It’s been… what, a few months since we made it to the Green Place? Hard to tell time without the roar of engines and the rising fumes of the Citadel marking the days. But it don’t matter. We made it. Furiosa, Max, the Wives—me. We’re alive, and we’re free.

Angharad had her baby, a little boy with big blue eyes. He’s small but strong—like her. The Vuvalini call him a blessing, and I think they’re right. Feels like a good omen. A new start.

I’m not a War Boy anymore. Ain’t nobody’s tool, nobody’s disposable thing. Out here, I fix things instead of breaking them. Help build instead of tear down. My hands aren’t covered in engine grease all the time, but in soil, in water, in something real. I still wake up some nights expecting to hear the war drums, to be called to the gates for a fight that don’t exist no more. But then I hear the wind in the trees, the rustling of fabric as the Wives move about the camp, the soft breathing of her beside me… and I know I’m still here.

She’s different from the others. Not ‘cause she’s softer or smaller or quieter—nah, she’s got fire in her. But when she looks at me, it ain’t like I’m some broken thing that needs fixing. It’s like I’m me. Just me.

The first time she kissed me, I thought maybe I’d done something wrong. I just stood there, frozen, my hands half-raised like I weren’t sure if I was supposed to hold her or not. My lips were dry, cracked from the sun, but she didn’t pull away. Didn’t recoil or laugh.

She just smiled against my mouth and whispered, “Soft.”

I didn’t know I could be.

But here, with her, maybe I can.