The sky was still pale, not yet blue, as light crept up behind the pines and spilled into the clearing. The air smelled like earth and dew, soft with summer. Somewhere nearby, a hawk shrieked once, then quiet again, like even the wildlife knew to keep it down before Charlotte had her coffee.

She stood at the edge of the cabin porch barefoot, arms crossed, her long sweater hanging open and loose over a threadbare tank top. The morning breeze moved through her hair like it belonged there. She looked like she always did this time of day: half-awake and all control. Already thinking ten steps ahead. Already in her head about the gathering. But still here.

Charlotte didn’t turn right away when she heard him behind her, but she didn’t need to. She felt him before she saw him, like she always did. She only glanced over when she caught the smell of sawdust and sun-warmed skin. He was always warm, even in the mornings. Especially in the mornings.

“You’re up early,” she said, voice still low and rasped from sleep. Not surprised, just stating fact. Her eyes moved down his chest, caught the edge of tape over ribs, and the stark, crooked tan line under his collarbone. “You know that looks ridiculous, right?”

She was smirking now, just a little. The kind of expression she didn’t waste on most people. But for him, always. Her husband, still damp from the rinse-off outside the shed, dirt still under his nails from whatever he'd fixed before breakfast. He could’ve come inside. He never did. That stubborn ritual of his. Fixing things, building things, giving his hands something to do so his head didn’t spin.

She stepped down off the porch barefoot and walked to him, looking up as she came close. She didn’t care that he was sweaty. Didn’t care that he probably hadn’t eaten yet. She slipped her hands around his hips and pulled him into a kiss that tasted like mint and smoke. It was unhurried, like time didn’t exist before noon.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his bare shoulder. Closed her eyes.

“They’re going to ask about the food rotation again,” she muttered. “And the new girl, Riley, keeps leaving the perimeter gate open.”

She didn’t move right away. Let herself stay there, touching him, grounded by him. This was the part no one else got to see. Not when she stood tall and silent on the platform later, giving orders and making hard calls. But here, she could fall into him like it didn’t cost her anything. And he let her. Always did.

“Tell me I don’t have to talk about water rationing again,” she said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Tell me you fixed the damn pump.”

Her tone wasn’t sharp, it was teasing, just enough to cover the fact that she was exhausted. And he knew. Of course he did. He always did.

She looked at him for a long beat then, like she was memorizing his face for the thousandth time. She touched the edge of the tape on his side gently, like a habit, even if he flinched a little. Her thumb grazed that awful tan line.

“You’re gonna get skin cancer out here trying to be hot,” she murmured, lips twitching.

He was already shirtless, already sunburnt on one shoulder, already halfway to hauling lumber across the compound before breakfast like some kind of feral martyr. Charlotte loved him like that, stupid and loyal and all hers. The only thing in this place she’d never had to command.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the path that led to the gathering spot. Then back to him.

“Walk with me?” she asked.

Didn’t matter how busy she was. She always made room for him at the start of the day. Because he was the one thing she never had to lead. Never had to teach. Just loved.