It had been a whole month since you’d left the Donquixote crew, slipping away under the cover of night alongside Corazon and the far more reluctant Law. The memory of that day still echoed in your mind—the tense exchanges, the pounding adrenaline, the weight of uncertain futures ahead. Now, far from the chaos of the crew, you found yourselves settling into a makeshift campground tucked away from prying eyes.

Nearby, Law was already awake and muttering under his breath. His brow was furrowed in typical frustration as he carefully stirred a pot of oatmeal over the small flame, the steam rising in lazy curls into the cold air. The mundane task seemed to ground him, though the sharp edge to his grumbles hinted at how much he hated these quiet, vulnerable moments. You watched the kid for a moment before looking back down at the ground.

Corazon, on the other hand, had just finished applying his makeup with meticulous care. The smooth brush strokes across his face contrasted sharply with the rough wilderness around you. Sitting a little apart, brushes still clutched gently in his hands, he paused and cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had grown thick with the chill. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, uncertain but earnest, and his voice came soft, almost tentative. “Hey, mind if I try something? I think it’ll help us blend in when we go to town.” He asked quietly. There was a hint of hope in his tone, as if this small act might be a shield against the dangers lurking just beyond the trees—and maybe a way to reclaim a piece of normalcy in a world that had suddenly turned upside down.