𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐄𝐃, she gradually awoke in a bright room. She was in a bed, a duvet pulled up to her chest and a pillow resting in the crook of her neck. She certainly missed sleeping on beds, she really had been travelling for a long time. She slowly sat up, feeling every ache in her muscles before her head began to spin, she'd definitely gotten a concussion.

She raised her arm to hold her head still, until she realised she was handcuffed to the bed. She shook the chain in confusion. Where was she? She glanced around, it was an infirmary, and looked built and constructed. It had advanced medical supplies, stuff you'd find in hospitals that would be extremely hard to acquire.

"The fuck are these?" she grunted, tugging at them.

"Oh, you're finally awake," a young man spoke, as he approached. "Just in case you didn't wake up, then they'd have to hit you even harder across the head." He held a chilled ice pack which he handed to her. "You've been out cold for almost a day now, your brother seemed like he was getting sickeningly worried." he faintly chuckled.

   "My brother?" she croaked. The man hummed, pulling off the black mask that hindered his warm South Asian features, and gently smiled.

   "Yeah, West. He went all apeshit, when they found out it was you that was causing ruckus on our land—we thought it was much worse people. He said that your name is Monet?" he said. She nodded, doing her best to sit up but unable to get past the excruciating pain in her cuffed, left arm. "Yeah, be careful with yourself, there,"

   "Where am I?" she grumbled painfully.

   "Safe. Safer than you were before, you almost got torn apart and then also gunned down. We thought, for a second, that you were a threat until Noah wanted to help you out." He moved to the medical table, fiddling with an aid box. "Knocking you upside the head with a rifle was one hell of an exaggeration, but I don't make the rules." That explained the concussion; and it didn't take long for Monet to recall the events that led to that moment.

   "Who's Noah?" she asked.

   "He's the 'ringleader', as I like to call him, of this community," he said, as he turned back to her once more. "I'll let them know you're awake, and get you some munch, you're probably starving. In the meantime, get some rest before I start some check-ups."

   "Wait, what's your name?" Monet abruptly interrupted, as he walked to the exit.

"Monty." he smiled lightly and left. Monet tried to relax in the silence of the infirmary. Her left shoulder was definitely disjointed and the pain radiated through every bit of her body—she hoped she'd never have to jump a building ever again.

   It took a while but Monty finally returned with cooked rabbit with vegetables and a canister of water for Monet. He removed the handcuffs and she ate it all without hesitation and then Monty proceeded to tend to her wounds, while he briefed her on the community.

   "Everwinter?" It rolled off Monet's tongue, as she repeated it to Monty. He nodded to her, as he cleaned the final wound that she had across her stomach, she sat in front of him in only her bra, as he patted the bleeding cut with antiseptic.

   "Yeah, it's the name of this place. Noah, Zara and Mackenzie, you'll meet them soon, all built it up from scratch, and they've been pushing through for a few years now." Monet looked impressed. No wonder the medical equipment looked so highly advanced.

   "Wow," was all she could say.

   "Yeah, it's pretty amazing. Noah is kind of hard to cope with, he's a little intimidating at points and real hard-headed and paranoid with decisions, but he means well. He just wants to live in peace." Monty elaborated.

   "He told you that?" she asked, he lifted his eyes.

   "Oh no, Noah barely talks about himself and what he wants, he just does what he thinks is right; I just assume that's the reason behind it. He'll do the worst if it means saving many." he shrugged.

   Monet understood that logic, to an extent. Though, she wouldn't criticise him because it seemed like he'd really done a good job. Everwinter looked like a successfully thriving community.

   "That's pretty noble of him." she commented.

   "He looks like he's been through some tough times, so providing hospitality for people he potentially can't trust is pretty noble." Monty replied, placing a small plaster over the little cut. "Alright, that's about it. How's your shoulder, you still can't move your arm?"

   "No." she sighed, lifting the ice pack on the bruising bump.

   "It's dislocated." a man diagnosed, as he stepped into the infirmary. Monty glanced back and beamed.

   "Just who we were waiting for," he grinned. Monet watched his tall, muscular physique glide towards her and Monty. "This is Noah." Monty patted his shoulder, Noah solemnly gave her a nod.

   He then gently took hold of her left arm and moved it from her lap, straightening it slowly, Monet tried not to wince. "Monty, you see the bump along the blade?" Monty nodded. "It just means that it's been popped out of its joint."

   He finally lifted his eyes to Monet who was gazing at his features, she tried her best to not look so dazzled by his beauty; he was certainly easy on the eyes. "You should lie down, I'll relocate it for you. Monty, grab some painkillers."

   Monet took some medicine and lay flat on her back, watching as Noah approached her left side, delicately lifted her arm and put it into position. His hazel eyes flicked up and they looked as though they had been filled to the brim with compassion before he said, "This'll hurt, a lot."

   At the sound of that, Monet took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. Noah's tender grip soon became overwhelmingly firm as he pulled her arm towards him and pushed it back into place. Monet yelped before she sighed with relief, feeling the majority of the pain alleviate in her shoulder.

   She heavily breathed, before opening her eyes a little to Noah scanning her. "Feel better?"

   "Yeah, thank you," she replied with a sigh. He lightly smiled before his eyes absently fell to her exposed torso, intrigued by the large birthmark that hugged her stomach.

   "You should keep that arm in a sling for some time though," he added. She nodded and sat up slowly. His eyes followed. As Monty disappeared into the closet to get a sling, there was a moment of silence between the two, before he said, "What'd you wear those gloves for?"

   Monet looked down at the black, fingerless gloves on her hands. She scoffed into a smile, "It's easier to use my katanas." she lied comfortably—she wore them to hide the scars on the back of her hands that she hated, they were dry and flaky from her history of eczema.

   "Katanas?" she nodded proudly, "Rah, those sound pretty cool, you know," his small smile widened.

   "They are. I found them on the wall of a Japanese restaurant and my boyfriend taught me how to use them." she explained, brushing her hands over the other.

   "Boyfriend? Where's your man, if you're here?" Noah asked before he'd even realised. He wasn't particularly surprised by the fact, Monet was gorgeous, and it was more apparent now that she was a little more presentable than the day they found her.

   "Dead. Killed a few months ago." she answered flatly.

   "I'm sorry."

   "It's calm, not that deep. I've been over it for a while now." she shook her head apathetically. Noah watched her silently, as she scrutinised her hand before awkwardly grabbing her shirt.

   She slowly pulled it on, trying not to move her arm too much, Noah refrained from helping; he just wanted Monty to return and divert the attention from the awkward conversation he'd caused.

   On cue, Monty returned, helping Monet into the sling and then stepping back to look at the finished job. "Any signs of infection of the virus?" Noah asked.

   "No, I don't think so, I didn't find any bites and all of the smaller cuts didn't seem to be infected yet. I've given her some antibiotics to kill anything that might arise, but I think she's good." Monty stated.

   "Calm. I promised your brother we'd have you cleaned up, but I've still got things I need to know from you." Noah explained. He ushered Monet to follow him, she stumbled behind him weakly. "Thanks, Monty!"

   West ceased his pacing, once the door opened. As he saw Monet, he heaved heavily and strode to hug her, she couldn't stop herself from falling into his chest anyway. He squeezed her tightly and then inaudibly muttered words of reassurance, he pressed a firm kiss on her forehead before he took a long look at her.

   "You're alive. Alive and well, I lost you in the riot and then the fire, and..." he mumbled. Monet gave him a forceful, reassuring smile. "I missed you. Are you alright? You look like shit."

Monet dryly scoffed and tucked her frizzy hair behind her ear, "Thanks. I'm fine, besides the sling and a mild concussion."

"Yeah, sorry about that one," Noah interjected.

"Well, hey, now we're together again, just like at Goldcrest, and this time, everything will be alright, yeah? I promise, Mo."

"Don't speak too soon. I still have to question her." Noah interrupted once more on the sentimental moment. West glanced at him leaned on the wall of the infirmary. "She could be one of those little 'Angelo Assemble' shits, for all we know—"

"Ascots," West corrected.

Noah gave him a dismissive eyeroll. He tucked his hands behind the flaps of his marroon trench coat and flicked up his collar, "Same difference. Just precautions." He finally looked at Monet, who felt like she needed to do all she could to avoid his fierce gaze. "This way, Feilds Jr," Noah walked ahead, as Monet hoped her aching legs could cope with his haste.