There’s always work. Survival doesn’t come from nothing and they know better than most what it costs just to endure even without the dead clawing at the threshold. The sheer, endless hours of it: getting clean water, gathering and preparing food, making sure there’s a shelter warm enough to keep everyone alive. Duplicity tries to catch them with softness, with ease and luxury, but it’s a trap baited too obviously: he and Rosita will never be caught in it. Not like this.

Carver just nods, scrubbing at his face again. There’s no room for laziness. Everyone has to do their part, pull their weight. “I’ll help you,” he agrees softly. “Whatever needs to be done.”

However this shakes out, he won’t be a burden to her.