POV: JaredThere was no signal to mark the day as important.No shift in the sky. No hum under the ground. Morning arrived the same way it had the day before, light easing across the field without urgency, shadows pulling themselves apart inch by inch.Jared woke to the sound of Emma moving.Not alarms. Not warnings. Just the soft scrape of wood and fabric as she tried to stand without waking him. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, listening. The small noises told him more than words ever had. She was slower today, but steadier. Careful, not fragile.When he finally opened his eyes, she was outside the shelter, back turned, crouched near the stones where they had tried and failed to make a proper fire pit. Smoke curled weakly into the air.She had tied her hair back with a strip of cloth torn from his old sleeve. He noticed that before anything else.“You’re awake,” she said without turning.“I’ve been awake,” he replied.She glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching. “Liar.

POV: JaredJared noticed the silence first.Not the good kind that settled after sleep or after rain. This one sat wrong, like a held breath that refused to release. The river was ahead of him, sunlight breaking on its surface in thin silver lines. He had come alone to fill the containers, giving Emma time to rest. She had slept deeper lately, like her body was negotiating with itself.He slowed before the water came fully into view.Someone was sitting on the flat stone near the bank.Not standing. Not hiding.Just sitting, feet bare in the river, hands resting loosely on their knees as if they had all the time in the world.They looked ordinary enough that his first thought was that his mind had misfired again. Average height. Dark hair tied back with a strip of cloth. Clothes worn thin at the elbows. No weapon in sight. They turned their head slightly when he stopped, eyes lifting with mild interest, like he was the one arriving late.Jared’s hand tightened around the strap of the

POV: JaredThe visitor returned the next morning.No warning. No dramatic entrance. They were already there when Jared looked up from the river, standing where the mist thinned and the stones broke the current into quiet lines. Like they had always belonged there.Emma was behind him, rinsing a cloth, humming under her breath. Off key. Comfortable.Jared straightened slowly. He did not reach for anything. He did not step forward either.“You’re early,” he said.The visitor inclined their head. “Time matters more outside.”That word again. Outside.They sat on a flat stone by the river, close enough to be heard but not close enough to feel familiar. Jared stayed where he was. Emma came up beside him without asking, water still clinging to her fingers.The visitor looked at her first.Not with hunger. Not with awe.With need.“You deserve the truth,” they said.Jared felt his spine tighten. “You already gave us your version.”“This one costs more,” the visitor replied.Emma wrapped the

POV: JaredThe visitor comes back at dawn.No warning. No drama. Just there again, sitting on the same rock by the river like time never learned how to move them away.Emma is boiling water. She hums under her breath, off key, focused. I almost tell the visitor to leave. Almost pretend this is just another morning that belongs to us.They clear their throat instead.“You were right to be afraid,” they say. “But we can do better than last time.”Emma turns first. Not startled. Just alert. Like she already knew today would ask something of her.I step forward without thinking. Old instinct. Put myself in front. Be the thing that gets hit.The visitor’s eyes flick to me, then back to her.“You can leave,” they say to Emma. “Help stabilize the others. We have places failing by the hour. Minds burning out. Systems collapsing into noise.”Emma’s hands still. Steam curls up between us.“And him?” she asks.The visitor finally looks at me properly. Not hostile. Not kind. Assessing.“He can co

POV: JaredShe did not say it like a sacrifice.That was the first thing that scared me.Emma said it while folding her sleeves, like she was preparing to wash her hands. Calm. Thought through. Already lived with the idea long enough that it had softened around the edges.“There’s a third option,” she said.I waited for the catch. There was always one.She would go with the visitor. Not forever. Not to save everything. Just one breach. One place that was still tearing itself apart. She would help them stabilize it, show them how to listen instead of forcing fixes, teach them how to let broken systems breathe.Then she would come back.No vows attached. No guarantees smuggled into the sentence.Just intention.I opened my mouth and nothing came out.I wanted to argue. I had the words ready. I had them memorized. I could list risks and probabilities and timelines like scripture. I could tell her how fragile this world still was, how fragile she was, how every separation felt like tempti