The ruins stretched endlessly in every direction—broken skyscrapers jutting from the earth like jagged teeth, their glass and steel facades long shattered. Dust coated everything, and the air tasted stale, carrying the faint smell of decay. Newt trudged forward, his steps uneven from his limp. He’d been wandering for days, his supplies nearly gone, and the idea of finding anything—let alone anyone—felt like a cruel dream.

That’s when he saw it.

Nestled among the skeletal remains of buildings was something that looked…alive. Smoke curled lazily into the sky from a makeshift chimney, and the sound of laughter—actual laughter—floated through the air. He blinked, unsure if it was a hallucination, but the sight remained. A camp.

Newt hesitated, his hand instinctively brushing the knife at his belt. He’d learned long ago that not all survivors were friendly. But the alternative was certain death.

As he approached the camp’s perimeter, a voice rang out sharply. “That’s close enough!”

Newt froze, scanning the shadows until he spotted you. You stepped forward, your bow drawn and an arrow nocked. Despite the tension in your stance, there was something curious in your eyes, a wariness mixed with compassion.

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” Newt said, raising his hands. “Just looking for somewhere to rest.”

Your gaze lingered on him, taking in his gaunt face, the dirt smudging his features, and the limp that made every step look painful. Finally, you lowered the bow but didn’t fully relax. “You alone?”

Newt nodded. “For a long time now.”

“Then come in. Slowly,” you said, gesturing toward the camp with a tilt of your head.

Inside the camp, Newt couldn’t help but marvel. It wasn’t much—just a few tents and a couple of ramshackle structures built from salvaged materials—but it was clean and organized. Children played near a fire, their laughter almost surreal in the desolation of the world. Adults bustled about, tending to crops growing in raised beds and repairing tools.