Page 15 of What Remains

Jay went still for a second.

There it was—the exact truth he’d been circling all morning without managing to put into words.

“You think you can talk to him?” he asked, his voice low.

Sawyer nodded without hesitation. “Yeah. It might not fix anything, but it’s better than him carrying it alone. I’ll talk to him.”

Jay blew out a slow exhale, relief loosening something in his chest. “Thanks. I was afraid of pushing him too hard. Figured you’d know how to reach him better than anyone.”

Sawyer adjusted the strap of his rifle across his shoulder. “I’ll talk to him tonight. And look… he’ll come through this. He’s a good man—stronger than he believes himself to be. But we don’t let each other fall behind. Not here. Not now. Not after everything it took to build this.”

Jay nodded firmly. “Agreed.”

They walked on. Ahead, the cabin was visible through the trees, warm light glowing through the windows—home.

Jay spoke into the quiet. “We can’t lose him, Sawyer.”

Sawyer’s voice came back low, as steady as the worn handle of his axe. “We won’t. Not if I can help it.”

Sawyer gave a faint, approving nod. “Then we’ll make damn sure he knows he’s needed.”

As February bled reluctantly into March, the world outside stayed locked beneath ice. Inside the cabin, however, they did their best to keep spirits—and plans—moving forward. Every night the group sat at the table, maps spread open between mugs of stale coffee, hashing out routes and backup plans for the spring run until the candles flickered.

But they also made room for lighter things—conversations that reminded them a future still existed, one worth fighting for.

Tonight, that topic was chickens.

Addy perched cross-legged on the rug, Watch snoring beside her, her hands moving animatedly as she laid out her grand vision..

“So once the coop is built,” she said, tapping a pencil against a piece of scrap paper that vaguely resembled a blueprint, “they’re gonna have their own little yard, a roosting bar, proper nesting boxes—basically a full chicken spa.”

Cara leaned over from her seat on the floor, brow furrowing. “A spa?”

Addy nodded with absolute seriousness. “Yes. A spa. Happy chickens lay better eggs. I read that in a book.”

Jay raised an eyebrow over his mug. “A book you actually read, or a book you skimmed because it had cute pictures of chickens?”

Addy became indignant. “That is entirely beside the point.”

Sawyer chuckled, pausing with the hatchet halfway through a sharpening stroke. “Just remember,” he said, “as those chicks grow, the roosters end up being meat birds.”

Addy froze mid-sentence, her pencil dropping to the rug.

Jay blinked at Sawyer. “You did not just drop that on her while she’s designing a chicken spa.”

Sawyer shrugged, unrepentant. “It’s reality.”

Addy pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “Reality needs to take a seat. Far, far away from me.”

Sawyer smirked. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Jay and I can show you how to process them when the time comes.”

She cringed visibly. “Oh, wonderful. A fun family activity.”

“Bonding,” Seth said from the hearth.

“Blooding,” Addy corrected, horrified.

Cara, genuinely trying to help, said, “It’s really not so bad. My dad taught me when I was little. You just⁠—”