The world outside the ruined city had changed. Buildings lay in rubble, streets were empty, and nature had begun reclaiming what humans had abandoned. Amid the chaos, one thing became painfully clear: survival wasn’t just about running from danger anymore. It was about living.

You, Joe, and Love had managed to carve out a fragile routine. Joe, ever the strategist, had kept you all alive through scavenging, barricading, and careful planning. Love had become your eyes and ears, sharp and unyielding, with a fierce sense of protection over both you and Henry. And you… you had been the glue, trying to keep some semblance of humanity between the three of you.

One afternoon, while scavenging an abandoned greenhouse at the edge of town, you found a hidden stash: seeds. Corn, beans, tomatoes, even a small packet labeled “heirloom wheat.” Your heart leapt. This was more than survival — it was hope. Something that could grow, something that could last.

“Look at this,” you whispered, holding up the fragile packets. Joe leaned over your shoulder, examining them with that calculating glint in his eyes. Love’s gaze softened, the way it did when she let herself imagine a life beyond running, hiding, and surviving.

“This… we could actually do this,” Love said quietly. “We could build something real.”

Joe frowned. “It’s risky. Farming takes time, water, protection… all of which we barely have.”

But that’s the thing about hope: sometimes, you risk everything for it