Colter Camp, Grizzlies West
The fire had burned low, crackling gently as the wood popped in the quiet. Cam Gallagher sat still, watching the flames. The heat from the fire seeped into his hands, but it did little to ease the cold that lingered in his bones. Outside, the wind raked against the cabin, steady and relentless. He barely noticed it anymore.
The door opened with a creak. Cam didn't look up. He had learned to sense when people entered the cabin, the way they moved — not just by sound but by the way the air shifted around them.
Mary-Beth stepped inside, wiping snow from her boots before closing the door behind her. She was wearing a heavy coat, and her breath made a cloud in the air as she exhaled.
"You've got the fire all to yourself," she said, her voice quiet but not hesitant.
Cam shifted slightly on the bench, making room. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
She moved to the hearth, holding her hands close to the warmth. The crackling of the fire filled the silence between them.
After a moment, she spoke again. "You ever get used to this?" Her tone wasn't bitter, just tired. "The cold, the waiting… all of it?"
Cam thought about it for a long moment, long enough for the silence to stretch between them. "No," he said finally. "You don't get used to it. You just… learn to keep going."
She nodded, as if that answer made sense to her. Neither of them had any illusions about what they were doing, where they were. They weren't here for comfort. They weren't here to make something better.
Mary-Beth settled onto the bench beside him, still staring at the fire. The flicker of the flames reflected in her eyes, but she wasn't looking at the light — she was just watching it move, lost in thought. Cam could tell it wasn't something she was willing to talk about.
"Pearson's coffee still taste like dirt?" he asked, breaking the quiet. It wasn't a real question. He already knew the answer.
Mary-Beth let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah. Can't say it's improved."
Cam smirked, glancing over at her. "Still drinking it, though."
She shrugged. "Don't have much else."
The fire crackled again, a loud pop this time, making the cabin seem even quieter.
For a while, neither of them said anything. The wind howled outside, but inside, the air felt still, almost too still. The weight of the world didn't seem as heavy in the warmth of the fire, even if only for a moment.
"Do you ever think about… what happens next?" Mary-Beth asked, her voice lower this time, as if she hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Cam glanced at her briefly, but didn't respond right away. He wasn't sure he had an answer.
"No," he said finally, with a shrug. "Can't think that far. Just take it one day at a time."
She looked over at him, her expression unreadable. "I used to think I had time for things. For… more than this." She gestured vaguely around the room, as if the cabin and the fire weren't quite enough to explain everything. "Now it feels like we're just getting by. I guess I didn't really expect it to feel like this."
Cam didn't have a good answer for that. He couldn't say it was all going to be fine — because it wasn't. He didn't even know if he had an answer for himself. But he did know one thing.
"We're still here," he said quietly.
She glanced at him, nodding, but didn't say anything more. It didn't need to be said.
They both sat in the silence that followed, the crackling of the fire and the distant howl of the wind their only company.
Colter Camp, Grizzlies West
The next morning
The morning light was pale, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The camp was waking slowly, each person moving in their own rhythm, the cold air making every breath feel sharp. Snow crunched underfoot as Cam sat near the edge of camp, leaning against a rough pine, the tips of his boots half-buried in the white powder. His coat was tight around his shoulders, but the chill still found its way through, biting at his skin.
He closed his eyes for a second, letting the silence of the wilderness fill him. Sometimes, these moments were the only things that kept him grounded. The world around them was always shifting, always on the move, but here, in the stillness, he could almost forget the weight of it all.
Footsteps broke the quiet.
Cam didn't need to look to know it was Mary-Beth. The way she moved — slow, deliberate, not trying to disturb anything. She came closer, boots crunching in the snow, her breath coming out in visible clouds.
"Morning," she said, voice soft but not too quiet. Like she wasn't afraid to speak, but maybe didn't know what to say.
"Morning," Cam replied, shifting slightly on the ground to make space for her. He didn't ask if she was okay; he already knew the answer. None of them were. Not really.
Mary-Beth hesitated for a moment, her gaze drifting over the camp, watching the others wake, go about their business. The usual sounds of chopping wood, horses stirring, and fires crackling filled the air, but she didn't seem to be hearing any of it.
She stood there for a while before finally sitting down beside him. Her posture was stiff, like she was carrying more than just the cold in her bones. She pulled her coat tighter, the fabric creaking under the pressure. Her eyes were distant, almost searching the horizon like she could find something there.
"You ever think about leaving?" Her voice wasn't accusing. It was more like a thought she was trying to make sense of, the kind of question that had no real answer but still felt important to ask.
Cam didn't answer right away. He shifted again, his eyes flicking to the sky, the pale blue that was still too thin to be called morning. "Where would we go?" he asked, the words low, almost to himself.
Mary-Beth looked down at her hands, wrapped tightly in her gloves. She didn't respond right away. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable; it was familiar, like the space they both needed to say the things they couldn't.
"I don't know," she said finally, her voice softer now, a little sadder. "Maybe somewhere we don't have to keep running. Somewhere... quiet."
"Maybe there's no such place," Cam said, his voice almost a whisper. "Not for people like us."
She didn't answer at first, but her fingers gripped the hem of her coat a little tighter, like she was trying to hold on to something she couldn't keep.
"I used to think about what my life would be," she said quietly. "Before all this. Thought I'd write. Travel. Maybe find someone... someone who actually gave a damn."
Her eyes were still on the snow, but her thoughts seemed far away. "But now..." She trailed off, her breath heavy in the cold air.
Cam didn't need her to finish. He understood. They both understood what it was like to have dreams stripped away, replaced by survival.
"Don't think about that," he said after a moment, his voice steady. "We can't change what happened. But we're still here. That's something, at least."
Mary-Beth looked at him then, her eyes tired but not lost. She gave a small nod, the kind of motion that didn't quite mean she agreed, but it was enough to show she heard him.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I guess it is."
They sat there for a while, the weight of everything not needing to be spoken. The sound of the camp waking around them was distant, muted by the snow. The world felt vast, empty, and yet in that quiet moment, Cam felt a strange sense of peace. Not the kind that would last, but the kind that could survive just long enough.
"Why did you join Dutch?" she asked after a long stretch of silence. Her words came slowly, like she wasn't sure if she wanted the answer or was just asking to fill the quiet.
Cam glanced at her. It was an honest question, but he knew she wasn't asking for the kind of answer most people would expect. She wasn't asking for the grand tale, the reasons they all told themselves to keep going.
"I had nowhere else to go," he said simply. No lies, no romanticized version of himself. Just the truth.
Mary-Beth didn't say anything for a moment, just took a slow breath, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her coat. She was still processing, still turning his words over in her mind.
"You think we'll ever get out of this?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above the wind.
Cam shook his head, eyes focused on the camp. "I don't know. But I know we won't go down without a fight."
She leaned back against the tree then, her shoulder brushing his ever so slightly. It was a small thing, but it mattered. He felt it, the warmth of her presence, the understanding that passed between them without the need for more words.
In that moment, with the world still and the snow falling around them, they weren't just surviving. They were together. And sometimes, that was enough.
The cold was never just the chill in the air. It was a weight, pressing against your skin, seeping into your bones. Each day felt like it might be the last, and yet, in the silence of the mountains, there was a rhythm — a rhythm in the work, in the shared glances, and the unspoken understanding that life had become about survival and little else.
Cam Gallagher had settled into that rhythm, the quiet hum of camp life surrounding him like a heavy blanket. And in this place, amid the freezing winds and the constant threat of danger, he found that his world was made up of more than just the cold. It was the people here, too. Each one, with their own scars, their own histories, their own way of navigating the world that had turned so unforgiving.
Arthur Morgan
Arthur Morgan was a man made of contradictions. There was a weight in his presence, one that pressed down on everyone around him, not out of malice, but because Arthur was always carrying something. His shoulders sagged from it, his jaw tightened from it, and the lines on his face told a thousand stories without him ever uttering a word.
On the outside, Arthur was a mountain. Cold. Solid. Indestructible. He had the sort of silence that filled a room without ever making a sound, the kind that made you feel like your own voice might just break the spell. He didn't need to prove anything to anyone, and yet, the longer you were around him, the more you realized he was the kind of man who needed to believe in something. Or maybe, he just needed to believe in someone.
That moment came one evening when the camp was quieter than usual. The fire crackled in the distance, its warm glow casting long shadows on the snow. Cam had been sitting outside, leaning back on his elbows, staring up at the stars. The night was crisp, clear, and for a brief moment, he forgot about the struggle.
Arthur, however, was a different story. He was always thinking, always doing. It was his way. But tonight, it seemed like he had no particular place to be.
"Mind if I join you?" Arthur asked, his voice rough but not unkind.
Cam didn't answer right away. Instead, he moved over slightly, making room on the log next to him. Arthur sat down with a soft grunt, the cold air making his breath visible in small puffs.
The two of them sat there for a while, just watching the sky. It was strange how sometimes you didn't need to talk — sometimes the silence felt like enough.
After a few moments, Cam broke it, as usual. "It's quiet tonight," he said. "A little too quiet, maybe."
Arthur gave a low chuckle, his gaze still on the sky. "Quiet's good. Means nothing's comin' at us for once."
Cam smirked. "Yeah, that's true. Feels nice."
There was a beat of silence before Cam turned to Arthur. "You ever think about what we're actually doin' out here?"
Arthur glanced at him, a small spark in his eyes. "I try not to," he said with a grin, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "Keeps the brain from gettin' too tired."
Cam laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But still, sometimes I wonder if we're on the right track. You know?"
Arthur's expression softened. He leaned back on the log, his broad shoulders relaxing. "I think the right track's just keepin' our heads above water. It ain't perfect, but it's enough. We make it work, one day at a time. That's all any of us can do, really."
Cam considered his words, nodding slowly. "Yeah... I guess that's true. Keepin' our heads above water."
Arthur looked over at him, the hint of a smile still on his face. "You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Cam. A lot of people wouldn't last out here as long as you have."
Cam shrugged, but the compliment still hit him. "Guess I've learned from the best."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Maybe. But you've got something else, too. You're not just surviving, you're... I don't know, makin' this place feel like home for some folks. For Mary-Beth, for the others. You're good for the camp."
Cam wasn't sure how to respond to that. He wasn't used to compliments, and this one made him feel a little uncomfortable. But it also made him feel something else — pride, maybe.
"Thanks," Cam said quietly, a genuine smile crossing his face. "That means more than you know."
Arthur and Cam had just finished talking, the conversation still lingering in the air. But as the firelight flickered, other members of the gang began to drift closer, joining the quiet circle.
Javier Escuella stepped forward first, his easy grin lighting up the dark. The Spanish outlaw had a way of finding humor in the bleakest moments, and tonight was no different.
"Vaya, you two look like you're plotting something serious," Javier teased, sitting down beside Cam. He clapped him on the back, too loud for the mood, but it didn't matter. "Or are you just sitting around waiting for the next storm?"
Cam smirked, adjusting his position. "I think we're just waiting for the fire to keep us warm."
Javier chuckled, his eyes flickering with that familiar mischief. "Ah, well, if that's all it takes..." He reached for a bottle that had been passed around earlier, uncapping it with a soft pop. He took a swig and handed it over to Cam.
Cam took the bottle, tasting the whiskey with a slight grimace. "Not bad," he said, passing it back.
Javier nodded, clearly pleased. "Sometimes that's all we need to get through these nights." He leaned back, letting his boots rest on the edge of the fire pit. "You know, there's more to life than just surviving. We could make a toast — for all the good we're still capable of, even out here." His voice softened, and for a moment, there was no teasing, no bravado. Just a quiet acknowledgment.
Cam looked at him and nodded. "You're right, Javier. Here's to that."
The moment hung there, fragile but solid. Then, as if the weight had been lifted, Bill Williamson shuffled over with a loud grunt. He was always loud, but in a way that was less jarring and more just part of the background noise of camp life.
"Enough of that deep talk," Bill said, his booming voice cutting through the air. "What we need is food, not speeches."
Javier rolled his eyes but didn't protest. "I was just saying, Bill, it's not always about food."
Bill grinned, taking a seat next to them. "Well, that's your problem. You've got too much feeling in you. You ever think about just filling your belly and being happy with that?"
Arthur chuckled from across the fire. "Bill's got a point. There's something about a hot meal after a long day that makes the rest of the world fade a little."
Bill nodded with a satisfied grin. "See? It's simple." He nudged Cam with his elbow. "Ain't that right?"
Cam laughed. "Guess so, Bill."
But before Bill could continue, Uncle strolled over, his face etched with a tired smile, always a bit rough around the edges, but undeniably good-natured.
"Well, well," Uncle said, sitting down on the log beside Arthur. "Looks like everyone's out here solving the world's problems while I'm in here trying to keep things together." He had a knack for making everything sound more chaotic than it was. "That stew's gonna burn if we don't get it fixed. And don't even get me started on Pearson's mood tonight…"
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Pearson's always got something to complain about. But we'll help when we can. We all pitch in."
Cam looked at Uncle and smiled. "I'm sure Pearson's stew won't be the end of the world."
Uncle gave him a wry grin. "Well, it might not end the world, but it sure as hell might end my appetite for the night. Still, it's the little things that keep us going." He stretched his legs out and leaned back, his tired eyes watching the fire. "Sometimes I think we're just one good meal away from thinking this whole mess is worth it."
The gang was quiet for a moment, the fire crackling as the wind howled faintly in the distance. It wasn't a conversation about grand things or plans. It was just a moment of understanding, of knowing that they were all in this together — despite the odds.
Fireside Conversations
Colter Camp, Grizzlies West
The storm outside had settled into a quiet, restless hum. Snow piled up thick against the cabin walls, and the cold tried to creep in around the edges of the door. But inside, by the fire, the warmth was a small victory against the relentless winter.
Dutch Van der Linde was in the middle of telling one of his grand ideas, a wide grin on his face. Across from him, Hosea Matthews was shaking his head, but there was a quiet fondness in his eyes.
"You see," Dutch said, leaning forward, his voice low but filled with that unmistakable enthusiasm. "We can do it. We just need to make a few more moves, lay low until the right moment. Then, we'll get out of here. This cold will be a distant memory, and we'll be in the sun, where we belong."
Hosea let out a sigh, but it wasn't one of frustration — it was a resigned kind of sigh. "Dutch, we've been laying low for weeks, and I can't say I see a big plan unfolding. The mountains are freezing us out, the law's not far behind, and we can barely scrape together enough food." He glanced toward the door and then back at Dutch, his tone light. "So tell me again, how exactly are we getting out of this mess?"
Just then, Cam Gallagher stepped into the cabin, his boots crunching lightly on the floor. He'd been outside, helping with some of the chores around camp, but he couldn't shake the feeling that everyone was growing more tense with every passing day. The storm had a way of making people turn inward, and Cam wasn't sure how much longer they could all hold it together.
He slid onto a bench near the fire, wiping his hands on his coat and looking between Dutch and Hosea. "You two still at it?" he asked, flashing a wry smile. "I swear, this whole camp could use a little less talk about plans and a little more action." His voice was easy, a playful edge to it.
Dutch raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Ah, Cam. The optimist of the group. You're just in time. Hosea was about to ask how we're going to make it out of this frozen hellhole."
Hosea shot Dutch a look. "I wasn't asking, Dutch. I was stating the obvious."
Cam leaned back, his eyes glinting with that trademark smirk. "Well, if it's any consolation, we're still alive, right?" He glanced at Dutch, adding, "And last time I checked, we've survived worse than a blizzard."
Dutch chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "That's the spirit, Cam. You're right, of course. It's easy to get caught up in the cold, but we've faced worse odds than this. What matters is that we've got each other. And we've got you, my friend. You've got the grit to keep this group together."
Hosea raised an eyebrow. "That's funny, I thought I was the one keeping this group together."
Cam gave him a quick look, then shifted his attention to Dutch. "Well, maybe, but you've got to admit, Hosea, sometimes you do get a little... old-school with your worrying."
Hosea grinned despite himself. "I suppose that's my job, to worry. You and Dutch are the dreamers, aren't you? Always thinking of the future. But you know what? If it weren't for us realist types, you two would have been caught by the law a long time ago."
Cam chuckled, then leaned forward, letting the warmth of the fire reach him. "That's true. I've learned to trust both sides of the coin. Hope, but with a little practicality mixed in. Maybe that's the secret. You're right, we've been through some rough patches, but we've always made it out, haven't we?"
Dutch's eyes softened, but his voice was still filled with that confidence. "That's the truth, Cam. We've got the grit, and we've got the heart. The rest will follow."
Hosea snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Look at you two. Talk about hope, like we've got some grand destiny ahead of us. You're starting to sound like a preacher, Dutch."
Dutch chuckled, his tone light. "Well, maybe I should start giving sermons. You think I'd make a good preacher, Hosea?"
Hosea chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "With all the plans you've got, I'd say you'd be a hit. Just keep it down about the sermons; we wouldn't want to frighten off the townsfolk."
Cam laughed, the sound easy and comfortable. "I'll say this — if we're going to survive this storm, we'll need more than just Dutch's speeches. We'll need warmth, food, and each other. And as long as we've got that, I'd say we're doing alright."
Dutch leaned back, looking between the two of them, his smile genuine. "That's the spirit, Cam. You've got the right idea. Maybe we don't have all the answers, but we've got what matters. We've got each other."
Hosea shook his head, his grin widening. "Alright, alright. I'll admit, you two might be onto something. But don't go getting too optimistic. We still need to keep our wits about us."
Cam shrugged, his grin still in place. "I think I'm allowed a little optimism every now and then. Can't hurt, right?"
Dutch raised his mug in agreement. "Here's to optimism, then. We've made it this far, and we'll make it further. As long as we stick together."
The fire crackled louder, the sound a steady, reassuring hum in the background as the storm raged outside. And for a moment, there was a quiet peace in the air — one that held the promise of survival, of better days ahead. The camp might have been in the middle of a harsh winter, but the warmth of the fire and the bonds they shared seemed more than enough to see them through.
Quiet Moments
Colter Camp, Grizzlies West
The storm outside had passed, leaving a stillness in the air. The cold hadn't eased, but at least the wind had died down, and for the first time in hours, there was a little peace in the camp. People were still adjusting, some cleaning their gear, others trying to get a little rest. The weight of the situation hadn't lifted, but they'd all learned to get by. Some better than others.
Inside the cabin, Bill Williamson sat near the fire, his legs stretched out, hat tipped low over his eyes. He'd been muttering about nothing in particular for the last ten minutes, something about the cold and the lack of real food. No one seemed to mind. It was just Bill being Bill.
Micah Bell, on the other hand, paced near the door, glancing out the window every few seconds. He didn't sit still unless he had to. And when he was still, his restlessness had a way of making the room feel tighter, the silence heavier. He couldn't stop picking at things, like he was waiting for something — or someone.
Lenny Summers was leaning back in his chair, his book forgotten on his lap as he absently poked at the fire. He wasn't one to complain, but it didn't mean he wasn't aware of the tension. He just handled it differently. Less words, more action. And right now, that action was keeping quiet and watching everyone else.
Cam stepped into the cabin, shaking off the cold from outside, glad for the warmth. He made his way to the fire, tossing a glance at the small group.
"Feels like we're all getting a little too used to the cold," Cam said, dropping down beside the fire. He didn't really expect anyone to respond, but it was something to break the silence.
Bill didn't bother to look up. "Yeah, and if we don't find something warmer than Pearson's stew, I might just freeze right here," he muttered, stretching his legs out even farther.
Micah, who had been pacing for what felt like hours, turned toward Cam. "And what, exactly, are we supposed to do about that? Sit around here, complaining, until someone brings in some firewood? Or a damn rabbit?"
Cam raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one pacing like I'm about to jump out of my skin, Micah. But yeah, I'd rather be complaining by the fire than out there in the snow."
Lenny glanced up from the fire, his expression neutral but his voice steady. "Ain't no point in letting the cold get in your head. We've been through worse."
Micah shot him a look. "I know what we've been through, Lenny. Doesn't mean I want to repeat it."
"Then don't," Lenny said, a little sharper this time. "But we're here. And we'll make it through. Ain't much else we can do."
Bill grunted, his hand rubbing at his face like he was trying to wake up from a long nap. "Some days, it feels like we're just surviving, not living. And I don't know if that's better or worse."
Cam leaned back slightly, staring into the fire. "Surviving's enough some days. Living's something we'll figure out when the time comes."
Micah scoffed. "What, you're gonna just wait for the 'right moment'? Don't make me laugh. Life doesn't hand you those."
"Sometimes," Cam said quietly, "you've gotta make your own moments."
There was a brief pause. No one spoke for a few seconds. The fire crackled softly, the silence not uncomfortable, just... there.
Bill shifted, his eyes narrowing at Cam's response. "Making moments, huh? I suppose that works, as long as you're not making trouble."
Cam smirked. "Trouble makes itself. I just try to keep up."
Lenny chuckled, breaking the tension that had been growing. "Guess we all do, don't we?"
Micah, to his credit, gave a short, begrudging nod. "Yeah. Yeah, we do."
The quiet after that felt a little lighter. It wasn't a laugh-out-loud moment, but it wasn't heavy either. Just... the kind of quiet you get when you're all in this together, even if it's only for survival.
Quiet Moments in the Cold
Colter Camp, Grizzlies West
The church was quiet — as quiet as anything could be in the middle of a camp full of displaced outlaws and frozen wilderness. The wind howled outside, but inside, the warmth from the fire gave the room a feeling of something close to peace. Not that it lasted long.
Cam leaned against the back wall, watching the fire flicker in the hearth. He wasn't one for spending time in the church, but it was warmer than anywhere else in camp. Plus, there was something about the stillness in here that felt... different. A temporary break from the chaos of their lives.
He'd just finished mucking out the horses when he found himself standing here, needing a few minutes to just... breathe.
Sadie was sitting in one of the pews, elbows on her knees, staring at the fire without really seeing it. Her face was tired, her expression hard to read. It had only been a few days since she'd joined them, and though she didn't speak much, there was something about her that told Cam she hadn't fully figured out where she fit in.
She caught sight of him standing by the door and didn't say anything at first.
Sadie: "You don't seem like the church-going type."
Cam smirked a little, pushing off the wall to walk closer, but he kept his distance. "I'm not. Just need a place to think."
Sadie barely nodded. Her eyes stayed on the fire. It wasn't the typical hard-edged sarcasm he'd gotten used to from her — it was something quieter, almost... tired.
She had joined them only a few days ago, and he couldn't help but notice how she still didn't seem to fit in entirely. They had all come from different places, but for Sadie, this felt different.
Sadie: "Still not sure about this whole thing. This... life."
Cam: "None of us are. We're all just trying to make it, day by day."
She shot him a glance then — it wasn't hostile, just... sharp. Like she was trying to figure him out.
Sadie: "You're real calm for someone living like this."
Cam chuckled, but it was a dry, humorless sound.
Cam: "You get used to it. Or you don't."
The tension between them wasn't awkward, but there was an unspoken distance. Sadie was still processing everything that had happened, and she hadn't had much time to adjust to the gang's way of doing things.
Sadie: "I don't think I'll ever get used to it. It ain't natural. This whole damn life."
She wasn't looking at him when she said it, but Cam could hear the heaviness in her words. He understood, even if he couldn't relate directly. There was no denying the pain in her voice.
He took a few steps forward, standing near the fire now, but not too close. They both needed space.
Cam: "No one gets used to it. We just do what we have to."
The silence hung for a moment, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There was just a quiet understanding between them. Cam could tell she wasn't the kind of person to let things slide off her back. She carried every inch of her grief and confusion like a weight.
Sadie: "My husband used to say the same thing. About doing what we have to."
There was a sharpness to her voice, like she'd let it out without meaning to. She didn't elaborate, didn't need to. Cam knew enough.
Sadie: "I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to do here. I didn't ask for any of this."
Cam: "None of us did."
Sadie looked over at him, this time with something more real in her eyes — no masks, no distance. Just the unfiltered truth.
Sadie: "You don't mind, do you? If I just keep to myself?"
Cam shrugged, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed.
Cam: "I don't mind. You do what you need to do. We all got our own battles. Just make sure you don't get too far from the fire."
Sadie looked down at the floor, running a hand through her hair as she sighed. She wasn't used to kindness like that — it wasn't something she was familiar with in this world.
Sadie: "I don't plan on getting too close to anyone, Cam."
Her tone wasn't harsh, just matter-of-fact. It was clear she wasn't here for friendships. She was here for survival.
Cam: "That's fair. But... you're not the only one trying to figure it out. We all are."
She nodded, though she didn't speak. There was no comfort in her smile, just acknowledgment. She had her walls up, and Cam didn't push.
For a few moments, they just stood there, letting the silence settle.
The fire crackled in the background, and Cam could hear the faint sounds of the others in camp — voices carrying on the wind, the occasional shout, the clinking of tools.
Sadie glanced at the door then, like she was thinking about stepping out into the cold.
Sadie: "I should get back to the others."
Cam: "Yeah. Just... don't forget, you're not the only one out here. People might not always show it, but we got your back."
Sadie didn't respond right away, but there was a subtle shift in her. Her shoulders relaxed just a little, but she still had that hardened look about her. Like she wasn't ready to let anyone in, but at least... she wasn't shutting everyone out.
She stood and gave him a curt nod.
Sadie: "Thanks."
And with that, she walked out into the cold, disappearing into the night. Cam stayed where he was, watching the fire crackle, a little less certain about the future but knowing that, in this moment, they all had to keep moving forward. Even if they didn't know how.