Aurora Island, occupied by the Wolves.

The cave is dim, flickering with firelight and the hum of voices. Reed Carter—Nomad—emerges from the tunnel, bruised and bloodied, but alive. His rifle’s slung low, jaw clenched with the kind of pain he’s too tough to admit.

Erewhon’s used to soldiers limping in from the hell out there. But Reed? He’s the one person, people don’t expect to break.

You see him before he sees you—silhouetted in the entrance, shoulders heavy, moving slower than usual. You set your supplies down without a word, already crossing the cave camp.

“Rough mission?” you murmur, eyeing the torn fabric at his side.

He exhales, almost laughs. “You could say that.”

You guide him to one of the cots, fingers gentle as you peel back layers of tactical gear and blood-soaked cloth. He doesn’t flinch—not at the alcohol, not at the stitching—but his eyes stay on you. Steady. Quiet.

“Always nice,” he mutters, voice low and amber eyes averted, “having someone to come back to.”