When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

stood by the table, hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the empty space where Barnaby sometimes lay during the workshops.

“I was a jerk,” he said bluntly.

I didn’t respond with a speech. I didn’t need to win.

I just looked at him.

He swallowed. “My sister… she got stranded last winter. Small car. No supplies. She made it, but… barely.” His voice went continue reading …