"Are you disappointed?"

Marcus was sitting on a rough wooden crate. The knife in his hand moved slowly, peeling thin strips from the apple’s skin, each curling into perfect spirals before falling onto the cold stone floor. When Clara approached, he didn’t even look up.

"I'm trying to understand what you're trying to do, but it must be because of winter. It always makes people restless."

Clara crossed her arms, displeased with the answer but not surprised. The cold did that—it hardened bones and stole patience. How many became vulnerable when the winds shook the blankets hanging from the tops of buildings? Up there, the people's tattered flags fluttered as if struggling to resist, and Clara couldn't help but feel she was doing the same.

"It wouldn't necessarily be winter making people like this. Have you seen how many mouths we have to feed?" She watched him bite into the apple forcefully and spit a seed down the building. "And what I know about you, Marcus, is that you’d rather not have so many responsibilities if we can’t feed everyone."

The words hung in the air between them, sharp as knives. Marcus raised his eyes to her but said nothing. He didn’t need to—Clara knew that look. It was the look of someone who knew she was right but wouldn’t easily yield to the truth.

"So what have you decided?"

"I came to talk about it, if you’re willing to listen."

Marcus chewed the apple with force, making Clara uneasy with how his teeth seemed to crush the pulp.

"I was never against you speaking," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "I just don’t think it’s fair, after everything we’ve been through."

Clara stepped closer and pushed him toward the edge of the crate. The two of them stared at the city, a vast reminder that loneliness was just a small flame in the cold. Even among others, she was sure the world was still too frozen to trust without caution.

"Is it justice you want, Marcus?"

"It's what I’d expect to be given." He didn't hesitate, as if he’d already expected the question. "What I got was watching those two come here with ten others who had nothing to offer. Two weeks ago, they tried to steal our battery. Now, you want to house them somewhere when we don’t even have half the supplies on that list."

Always worried about the residents, always worried about their home, always worried about what his hands couldn’t control. That’s how he grew up, and that’s how he became a man.

To answer him, Clara reached into the pocket of her long coat and handed him a piece of paper folded in four. She waited for him to unfold it before speaking.

"The items Dante brought this week," she clarified lightly. "Jix said not to praise Dante personally, but I had to do it with someone. Your fear, Marcus—Dante has handled it in just two weeks."

The shooter read, item by item. It was a bit impressive, she knew. Dante had run through the city so many times, collecting blankets, clothes, bottles, and gallons. Marcus stood up, and she could hear his lips hissing.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Every morning, I make a list," Clara said. "And by the end of the afternoon, he has ten times more than I asked for. He got access to a place nearby, a building I asked Clerk to remodel from the inside, but he requested that everything be stored on the lower floor."

Marcus stared at her in disbelief.

"We have a stockpile?"

"It's still incomplete, as you can see. We have one more week before winter, but according to Simone, our biggest concern now is the cold. What I asked Dante to find now is a furnace. It’s not a luxury we can afford, but if we use it with the coal he found in the markets, we’ll have a chance to get through winter without problems."

The biggest challenge since the building had been reinforced day by day was the cold. Even with all the windows repaired, Clerk had said the glass consumed too much of his Cosmic Energy. Clara wouldn’t push him beyond his limits, so she accepted the terms of reinforcing only the walls, floors, and ceiling.

Which was already more than enough.

That’s why the furnace would play a key role, something she had discussed with Simone and Jix to strengthen the heat for the coming winter.

"Meliah said he’d send resources for us to build one," Clara said, finishing her thoughts. "That’s why I agreed to negotiate. He can keep Degol here all winter, but he has to supply us with all the resources we need. That was the deal, and he couldn't refuse."

"Luma would have food and shelter to offer too."

Clara shook her head.

"Dante told me we have water and energy, and I understood that’s enough. Luma and Antton have none of that, so they came to us. And that—" she pointed at the paper in his hands, "now we have enough food stored for over three months. Jix told me Dante will spend another week gathering supplies, but he's going farther and farther. I won’t risk a fight with him alone."

Marcus let out a half-mocking smile.

"The old man knows how to take care of himself better than we do. He carries another old man on his back and still brings those backpacks full, but…" He was still looking at the paper, clearly impressed by the amount. "He’s done so much, and it feels like we haven’t thanked him enough."

Clara agreed. Dante never stopped, isolating himself and spending more time with Jix than with the two of them. Since Degol's accident, he had taken on the responsibility of finding food and medicine. It wasn’t surprising that the sick had improved considerably. Old wounds healed, and there was now an entire wing just for them.

Clerk already had plans to improve even the cabinets and workbenches so Simone could work better.

"And where is Dante now?" Marcus asked, returning the list. "I haven't seen him since this morning."

"Seems like he went for another patrol. I wish I could express more about what I feel regarding what he's done. But it seems like he doesn’t want to talk much."

Marcus agreed, opening his mouth to speak. Then, an explosion sounded from the streets, smoke and flames rising not far from there, followed by a high-pitched roar filled with rage and desperation.

When the two reached the edge, they saw the people below running from the blast. They looked back, stumbled, and kept going.

"Shit." Marcus patted his chest. "I left my gun on the workbench. Shit."

"We need to get everyone out of there. Go back and—"

A whizzing sound passed them, at the same height as the building. In a split second, Clara saw an amused smile on an old man's face. On his back, another man pointed his cane toward the chaos.

Dante and Jix shot past them like a bullet. The air distorted in their wake as they descended to where the smoke licked the cars. Clara and Marcus began rushing back across the wooden bridge when another roar sounded, this time filled with pain.

And a Felroz appeared, rising, stopping mid-air. Before it could turn and start falling, Dante emerged, grabbed its arm, and hurled it down. The entire street cracked with the impact. The Felroz let out a weaker roar, trying to free itself from the small crater, but before it could, Dante's feet collided with its chest, pushing it down even further.

The impact pierced the creature. Dante threw a single punch, and the Felroz's face shattered, sending a shockwave backward. Those two final moves were enough to ensure only the human was still breathing.

Clara and Marcus watched from above. As strange as it was, Clara was almost sure Dante enjoyed fighting like that. And when the tension faded, he immediately lost the smile from his face.

"Still want to thank him?" Marcus asked, glancing at her. "You should write him a letter."