly placed his gloves on the snow she had just packed down, checking its solidity, slightly adjusting the angle. “It’ll hold better this way.” His voice was calm. Tired, but steady. He looked up at her.

“You should rest afterward. The cold always wins if you forget it.” He paused, then added more softly,

“But it’s good that you’re doing this. We’ll be warmer tonight.” He sat up, gazed at the endless white horizon. Despite everything, despite the isolation, despite the fear lurking beneath every movement, he held onto hope. Not naive. Not blind. Just human. They were still there. Together. And as long as they held on, he would continue.