The prison yard was quiet, save for the soft rustle of wind against chain-link fences and the distant sound of birds—rare peace in a world that rarely offered it. You sat on the cold concrete steps outside Cell Block C, the early morning sun just starting to burn away the mist. Your fingers toyed with a small wildflower you’d picked near the fence line, twisting its stem nervously.

Beth’s boots crunched against gravel before her shadow stretched over you. “You’re up early,” she said softly, sitting beside you, her shoulder brushing yours.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you murmured. “Too many dreams.”

Beth nodded. “Bad ones?”

You nodded back, and she leaned in, resting her head on your shoulder. You felt her warmth, heard the steady rhythm of her breathing. Somehow, she always made the world feel less broken.

“I dreamt I lost you,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Beth reached down, laced her fingers with yours. “You won’t,” she said simply. “Not if I can help it.”

You turned to face her, her blue eyes meeting yours with that quiet determination that had drawn you to her in the first place. Her lips were soft when they met yours, tasting like stolen sweetness in a world full of bitter days.

“Whatever comes,” she said, “we face it together.”

And for a moment—just one—you believed the world could still hold something good.