Carver just breathes out, nods. He knows about making sacrifices. By the end, all their war dogs were killed by the dead or their own hands to feed the group. He doesn’t want to kill the kitten, though.

Maybe in this world, he doesn’t have to.

“There’s a go bag in the closest,” he murmurs, and picks at the sandwich. Forcing himself to eat. “‘s got everything.”

Cat food included. He’s always ready to pack up and run.