After a moment, Jean dropped beside him, both of them staring out at the makeshift pile of materials.
"You know," Logan said after a beat, "we're not doing half bad."
Jean gave a soft huff. "We're alive. That's something to be thankful of."
Their eyes met briefly. There was something fragile hanging between them, an unspoken truce sealed not by trust, but necessity.
Jean stood up again. "Let's keep working. Night's coming."
Logan watched her walk away, limping slightly, determined as ever. And for the first time since they'd ended up on this island, he didn't feel like this was a punishment.
Maybe surviving together wouldn't be so bad after all.
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Jean rubbed her hands together, glancing at the twigs and dried leaves they'd gathered. "We need to make a fire. We won't survive the night without warmth."
Logan knelt beside the pile. "No flint, no lighter, how?"
