I wake to the sound of birds, distant and faint, echoing across the cliffs. Blinking in the dim light, I lie still, disoriented for a moment. There’s warmth beside me, steady and close, and it takes a second for the memories of yesterday to resurface—the ceremony, the hushed voices, Dash’s hand in mine as we climbed up here in the dark. My pulse quickens, realizing I’m not alone, that I’m sharing a bed again for the first time in years.

The thought tugs at something deep, something I haven’t let myself feel in a long time. The last time I was this close to someone, I was next to Grant, back when the world was whole and untouched. A familiar ache stirs, the weight of those years pressing against my ribs.

But I push the thought away, quick and sharp. This isn’t the time to go down that path. Not when I’m lying beside a man I barely know, in a world so broken that memories of the past feel like dreams. Right now, I need every bit of focus I have. I need to be clear-headed, steady.

I exhale slowly, willing my pulse to calm. Beside me, Dash is still asleep, his face relaxed and free of the guarded expression he wears during the day. In sleep, he looks softer, almost boyish. I’m not sure, but I guess he’s in his early 30s. I wonder briefly what he’s like beneath all those layers of silence—what kind of man he is when he isn’t braced against the world.

He stirs, his arm moving slightly under the blankets, and I tense, not quite ready for him to wake. But his eyes open, clear and alert almost instantly. For a second, we just look at each other, and I force a small, polite smile, unsure of what else to do.

“Morning,” I manage, my voice barely a whisper.

“Morning.” His reply is simple, his tone as steady as ever. There’s no awkwardness in his expression, just a calm acceptance, like sharing a bed with me was the most natural thing in the world.

I sit up, reaching for my clothes, suddenly aware of the chill in the air. I wrap a shawl around my shoulders, focusing on steadying myself, on remembering that this new role—the whole “married” arrangement—is for safety, nothing more.

Dash stands, moving to the small stove. “Tea?”

I nod, grateful for something to do, something to focus on. As he starts a fire in the stove, I wonder how he managed to make this shelter. Many were still living in tents or other makeshift structures, but this space seemed lived in. It felt like a home, with shelves and a bed and walls.

As we sip from our mugs, the silence stretches, a weight pressing down. I’ve spent years helping people open up, coaxing stories from guarded souls. But with Dash, it’s different. The words don’t come as easily, and I wonder if he’s content to keep things this quiet indefinitely.

I glance up. “So… how are we going to handle this?”

He raises an eyebrow, but I press on. “We need to be convincing if the Accord comes through. People have to believe we’re together.”

He nods once.

“That means… being seen together. People can see us in the clearing, by the fire, that kind of thing,” I press.

“Like a real couple,” he agrees.

I give a faint smile.

A shadow of a smile touches his lips, and he nods again. “And we can say we stay busy with work most days, so people won’t think it’s strange if we aren’t always together.”

That thought brings a strange mix of relief and something else, a small pang I can’t quite place. “That’s true. Plus, I’ll have my meetups—that’s what I call my therapy sessions since the word therapy makes some people uncomfortable.” I shrug. “People come to me all the time anyway, so I can use that as an excuse.” I hesitate, then add, “And, you know, if people start asking… personal questions, we’ll need to be on the same page about how much we share.”

Dash nods, taking another sip of tea as he thinks. “We keep it simple. People don’t need to know more than what they see.”

I nod. “I’d appreciate that since I work to keep my personal life away from others. It makes therapy more effective.” I tilt my head. “And what will they see?”

For a moment, he just looks at me, his gaze steady. “They’ll see us working together. Respecting each other.”

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His words catch me off guard, but I quickly regain my composure, nodding in agreement. “Right. That should be enough.”

Dash’s calm demeanor, his readiness to go along with all of this, surprises me. I was expecting resistance or, at the very least, discomfort. Instead, he’s approaching this like he approaches everything else—with quiet steadiness, no need for drama or fuss.

The silence settles around us again, this time not as heavy. It’s a quiet acceptance, a mutual understanding that whatever this is—whatever we are—it’s just beginning.

As we finish our tea, he stands and glances at the door. “We should go down to the camp,” he says, his voice back to its usual steadiness.

I nod, taking a steadying breath as I set down my mug. “Right. Time to make this official, I guess.”

Together, we make our way down the narrow path, the crisp morning air biting at my cheeks. As we reach the main part of the camp, I can already feel the eyes of curious onlookers. People are murmuring, glancing our way, and I put on the brightest smile I can muster.

The camp leader, a wiry man named Branson, raises an eyebrow when he sees us. “Well, well. So it’s true, then? You and Dash tied the knot?”

I nod, glancing at Dash, who just gives a curt nod. “That’s right,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “Guess you could say we made it official.” Branson knows damn well why we married, but in order to sell the story, he was helping to lay the groundwork with the onlookers. That doesn’t make it less embarrassing, having my personal life in the spotlight.

A few people chuckle, and I catch snippets of whispers from nearby. I know people will talk—there’s little else for them to do in this world—but it’s strange being the center of attention. I can feel Dash’s presence beside me, solid and steady, like he’s ready to step in if needed. It’s a small comfort, knowing he’s there, even if he doesn’t say much.

As we walk through the camp, I introduce him to a few people, easing us into our new roles together. Most are respectful, if a bit curious, but there’s an underlying sense of approval or understanding from the community. They see the unity, the stability, and for the first time, I start to wonder if maybe this arrangement could work.

As the day wore on, I was annoyed to realize that every single one of my meetups today was going to be dominated by questions of my marriage. I tried to gently redirect, and it usually worked, but it was still frustrating. One particular meetup that’s been increasingly tricky to manage is with a man named Greg. As I approached him, I started to help him stack wood that he was chopping. In order to make the camp still run smoothly, I typically join who ever I am meeting up with in helping them with their task or job when possible. Greg set down his axe and crossed his arms. “You married Dash?”

I’m not sure why he formed the statement as a question when he knew that I had. I put on a bright smile. “I did.” I quickly worked toward a redirect. “So, tell me how your appetite has been.”

“You married him because of the Sovereign Accord, huh?” Refusing to be dissuaded, he continued to watch me as I walked my stack to the pile.

I knew that Greg had been interested in me, and I had been studiously avoiding his interest in the most gentle way I could so I’d be able to still maintain my professional boundaries with him. While I may not sit in a chair and keep notes, dressed in business casual anymore, I still take my job and profession seriously.

“There was just a connection and we decided why wait? Ya know? Especially in this harsh world.” I said, shrugging. Honestly, that was more than I wanted to say to him or anyone but I could see he was not going to let this go as easily as others.

He stared me down for a while as I continued to stack wood. He eventually gave a frustrated huff and grabbed a log off the pile, and hacked at it, splitting it. “My appetite is improving.”

“Good to hear. How about your sleep?” I ask, relieved that he was allowing us to move on.

“It would be better if I had a woman beside me.”

I purposely kept my face away from him, shifting and fixing the wood stack so I could compose myself. Nodding, non-comittally. Inside though? I was seething. This guy! The audacity!

“How about your dreams?” I spoke once I knew my voice would sound calm and even.

He hesitated a moment before diving into the nightmares he’d been having and as his vulnerability and honesty came out, my frustration lessened and I was able to move into my role that I wore like a second skin.

Later that evening, after eating at the main camp, Dash and I left together back to his lean-to. My home now. The Sovereign Alliance had not made it to the camp today, but we knew it was any day now. We walked in silence. I felt too exhausted and frustrated to speak. As we went inside, I quickly changed from my dusty outdoor clothes to my sleep clothes, without a word I climbed under the blankets, covering my head.

A therapist’s family members learn pretty quickly that after a day of seeing clients, they often want to be left alone. I used to joke to Grant that I was catatonic after work. Some days are definitely worse than others, and today goes in the worse category.

I bury my face under the blankets, exhausted from the weight of the day pressing on me like armor I haven’t managed to peel off. It’s strange, having someone else here in my living space. Usually, I’d go back to my tent alone, let the silence hold me, but now Dash is here, a quiet presence I can’t ignore. He isn’t doing anything wrong, but he’s…here.

“You good?” His voice is low, and I can’t help but smile, glad the blanket hides it.

“Yes,” I murmur, my words muffled. I know I should explain, tell him about the kind of day it’s been, but I just don’t have it in me. And, maybe because I’m so spent, I almost feel like laughing. I must be cracking at this point.

The bed shifts as he sits down, close enough that I can sense his quiet hesitation. “If you need anything, let me know,” he says, his voice softer than I expect.

For a moment, I consider saying something, letting him in a bit. But instead, I stay silent, letting the warmth of the blankets and the quiet of his presence ease some of the weight. It’s strange, this mix of loneliness and comfort, but tonight, it feels like enough.