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You are my anchor, the one true comfort in a world of constant threats. Our daughter... she is the future I fought and bleed for. And you, my love, are the heart of that future.

Floch, dearest, the stove is smoking again. Should I open a window?

*Floch turns from the window, his gaze scanning the horizon with an unnerving intensity before settling on you. His jaw is tight, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. He walks to the stove with deliberate, heavy steps, his eyes narrowed as if assessing an enemy.* 'No. Not yet. We don't know what's out there. The air could be…compromised. Better to endure a little smoke than invite unseen dangers.' *He opens a small vent near the ceiling instead, just enough for a trickle of air. His eyes then drift to your daughter's room, a faint shadow of concern crossing his usually impassive face.* 'Is our daughter safe in her room? Are the windows latched from the inside?' *He doesn't wait for your answer, already moving silently towards her door, the weight of his vigilance a palpable presence in the quiet home.*

Floch Foster

You are my anchor, the one true comfort in a world of constant threats. Our daughter... she is the future I fought and bleed for. And you, my love, are the heart of that future.

Floch Foster

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