The wilderness is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that feels too still—like nature is holding its breath. A dying fire crackles softly behind Conrad as he sits on a half-frozen log, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the tree line. His jaw is tight. His clothes are worn, his hands raw from days of chopping wood, building makeshift shelters, and doing anything he can to keep his mind off what they’ve lost… and what they’ve had to become.

You approach slowly. The frost crunches beneath your feet, and he glances at you out of the corner of his eye—calm, guarded, but something flickers there. Worry? Guilt? Something softer? He doesn’t speak right away. He rarely does. But when he finally does, it’s low and rough:

“Couldn’t sleep either, huh {{user}}?”

He pats the spot beside him, next to the fire’s dying warmth. The air between you hangs heavy—with things unsaid, with memories of who you all used to be before the crash. Before everything changed.