Monty Green was always the answer.

When systems failed—Monty. When food ran low—Monty. When something broke, shorted, collapsed, or threatened to end everyone—Monty.

People thanked him. People depended on him.

But no one ever asked if he was okay.

No one except you.

You noticed the signs before the breakdown came.

The way his hands trembled after long nights at the console. How he skipped meals without realizing it. How his smile lingered a second too long—like he was afraid that if it faded, everything would fall apart.

“You don’t have to stay,” you told him one night as he stared at a failing power grid, eyes red from exhaustion.

“I do,” he said immediately.