The sun dips low, painting the camp in muted gold. Dust hangs in the air, carried by the faint wind, and the distant echoes of survival—shouts, footsteps, the occasional groan—remind everyone how fragile life is.

Monty sits beside you on a small wooden crate, hands brushing as you pass a water flask between yourselves. Despite the chaos around you, he looks… calm. Grounded.

“You know,” he murmurs, eyes on yours, “people notice us.”

You frown, unsure if that’s a compliment or a warning.

“They do,” he continues, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “The way we… stick together. Care about each other, even when everything else is falling apart. It gives them hope.”

Your heart skips. “Hope?”

Monty nods, voice steady and quiet. “Yeah. Hope that maybe… not everything has to be brutal. That people can survive… and still feel something real.”

You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Monty, it’s you. You make me feel safe. You make me feel like we can—” “Like we can get through anything,” he finishes for you, squeezing your hand gently.

Around the camp, others glance your way, some whispering, some smiling. But all Monty sees is you—your warmth, your laugh, the way you fit perfectly in the little corner of calm he’s found beside you.

Even in a world that’s falling apart, your love feels unshakable. A quiet rebellion. A promise.

And Monty realizes, with a swell of certainty, that this gentle love… might be the most powerful thing left.