what’s the joy in giving, if you’re never pleased?

Back at the shelter, the atmosphere is thick with tension. The remaining girls are gathered around the fire, their voices hushed but sharp, flickering between anger, confusion, and unease. No one knows exactly when Shauna and Jackie left, only that they were gone by the time the sun rose, leaving behind a pile of discarded clothes and a hollow space where Shauna’s presence had been.

Nat sits with her arms crossed, staring into the flames like they might offer some kind of answer. “They didn’t just leave for a stroll,” she mutters. “They took supplies. Food. Blankets. Shauna planned this.”

Tai, pacing near the doorway, runs a hand down her face, frustration evident in every movement. “Of course she did. And you know why.” She glances at Van, who hasn’t spoken much since they realized the two were missing. “Jackie. Shauna must’ve thought we were— I don’t know, going to do something.”

Van shifts uncomfortably. “We weren’t going to do anything,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.

Lottie, who has been silent up until now, finally speaks, her voice smooth but carrying weight. “But she was afraid we would. And fear makes people act fast.”

That lands heavier than anyone expects. There’s a beat of silence as the fire crackles, filling the space where words should be. It’s no secret that fear has dictated their actions before. That the things they’ve done—things they never would have done before the crash—weren’t always choices, but reactions.

Nat exhales sharply, shifting in her seat. “Okay. So Shauna ran off with Jackie. What do we do about it?”

“Find them,” Tai answers immediately. “Before something happens. You really think they can survive out there alone?”

Mari, sitting against the wall with her knees tucked to her chest, lets out a dry laugh. “Jackie couldn’t survive one night in the cold. Now she’s just—what? Some wilderness expert?” She shakes her head. “I don’t buy it.”

“Well, she’s walking, right?” Nat shoots back. “Whether we believe it or not, she’s alive, and she’s out there with Shauna.”

Lottie tilts her head slightly, considering something. “Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to do,” she murmurs, eyes distant.

Nat scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Lottie. And what, exactly, are ‘we supposed to do’?”

Lottie looks up, meeting her gaze with an unsettling calm. “Bring them back. Maybe the wilderness let Jackie come back,” she murmurs, her voice soft but weighted, like a stone dropping into a still pond. “Maybe it wasn’t her time to leave us after all.”

Nat makes a sound, something between a laugh and a scoff, shifting where she sits. “That’s insane.”

Van glances at Tai before looking back at Lottie. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s something cautious in her tone. “You think the wilderness did this?”

Lottie nods, slow and deliberate, as if she’s settling into something she’s already decided to believe. “We all saw what happened. Jackie was gone. Only the wilderness could’ve done this.”

Mari lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Shauna’s just lost her fucking mind. That’s all this is.” She shakes her head, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “She’s been losing it for weeks.”

“Then why did she take food?” Lottie asks, tilting her head slightly. “Why blankets? Why leave in the middle of the night? Why act like Jackie’s… back? She feels it better than us.”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. None of them have an answer.

Nat shakes her head. “People don’t just come back after dying. That’s not how it works. We all saw her—she was frozen solid. If she’s out there, then… then what the fuck is she?”

Still, no one speaks. The fire crackles, a log shifting, sending a spray of sparks into the air. The wind howls through the trees, rattling the walls like something clawing to get in.

Van shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe… maybe this has something to do with Coach Ben.”

Tai looks at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

Van hesitates. “I mean, we don’t know what happened to him. One day he was here, and then he wasn’t. No tracks, no body, just… gone.” Her voice drops lower, like she’s afraid of saying it too loud. “What if he took Jackie and kept her with him all this time?”

A slow, creeping unease slithers through the room. Lottie stands up, “Or what if the wilderness kept her safe?”

Mari huffs, shaking her head. “You’re acting like the woods have a mind of their own.”

Lottie looks at her, tilting her head slightly, eyes eerily calm. “Don’t they?”

Nat groans, standing up abruptly, the movement sharp, sudden, like she can’t stand to sit still any longer. “Oh, come on—”

“I’m serious,” Lottie continues, voice quiet but unwavering. “We’ve all felt it. That pull. That sense that we’re part of something bigger out here. The wilderness gives, and it takes. It took Jackie. It took Coach Ben. And now…” she pauses, looking into the fire. “It’s giving Jackie back.”

Tai exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down her face. “So what? We just accept that and act like this is fine?”

Lottie’s gaze flickers up from the fire, landing on Tai. “We don’t have a choice.”

The room is silent again, save for the wind, howling through the trees like something watching. It rattles the door, the loose wooden beams, making the entire cabin feel smaller, like the walls are pressing in. The girls sit in tense stillness, the weight of everything unspoken thick in the air between them.

Nat moves to gather her things, moving through the dim morning light. The fire in the hearth has burned low, barely more than glowing embers now, casting a faint red hue across the floor. 

Van is curled against Tai, Mari bundled in a tangle of furs, Lottie sitting still as stone, her breathing barely audible. For a moment, Nat lets herself stand there, watching them, listening to the quiet rise and fall of their voices It’s one of the few moments of stillness they get out here.

Then she exhales, sharp and deliberate, and turns back to her pack. “I’m going out to see if I can catch something.”

The air is thick with the scent of burning wood and unwashed bodies, the distant sound of the others murmuring among themselves as they prepare for whatever twisted offering Lottie has planned next. 

She doesn’t know what it is this time—she stopped asking questions when it became clear that the answers wouldn’t change anything. The wilderness has them now, body and soul. And she’s too exhausted to fight it.

Her stomach gnaws at itself, a dull, constant ache that she’s learned to ignore, even as it makes her limbs feel heavy, her mind sluggish. Hunger is just a fact of life now, like breathing, like the cold. But the hunger isn’t what’s making her feel sick tonight. It’s the way the others have started to look at each other, the way their eyes linger too long, assessing, measuring. She knows that look. 

She remembers it from the night Jackie died. She remembers it from the night Shauna’s baby never took a breath. And she remembers it most clearly from the morning after they ate Jackie, the way they all pretended not to remember how good it tasted.

Lottie’s voice rises inside the shelter, gentle but insistent, coaxing them into prayer, into trust. They call it devotion. Natalie calls it delusion.

She grips the rifle tighter, ignoring the sting in her hands, the cracked skin, the spots of dried blood from where she picked at her knuckles too hard. It should be easy to speak up, to say what she’s thinking—this is insane, this is all fucking insane—but she’s seen what happens when you go against them. 

She’s seen how Van laughs too hard when things get uncomfortable, how Tai pretends she doesn’t believe but never dares to challenge it, how even Shauna, bitter and grieving, folds herself into the routine, because it’s easier than being alone.

Alone.

That’s what Coach Ben is now.

The thought sends a slow, crawling chill down her spine, worse than the cold. Coach Ben, who had started pulling away from them long before they turned into this. Coach Ben, who had stopped eating with them, had stopped speaking as much, had stopped looking at them like they were still his team, his girls. 

She doesn’t know if he ran, if he’s dead, if they’ll find what’s left of him in the thaw. She just knows he’s gone. And she knows how easy it is to disappear out here.

The wind howls through the cracks in the walls, carrying Lottie’s voice with it. She doesn’t even sound human anymore. Or maybe she sounds more human than any of them, stripped down to something raw, something primal.

Natalie sighs, standing. Her legs protest the movement, but she slings the rifle over her shoulder anyway. She needs to hunt. Needs to get out of here, even for a few hours, away from the prayers, away from the growing tension, away from the gnawing feeling that something bad is coming.

She glances toward the others before stepping away. No one stops her. Maybe they think she’s still one of them. Maybe she still is.

She moves away from the fireplace without hesitation, leaving the sleeping girls behind. It’s a familiar solitude, one she welcomes. The woods feel different in the mornings, quieter somehow. Less suffocating. She can almost pretend it’s just another early training session before a game, just another cold morning run. Almost.

The gun feels heavy in her grip as she walks, but it’s a weight she knows well. A necessary one. They need food. And after last night’s conversation—after everything—Nat needs an excuse to be alone. To think.

Because the way Lottie spoke about Jackie… the way she looked at her, like she wasn’t just a girl who had somehow survived but something else entirely—it unsettles her. And the fact that Shauna believes it? That’s worse.

Jackie isn’t a ghost. She isn’t some spirit returned by the wilderness. She’s just a girl. A girl who was supposed to be dead.

Nat tightens her grip on the bow and keeps moving.

———

Jackie crouches near the tree line, fingers stiff with cold as she fumbles with the snare, trying to knot the thin rope the way Shauna showed her. Her hands feel clumsy, uncooperative, and the more she tries to focus, the worse it gets. The metal loop slips loose again, unraveling like a bad joke. She exhales sharply, biting down on the inside of her cheek.

“This is stupid,” she mutters, tossing the rope onto the frozen dirt. “I’m never gonna get it right.”

A few feet away, Shauna straightens from where she’s been digging a small pit for another trap. She dusts off her hands, watching for a moment before stepping closer and crouching beside her.

“You’re overthinking it,” Shauna says, reaching out. “Here, let me—”

Jackie jerks away before Shauna can take over, shaking her head. “No, I don’t want you to just do it for me. I want to get it myself.”

There’s a brief pause before Shauna nods, settling back on her heels. She doesn’t say anything, just watches as Jackie picks up the snare again, her fingers trembling slightly with frustration. She can feel Shauna’s gaze on her, and it makes everything worse, like she’s being tested on something she should already know.

She exhales sharply, grinding her teeth together. “I feel useless, Shauna.”

Shauna frowns. “You’re not—”

“Yes, I am,” Jackie snaps, turning to face her. “You were out here for months, surviving, hunting, doing—something. Meanwhile, I spent the whole time dead. And now that I’m back, I can’t even fucking set up a snare without messing it up.”

She hears how raw her own voice sounds and hates it. Hates that she’s admitting this, hates that she feels this way at all. But she can’t stop the words from coming out.

Shauna doesn’t answer right away. She just looks at her, head tilted slightly, brows drawn together in that careful way of hers. Jackie wonders what she sees—if she looks pathetic, desperate. She forces herself to keep eye contact anyway.

After a moment, Shauna exhales and reaches out, pressing her hand over Jackie’s. It’s warm, solid, and it stops Jackie from trying to fumble with the snare again.

“Jackie, look at me,” Shauna says, quiet but firm. “You’re here now. That’s what matters. And I don’t care if you can’t set traps or hunt or whatever. I didn’t know how to do any of this before, either.”

Jackie scoffs, looking away. “Yeah, well, you learned.”

“And so will you.” Shauna’s voice is steady, certain, like she actually believes it. “We’re figuring this out together.”

Jackie shakes her head, fingers curling against her palms. “I just hate feeling like I’m slowing you down. Like I’m just—dead weight.”

She doesn’t mean to say it like that. She realizes the wording a second too late, but it’s already out there. The corner of Shauna’s mouth twitches slightly, like she wants to laugh, but she just squeezes Jackie’s hand instead.

“You’re not.”

Jackie finally looks at her again, and something about the way Shauna is looking back makes her stomach twist. It’s too soft. Too careful. It makes her feel unsteady in a way she doesn’t like.

“You promise?” Her voice is quieter than she means for it to be.

Shauna nods. “Yeah. I promise.”

Jackie holds her gaze for a long moment before nodding back.

Shauna lets go of her hand and picks up the snare, fingers working through the knot slowly, deliberately. “Here, I’ll show you again. Just follow what I do.”

Jackie exhales and nods again, watching Shauna’s hands move, trying to focus.

Her hands are still trembling as Shauna reaches for them, guiding her fingers over the rope with slow, deliberate movements. The warmth of Shauna’s touch is unexpected—gentle, careful in a way Jackie hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since before everything became ugly between them. Not since before she died.

She lets Shauna adjust her grip, swallowing down the strange, fluttery feeling curling in her stomach. It doesn’t make sense. She’s never felt nervous around Shauna before, not like this, not just because their hands are touching. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since someone treated her like this, like she’s real, like she’s alive.

“You almost got it,” Shauna murmurs, voice steady. “Just pull here.”

Jackie nods, focusing on the rope, but she’s too aware of Shauna’s fingers brushing over her knuckles, the quiet patience in her voice. It’s strange, how easily Shauna has slipped back into being the girl Jackie remembers—the friend who used to stay up late with her, whispering secrets in the dark, who knew her better than anyone. It wasn’t like this before she died. 

Before, everything between them had been tense and brittle, too cracked to ever be whole again. But now, in this moment, Shauna is just Shauna.

Jackie glances at her, studying her face in the dimming light. She looks different than before. Harder, somehow, but softer, too. There’s something behind her eyes, something Jackie can’t quite name. 

Her pregnancy.

The thought slams into her like a punch to the gut. She hasn’t asked. She’s been too wrapped up in her own existence—her own return—to even think about it until now. But there’s no bump, no sign of the life that had been growing inside Shauna when she—when she left. Jackie feels her throat tighten.

“Shauna,” she says, hesitant. Shauna looks up, eyebrows raised.

Jackie opens her mouth, but she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know how to ask. What happened to the baby? The words feel too heavy, too dangerous. She doesn’t want to ruin this moment. Doesn’t want to shatter whatever fragile thing has settled between them.

So she swallows it down. Forces a small, shaky smile instead. “You’re a good teacher, you know that?”

Shauna huffs out a quiet laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. “Yeah, well. Took me long enough to figure all this out.”

Jackie nods, but the thought lingers, gnawing at the back of her mind. She wonders what else she doesn’t know. What else has changed while she was gone. And why Shauna, after everything, still looks at her like she’s the most real thing in the world.

Jackie pulls the rope tight, the knot finally slipping into place with a satisfying click. She stands there for a moment, breath catching in her throat, her heart pounding louder than usual. It feels like a victory—small, but a victory nonetheless. Her hands are steady, no longer trembling, and for the first time in a while, she feels like she’s done something right.

“Yes!” she exclaims, a grin breaking across her face. The relief is palpable, like the weight of the world had been pressing down on her shoulders, and now, it’s just gone. 

She can’t help but feel a surge of excitement bubbling up inside her. It’s a rare feeling, almost foreign to her, but it’s there. She lets out a breathless laugh, feeling the tension in her chest ease.

Shauna’s smile comes quickly, bright and genuine, and before Jackie even knows what’s happening, Shauna reaches out, her hand closing around Jackie’s with a firm, encouraging squeeze. It’s nothing more than a small gesture, but it means something. The warmth of Shauna’s fingers wrapping around hers sends a rush of heat through her, a feeling Jackie can’t fully place. She meets Shauna’s eyes, and for a moment, everything else fades into the background.

Shauna’s smile deepens, a flicker of pride dancing in her gaze. “See? I knew you could do it.”

Jackie doesn’t know why her chest feels suddenly tight, why her stomach does that fluttering thing it shouldn’t be doing. She brushes it off quickly, shaking her head as she pulls her hand away. 

It’s nothing. She’s just… overthinking it. It’s just Shauna, after all. Just Shauna, who’s been there for her in ways no one else has, but still. It’s nothing.

She clears her throat, pushing the feeling aside. “Yeah, well, guess I’m a natural,” she says with a half-smirk, trying to play it off. But even as she says the words, her heart is still racing, her pulse thumping in her ears. The warmth in her chest is still there, curling up like a slow burn, and for a moment, 

She just lets it—lets the warmth linger. She doesn’t want to ruin it. 

Shauna’s hand is still warm in her memory, and when Jackie turns to look at her again, there’s something different in the way Shauna looks at her, too. Something softer. Something that makes Jackie feel like maybe—just maybe—there’s more to this than just the survivalist routine they’ve been caught in.

But for now, she just smiles. Shrugs it off. Pretends the fluttering in her chest is nothing.

“You’re definitely a natural,” Shauna says, her tone light but with that underlying sincerity Jackie’s starting to recognize. It’s so easy, being like this with Shauna again, as if nothing has changed—as if everything has changed. Jackie doesn’t know which one is more confusing.

Still, she lets herself bask in the warmth for just a moment longer. And maybe, just maybe, she wonders if this, right here, is what it feels like to be seen. To be real again.

Jackie smiles. But only for a second before it slips away, replaced by the steady rhythm of survival.

———

The smell of roasting meat fills the cabin, thick and savory, the kind of scent that settles deep in the bones and lingers long after the last bite. The fire crackles and spits, its warmth spreading across the room, giving the cold, damp air a much-needed bite of comfort. The meat sizzles, the juices bubbling against the heat, and Jackie watches it for a while, her stomach gnawing with hunger.

She finishes her meal quickly, scraping the last of the meat from her plate, the flavor still lingering on her tongue. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. The gnawing hunger inside her has been replaced by something more solid, more grounding. As she sets the plate aside, she stands, glancing toward Shauna, who is outside, carefully hauling a load of firewood from the pile near the door.

Shauna’s movements are sure, methodical. Jackie watches her for a moment, admiring the quiet strength in her, how she moves without hesitation, how the weight of everything seems to settle on her shoulders but doesn’t break her. 

It makes Jackie feel small, in comparison. But she can’t let that thought linger long before she pushes it away. Instead, she steps toward the door, ready to help.

“I’ll grab the rest,” she offers, stepping outside and pulling the door open.

Shauna looks up, eyes meeting hers, and for a moment, their gazes hold. But then Shauna shakes her head, a small smile curving her lips. “No, I’ve got it. You stay inside, stay warm.”

Jackie opens her mouth to argue, to say she should help, that it’s the least she can do after the meal, after everything Shauna’s done for her. But Shauna’s already shaking her head again, more firmly this time, as she bends down to gather another armful of firewood.

“It’s fine,” Shauna adds, voice soft but final. “You’ve done enough already.”

Jackie feels a strange tug at her chest, a pang she can’t quite explain. She doesn’t know why, but Shauna’s refusal makes her feel both helpless and seen at the same time. The way she won’t let Jackie shoulder more than what she’s already done, as if she’s protecting her from the weight of it all, it hits Jackie in a way she didn’t expect. 

She wants to protest, to push, but something about the way Shauna says it—so sure, so calm—makes her hesitate.

Instead, Jackie just nods, stepping back into the cabin and letting the door close behind her. She watches Shauna for a moment longer, the way her movements are deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, even when Jackie doesn’t.

In the background. the fire crackles louder, a comforting noise that fills the space between them. Jackie leans against the wall, her thoughts swirling. She’s been here before, in this strange, fractured place between friend and something more. 

She shakes her head, trying to focus on the warmth of the fire, the crackling sound, the scent of the meat still hanging in the air. It’s not the time for this. Not yet.

Shauna finishes her load of firewood, stacking it near the hearth before coming back inside, shaking the snow from her coat. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, but there’s a quiet steadiness to her, a way she carries herself like she’s been doing this—all of this—for longer than she ever should have.

She meets Jackie’s eyes again as she enters the cabin, and this time, Jackie feels the weight of the moment more keenly. It’s not a look of pity, or even concern. It’s something else—something softer, something that speaks volumes without a single word being said.

Shauna’s smile is small but genuine as she places her coat near the fire, her movements fluid, unhurried. “You alright?” she asks, her voice warm against the chill of the night.

Jackie watches Shauna for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as she notices the way Shauna’s back is hunched from the weight of the firewood she’s just brought in. The small gesture, the way Shauna moves so naturally despite the burden, catches Jackie off guard. She opens her mouth before she can stop herself, the words slipping out before she has time to think about them.

“You shouldn’t be lifting all that,” Jackie says, her voice quiet but laced with concern. “I mean, with your pregnancy… It can’t be good for you.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, she realizes her mistake. Shauna freezes. The air in the room seems to thicken, the warmth of the fire suddenly feeling distant, like the tension in the space has swallowed it whole. Shauna’s head snaps up, her expression hardening in an instant.

“I’m fine,” she says, her voice clipped, the edge of irritation clear even if she’s trying to hide it. “I can take care of myself, Jackie.”

Jackie feels a sharp pang of regret, but it’s already too late. The damage is done. Shauna’s posture shifts, her shoulders tensing as she steps further into the room, the way her body coils with an energy Jackie knows too well.

It’s the same energy Shauna’s had before—when she’s defensive, when she’s shutting down. It’s not the kind of defense Jackie expected, not after everything they’ve shared since escaping the wreckage of their past lives. She takes a hesitant step forward, her hand instinctively reaching out, as if trying to bridge the growing distance between them.

“Shauna, I didn’t mean—”

But Shauna cuts her off, the sharpness of her tone leaving no room for argument. “You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do.”

Jackie’s heart races, her pulse quickening at the harshness in Shauna’s words. There’s something in the way she says it that stings, that makes Jackie feel smaller than she already does. 

She opens her mouth to respond, to apologize again, but the words catch in her throat. But she stands there, her hands trembling by her sides, as the weight of Shauna’s anger presses down on her.

“I know you’re trying to help,” Shauna continues, her voice low but steady, each word deliberate. “But I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself. Not now, not ever.”

Jackie flinches at the venom in Shauna’s voice, her mind scrambling for the right words to defuse the tension. But it’s like trying to catch smoke with her bare hands—every attempt she makes only seems to make the situation worse.

“I was just worried,” Jackie says, her voice barely above a whisper, trying to soften the edges of her words. “You’ve been through so much, and I—”

Shauna laughs bitterly, cutting Jackie off again. “Oh, you’re worried now?” She stops herself, a flash of something darker crossing her face before she takes a breath, steadying herself. “Don’t pretend like you care about me now. Not when you left me before.”

The words hang heavy between them, a sharp reminder of the past they’ve both been trying so hard to outrun. Jackie feels the weight of the accusation, the anger in Shauna’s eyes, and she realizes how much it still stings, how much it’s still there, buried under everything else. The walls she’s built over the years, the walls Jackie herself helped construct, are now crumbling in the face of all this unresolved tension.

“I didn’t leave you,” Jackie says, her voice trembling now, the words coming out before she can control them. “I never left you.”

Shauna’s eyes flash with something Jackie can’t quite place, something raw and painful. “No? Then why the hell did you disappear? Why didn’t you just stay?”

Jackie takes a shaky step forward, her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t  know, Shauna. I don’t  know what happened, or how to stay. You were—” She stops, swallowing hard, the weight of her confession heavy in her throat. “But you were hurting so much, and I—I wish I could’ve fixed it.”

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating, and Jackie feels the weight of her own failure pressing down on her. She can see the way Shauna’s jaw tightens, the way her body goes rigid with the force of her emotions. She doesn’t know what Shauna needs to hear, but she knows this—they both need to face the mess they’ve made of everything between them.

Shauna’s eyes flicker to the floor, and for a moment, Jackie wonders if she’s done irreparable damage. But then, Shauna looks back up, and there’s a vulnerability in her gaze now, one that wasn’t there before. 

It’s fleeting, gone as soon as it arrives, but it lingers long enough for Jackie to catch her breath.

“I didn’t need fixing,” Shauna says quietly, her voice barely a whisper. “I needed you to stay. That’s all.”

The words strike Jackie like a punch to the gut. She hadn’t realized how much Shauna still needed her, how much she had left unsaid. How much she had yet to hear.

Jackie takes a step closer, her voice trembling now as she speaks. “I’m sorry I didn’t know how to be here for you.”

Shauna doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she stands there, her chest rising and falling with each breath, the weight of everything between them hanging in the air. After a long pause, she exhales, her shoulders dropping just slightly as if she’s releasing something she’s been holding onto for far too long.

“I know,” she says softly. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Jackie. I promised we wouldn’t fight.”

The words, though simple, carry so much. Jackie feels the sting of everything they’ve both lost, but she also feels something else. Hope, maybe. Or at least the possibility of it.

Shauna stands there for a long moment, her hands trembling slightly as she holds onto the edge of the wooden table, her gaze fixed on the ground. Jackie’s words, the ones that had been hanging in the air since they’d started fighting, still linger between them, but now something else is slowly surfacing—something deeper, darker. 

“I—I lost it,” Shauna says quietly, her voice wavering as the words leave her lips. She says it as if she’s unsure whether she’s telling Jackie, or if she’s simply telling herself. The weight of it presses down on her in a way she hadn’t expected, and she feels her throat constrict as the truth finally emerges. “I lost the baby.”

There’s a long pause, the silence stretching between them like a canyon, and Jackie doesn’t know how to respond. She wants to say something, anything, but the words are stuck in her throat. It’s like she’s been punched in the stomach, the air knocked out of her. She knows the weight of what Shauna is saying, knows how much it must hurt, but she can’t seem to find the right words. What can you say to someone who’s lost something they wanted so badly?

Shauna’s voice cracks, and Jackie sees the pain in her eyes—the rawness, the vulnerability she’s not used to seeing. It’s a look that shakes Jackie to her core, and without thinking, she steps forward, her arms going around Shauna instinctively. It’s the only thing she can think to do, the only way to offer comfort, to let Shauna know that she’s not alone.

Shauna stiffens at first, the touch catching her off guard, but then something in her gives way, and she leans into it, her arms trembling as she clutches onto Jackie tightly. Jackie knows they can both feel the warmth of their bodies, the comfort of it—like a tether to something solid, something they can hold onto, even when everything else feels like it’s slipping through their fingers.

“I wanted to be a mom,” Shauna whispers into Jackie’s shoulder, her voice muffled by the fabric of her jacket. “I wanted him so badly, even though everything about the way I had him… it wasn’t right. I thought… I thought if I could just hold on long enough, if I could just keep him safe for a little longer, everything would be okay.”

Jackie doesn’t know what to say to that. There’s nothing she can say that could ever make it okay, but she holds Shauna tighter, as if her embrace could somehow soothe the raw pain that Shauna’s carrying. She feels the trembling in Shauna’s body, the quiet sobs that shake her frame, and it breaks Jackie’s heart all over again.

“You would have been a good mom,” Jackie says quietly, the words coming out softer than she intended, but full of sincerity. “I know that. You would’ve loved him. You would’ve taken care of him. You are a good person, Shauna. You just—”

She stops herself, her chest tightening as she realizes the magnitude of what she’s saying. It feels so small in comparison to what Shauna’s been through, but she needs Shauna to hear it. She needs her to believe it.

“You would’ve been a good mom,” she repeats, more firmly this time. “You are a good person. And you’ll get through this. I believe that.”

Shauna lifts her head, pulling back just enough to look at Jackie. Her eyes are swollen, red from crying, but there’s something softer in them now, something Jackie hasn’t seen in a long time. It’s a look of gratitude, of relief, like she’s finally allowed herself to feel the weight of her grief without trying to keep it all inside.

“Thank you,” Shauna murmurs, her voice hoarse, but there’s a quiet sincerity in it. “Hearing you say that, it helps. It really does.”

Jackie smiles gently, brushing a strand of hair from Shauna’s face, her touch tender and almost reverent. 

“Hey,” she says softly. “But you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re in this together.”

Shauna nods slowly, her breath still shaky as she closes her eyes, as if she’s absorbing Jackie’s words. The warmth of the hug, the kindness in this moment, Jackie knows it’s a comfort Shauna hasn’t had in so long. She leans into her once more, letting herself relax into the embrace, allowing herself to feel the softness that’s slowly beginning to take place, even if it’s just a small thing.

“I’m sorry,” Shauna says quietly, breaking the silence that has settled between them. “I’ve been so angry. But I don’t want to keep pushing you away.”

Jackie pulls back just enough to look Shauna in the eye, her gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to,” she says again, her voice firm but gentle. “Not anymore, okay? So, let me help a little?”

“Fine,” Shauna says, her voice a little tired but softened by the fact that Jackie is still offering. “Just don’t overdo it.” Her hands, still sore from the earlier task, ache from the weight they’ve been carrying all day.

Jackie flashes her a small grin, and she moves to grip the firewood, her hands fitting around it like she’s done this a thousand times before, like it’s second nature now. She lifts it effortlessly, walking back to the shelter, her muscles straining only a little.

The air nips at her skin, but the wood in her arms keeps her warm enough, and she’s glad for the distraction. Anything to keep her mind from circling back to everything that’s still hanging between her and Shauna.

She places the wood down carefully, feeling the burn in her arms from the weight of it, but it doesn’t feel too bad. She’s done this before, sure, but never this easily. It’s strange. When she looks at the pile outside the shelter, it almost feels like she could keep going forever, keep carrying these heavy logs without tiring. Something feels different today. A little more… light? More energy than she remembers having.

Shauna’s still inside the shack, sorting out their things, no doubt. Jackie’s grateful for the solitude, the time to clear her head, but it’s hard not to notice how much she’s been trying to impress Shauna lately. It’s something she can’t shake, the need to be useful, to prove herself worthy of the time they’re spending together. 

She doesn’t want to feel useless, especially when Shauna’s doing so much more than she has any right to ask. The thought makes her chest tighten in a strange way—like she’s being pulled in two directions.

“Hey,” Jackie calls into the shelter, trying to sound casual. “I can grab some more. I’m on a roll here.”

Shauna doesn’t answer immediately, but Jackie can feel her eyes on her. When she does look up, there’s this glimmer of surprise, almost like she’s not used to seeing Jackie in action like this. Her brow furrows for a moment, then softens.

“Okay,” Shauna says, almost reluctant. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Jackie grins a little, pushing the thought of the exhaustion that should be setting in to the back of her mind. She takes a deep breath and turns to grab another load. 

Her arms feel fine, lighter than before, like she’s not struggling as much as she should. But she doesn’t want to say anything. Doesn’t want to admit that something’s off—something’s different, and she doesn’t know what to make of it.

She’s back again in what feels like no time at all, and she places another stack of wood in the shelter. She’s not sure why she’s doing this—why she’s pushing herself so hard—but it feels right in a way that she can’t explain. Like she’s finally making up for the lost time, for all the things she’s missed, for the version of herself that never got to be strong, never got to take care of anyone.

Shauna’s still watching her, that curious expression on her face, like she’s figuring something out in her head. Jackie can’t help but feel like she’s under some kind of microscope, like Shauna’s trying to figure her out in a way she’s not sure she’s ready to be figured out.

“You okay?” Shauna asks, her voice softer than Jackie expects, almost like she’s checking in. “You don’t look tired.”

Jackie freezes, the question striking her in a way she doesn’t expect. She forces a smile, brushing it off like it’s nothing. “I guess I’m just used to it,” she says, shrugging, trying to sound casual, though her heart is racing a little. She doesn’t know why it’s coming out like that—why it feels like there’s more to the answer than she’s letting on.

Shauna eyes her, the doubt in her gaze still there. Jackie doesn’t look at her directly, doesn’t want to meet her gaze because if she does, Shauna will see the hesitation. She’ll see the doubt that’s beginning to gnaw at Jackie’s insides.

“I don’t know,” Shauna says, her tone sharp but concerned. “Feels like you’re carrying a lot more than you should be.”

Jackie feels something tighten in her chest at the words, but she pushes it down. Doesn’t want to let on that she’s been feeling different. Stronger, maybe, but it’s more than just physical strength. It’s something that feels too weird to acknowledge—too unsettling to admit, even to herself.

“I’m fine,” Jackie says quickly, maybe too quickly. “Really. I’m just… I don’t know. I guess I’m just pushing myself.” She doesn’t know why she’s saying it like that, like she has some grand purpose, some reason to carry on when they both know it doesn’t matter. 

Nothing really does out here.

But Shauna’s gaze is still there, unwavering. Jackie tries to act casual as she grabs another load, pushing herself harder than she should be. Her arms are starting to feel it now, the burn creeping in, but there’s still this rush, this unfamiliar energy surging through her, something that makes the cold seem less biting, the weight feel a little lighter.

Shauna doesn’t say anything more, but the look in her eyes lingers. Jackie doesn’t know what she’s thinking, but she knows Shauna’s not stupid. She knows something’s off. And for a split second, Jackie’s afraid that Shauna’s going to ask more, push harder for an answer, but then Shauna just nods, looking away.

“Okay,” Shauna says quietly.  

Jackie feels that strange warmth again in her chest, but it’s not the same as before. It’s not the warmth of knowing she’s doing something right. It’s the warmth of knowing Shauna’s worried, and maybe, just maybe, Jackie doesn’t want to let her down.

She nods, still avoiding Shauna’s gaze, trying to ignore the knot that’s forming in her stomach. “I won’t,” she says, though the words feel too hollow, too empty for her own comfort.

As she goes for another load of wood, Jackie can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more to this—more than she’s ready to admit, more than she wants to face. She doesn’t know what’s happening, why she’s so full of energy, or why it feels like her body’s moving on its own, like she’s being pulled by something bigger than herself. But for once, Jackie doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t mind being strong.

But she wonders for how long she can keep pretending that it’s all normal.

———

The days pass in a blur of tasks and routines, but Jackie notices more and more how Shauna’s presence seems to fill the air around her. It’s subtle, the way she’s always there, just a few steps away, her eyes following Jackie’s every movement. It used to be comforting—Shauna’s familiarity, her quiet presence.

But now, Jackie can feel something shifting, something building between them that she can’t explain. She tries to ignore it.

The days are easier now. The cold isn’t biting like it was when they first arrived in the wilderness. The firewood needs chopping, the traps need checking, and food still needs to be gathered, but these tasks have become routine. 

Shauna helps, of course, but it’s always Jackie doing the heavy lifting. She’s always been good at taking care of things, at stepping up when it matters. And this time, she takes pride in it, especially when it comes to Shauna. Shauna has always been there for her, and now she gets to return the favor.

But it’s not just the work that occupies Jackie’s thoughts. There’s Shauna. She catches herself staring at her more often than she should. The way Shauna moves, the way her lips curl when she’s focused on something—Jackie tries to look away, tries to ignore the way her chest tightens when their hands brush. But it’s impossible not to notice. 

Impossible not to feel the weight of Shauna’s eyes when she looks at her, the way her eyes linger just a moment too long, like she’s trying to memorize Jackie in some way.

Jackie doesn’t know what it is. She can’t quite place it. It’s not like the way she looks at the other girls. There’s something different about Shauna. It’s not just the way she’s there, so grounded, so constant. It’s how Jackie feels when she’s around her. The warmth of Shauna’s touch lingers in her skin long after the contact is gone, and every time they’re close, Jackie’s breath catches in her throat.

She thinks it’s just the isolation. It has to be. They’ve been alone for so long, without anyone else to turn to. There’s a vulnerability in that—something raw and exposed. Jackie knows that. She tries to convince herself that the feelings she’s having are just a result of that. But there’s something in Shauna’s presence that makes it impossible to ignore.

They’ve been together for so long now, and Jackie’s starting to understand how to read her. Shauna, for all her walls, is so transparent in her silence. 

It’s unsettling. Jackie doesn’t like it, doesn’t know how to handle it. She’s used to being in control, used to knowing how to handle things, but this? This is different.

And then there’s the way Shauna touches her. It’s gentle, hesitant, like she’s unsure whether it’s allowed, but she does it anyway. When Shauna places a hand on her arm to steady her, when their fingers brush by accident, Jackie’s skin tingles in a way that feels completely foreign. 

She still tells herself it’s nothing, that it’s just the cold, the hunger, the constant need to survive.

But then, one night, Shauna smiles at her. It’s small, but it’s there, a genuine, unguarded smile that softens her features. Jackie’s heart skips a beat, and she looks away quickly, trying to push down the heat in her chest. 

She feels flustered, and it’s frustrating because she doesn’t know why. Shauna’s always been her friend—her closest friend, the one who’s always there. But now? Now there’s something else. Something Jackie can’t name, can’t put into words.

She hates it. She hates that she can’t control it, that she can’t stop noticing every little thing about Shauna, the way she breathes, the way she moves, the way her eyes flicker when they catch Jackie looking at her. It’s maddening.

It scares her. The thought of it. Because she doesn’t know what that means. She doesn’t know if it’s just the entire situation playing tricks on her, or if Shauna feels the same way. And that’s what scares her the most. The unknown. The possibility that everything could change between them.

It’s not something she’s ready for. 

She turns her attention to the river, its water cold and crisp, the air around them carrying a soft warmth, a slight breeze brushing against their skin as they prepare to bathe. 

Jackie stands off to the side, her hands nervously tugging at the hem of her shirt. She watches Shauna, who’s already started undressing. The way Shauna moves is so fluid, so confident. Every gesture is effortless, like she’s done this a thousand times, the grace in her motions almost hypnotizing.

Jackie quickly looks away, as if the very thought of staring at her is some unspoken rule she’s just now realized. But it’s hard not to notice. Shauna’s skin, pale but with a natural glow from the daylight, is mesmerizing. 

Her body is strong but delicate at the same time, each movement radiating a quiet strength Jackie can’t help but be drawn to. Her shirt slips off her shoulders, and Jackie instinctively looks down, her eyes flicking quickly to the ground as she feels her cheeks warm. 

The sound of Shauna’s clothes hitting the ground echoes in the otherwise still air, but Jackie is trying to focus on anything but the vision of Shauna standing in front of her.

Shauna doesn’t seem to care. She doesn’t seem to notice the tension in the air, or maybe she’s just used to it. She seems so comfortable with her body, with herself, like there’s no shame in the world, like this moment is just another part of the survival process. 

The way she lifts her arm to pull her hair up, the curve of her back as she moves to the water’s edge—everything about her seems so… natural, so effortless. And Jackie’s heart is hammering in her chest.

She knows she shouldn’t be looking, that it’s wrong, that it’s dangerous to even think about how beautiful Shauna is. But her eyes betray her, stealing glances at Shauna’s form in the dimming light. Shauna catches the slightest shift in her gaze, but she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t make it awkward, doesn’t draw attention to it. She just moves, like she doesn’t care, like she’s always been this way.

Jackie, on the other hand, feels everything. Her skin is on fire, her body tense, like she’s standing too close to the edge of something she’s not ready to fall into. 

Her breath hitches when she realizes Shauna is looking at her now, really looking at her. It’s not a curious glance or an accidental meeting of eyes—it’s deliberate, like Shauna is studying her, taking her in.

“Are you going in or what?” Shauna asks, her voice light but edged with something Jackie can’t quite place.

Jackie tries to act casual, tries to play it off. “Yeah, I’m just… I’ll be there in a sec,” she says, though her voice cracks slightly, betraying her.

Shauna gives her a small smile, and for a moment, Jackie forgets how to breathe. Then, with a quiet exhale, she looks away again, forcing herself to focus on the cold, rushing river in front of them. 

But it’s hard. It’s hard when every part of her is drawn to Shauna in ways she can’t explain. The way her body moves with such fluidity, the way she doesn’t seem to care about anything but the water, the river, the simple act of washing off the grime from days spent in the wild.

Jackie feels too aware of her own body now, too aware of every slight tremble in her hands, of the way her chest rises and falls too quickly. She reaches for her own clothes, trying to mask the sudden heat spreading through her body, trying to cover herself up before it gets any worse.

But it’s no use. The tension between them is thick, like something unspoken hanging in the air, and no matter how hard Jackie tries to ignore it, she knows it’s there. She can feel it, even in the way Shauna steps into the river with such confidence, the way the water hits her skin and disappears, leaving her almost untouched, like she’s one with the elements.

Shauna looks back at Jackie, waiting for her to join her. “It’s not that bad once you get in,” she says, her voice soft but certain.

Jackie nods, but her throat is tight, and her mind is racing with thoughts she can’t push away. She’s never felt like this before—not about Shauna, not about anyone. 

She tries to force herself to think about something else, but it’s impossible. She wonders what it would be like, just for a moment, to reach out, to touch her. But she stops herself before the thought gets too far, before it turns into something she can’t take back.

Finally, Jackie steps forward, the cool water seeping over her feet, then her calves, as she wades deeper into the river. Shauna’s already under the surface, her hair floating like dark threads around her face, her eyes closed in concentration. She doesn’t notice Jackie’s hesitation, or maybe she does and just doesn’t care.

For a moment, it’s quiet. The sound of the river rushing past fills the space between them, and Jackie tries to focus on that, tries to tune out everything else. But then, when she glances over at Shauna again, she catches her staring back at her, her lips slightly parted, her eyes soft but intense. It’s too much. The silence, the quiet pull between them.

Jackie’s breath catches in her throat, and before she can stop herself, she’s taking a step closer.

She opens her mouth, ready to say something, anything, to fill the strange gap between them, but before she can find the words, Shauna looks at her again. 

This time, her expression is different—softened, but with something else behind it. It’s almost like she’s noticing something, like she’s been trying to put the pieces together without saying anything. 

Jackie can feel the weight of it, the quiet intensity in it. It’s so strange, but it doesn’t seem judgmental, just curious. And that makes it worse somehow.

Shauna’s eyes travel down to Jackie’s body, to the parts of her that are exposed to the river’s chill. The water moves around her, the current running against her skin, but Shauna doesn’t seem to notice the cold. Her eyes narrow for a split second, before her brow furrows in concern.

“What are those?” Shauna asks, her voice quiet, a little rougher than usual, as she points to the marks on Jackie’s skin—faint, jagged scars that run across her wrists and collarbone, the evidence of months of pain. 

Jackie’s breath catches in her throat, her chest tightening. She wasn’t prepared for this, wasn’t prepared for Shauna to notice, to see through the layers of her façade. 

She tries to swallow the lump in her throat, but it sticks there. She doesn’t know what to say, how to explain any of it. The words feel impossible to form, like they’re caught in a knot somewhere deep inside of her. She wants to say something, wants to shrug it off, to tell Shauna that it’s nothing, that it doesn’t matter, that she doesn’t have to care. But it’s not that simple.

“I… I don’t know,” Jackie finally whispers, her voice trembling with the truth of it. She doesn’t know how to answer, because she doesn’t even fully understand the marks herself. 

She doesn’t know when they started, or why they seemed to multiply the way they did. It wasn’t something she could control. She doesn’t even remember getting them. 

Her eyes flicker away from Shauna’s steady gaze, feeling the weight of her stare like an unspoken question. She can’t bring herself to look back at her, not when she knows there’s so much more to it than just the marks.

There’s no pity in her expression, no judgment. There’s only concern, and it makes Jackie feel smaller somehow, makes her want to curl in on herself to shield away the vulnerability that’s being drawn out of her. She wants to pull her arms in close, to cover the evidence of what the wilderness has done to her, but Shauna’s already seen it. There’s no turning back now.

“You don’t have to tell me, Jackie,” Shauna says quietly, and Jackie is surprised by the softness of her tone, the way she’s giving her space without pushing, without demanding anything. “But if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

Jackie bites her lip, a mix of emotions crashing through her, too many for her to untangle. She wants to thank Shauna, wants to cry, but instead, she just nods stiffly. Shauna doesn’t press her for more. She doesn’t ask for details, doesn’t try to fix it. She just leaves it there, like it’s okay for Jackie to carry it alone for now, but that she doesn’t have to carry it alone forever.

They stand in the quiet for a long moment, the only sound the soft rush of the river and the occasional birdcall in the distance. Jackie still can’t bring herself to meet Shauna’s eyes. She feels exposed in a way she hasn’t since she first arrived in this place. 

But there’s something almost comforting about it, the fact that Shauna hasn’t turned away, hasn’t recoiled at the sight of her scars. It’s confusing, but it’s also a relief she hadn’t expected.

“I don’t know why they’re there,” Jackie says, almost to herself, but loud enough for Shauna to hear. “I have no Idea how they got there.”

Shauna takes a step closer, her voice soft. “I don’t think you have to explain that to me. I just—” She pauses, and Jackie feels her gaze once more, like it’s settling into her skin. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Jackie. You’re not alone.”

The words hit her harder than anything else. Jackie’s breath hitches, and for a moment, she feels like her chest might burst open from the weight of everything she’s been holding in. 

The vulnerability of it, the sheer honesty of it, makes her stomach twist with something unfamiliar. She wants to say something back, wants to tell Shauna that she’s not sure she can be saved, that the marks will always be there, that she will always be reminded of what happened to her. Her death.

But she doesn’t. She just nods again, feeling the rush of gratitude she can’t quite explain.

Shauna’s hand reaches out, gently resting on her shoulder. “You’re okay,” she says quietly, like it’s a promise.

And for the first time since they’ve been here, Jackie believes it.

But as they stand there, her mind begins to race in an entirely different direction. The moment comes suddenly, crashing into her mind like a floodgate opening. 

She sees it—the woods, the dark silhouettes of trees clawing at the sky. There’s a cold wind that howls through the branches, deafening in its intensity. And then, the screaming. The sound of it is so sharp, so raw, it sends a shiver down her spine even as she stands here, in this peaceful riverbank, next to Shauna. It’s a scream that seems to echo from everywhere, coming from all directions, a desperate cry that she can’t place.

And then—there’s the cabin. Jackie can see it so clearly, the old wooden structure, its windows glowing with a fiery orange light, as flames lick at the roof, consuming it from within. 

The heat is unbearable even in her memory, the crackling of the fire loud and consuming. She remembers running, fleeing from something—someone?—but the details blur, and the more she tries to remember, the more the image becomes distorted, like it’s being washed away by the river’s current, slowly, steadily.

Jackie blinks, trying to shake off the images, but they cling to her, their grip tightening. She can almost feel the scorch of the fire on her skin, taste the acrid smoke in the back of her throat. The panic rises in her chest, making her breath come in shallow gasps.

She looks down at her wrists, at the marks that are still there, pale and jagged, like old scars. The memory of the fire, of the scream, of something standing in the shadows of that burning cabin, it all tugs at her, just out of reach. It doesn’t make sense, none of it does. 

What was it? Was it real? Or was it just some kind of twisted dream, some leftover fragment of her mind, a story she had concocted to explain away something darker? The wilderness had changed everything about them, warped them, twisted the truth into something unrecognizable. Had it done that to her too?

Jackie tries to push the thoughts away, but they’re relentless. She’s always been able to dismiss things before—feelings, memories, questions she didn’t want to answer—but this time, something’s different. This time, the wilderness feels too alive in her mind, too close, as if it’s breathing down her neck, whispering its dark secrets.

Shauna’s voice pulls her back to the present, a soft sound that cuts through the chaos in her head. “Jackie?” she says, and Jackie looks up, startled, like she’s been caught somewhere she doesn’t belong. 

Shauna’s eyes are full of concern, searching her face for something, and for a moment, Jackie feels exposed again, the weight of her thoughts so heavy she isn’t sure if she can keep them to herself anymore. But then the words don’t come, because she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know what it all means.

“I’m okay,” Jackie says, but the words feel hollow, even to her. They don’t convince her, and they won’t convince Shauna either, but it’s all she can manage right now. 

She doesn’t want to admit that the marks on her skin—the ones Shauna had noticed—might be more than just physical. She doesn’t want to say that the wilderness might have done this to her, twisted her, carved something into her that she can’t explain.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks. Jackie feels Shauna’s hand linger for just a beat longer on her shoulder, the warmth of it still there, offering something she doesn’t fully understand. But she can’t bring herself to reach for it, to let the comfort of Shauna’s presence drown out the unsettling images that still swirl in her mind.

“Jackie,” Shauna says again, her voice softer now, but still filled with an intensity Jackie can’t ignore. 

But Jackie doesn’t respond. She’s not sure she can. The wilderness isn’t something that can be figured out. It’s a force that moves beneath everything, under the surface of their lives, threading through every broken memory, every unspoken fear. It’s something primal, something she can’t escape. 

And maybe, just maybe, it’s been marking her, shaping her in ways she can’t even begin to understand.

Shauna moves away, walking towards the edge, and Jackie just watches her, trying to steady the storm inside her mind. But all she can think about are the screams, the fire, the dark presence in the shadows of the woods. And the marks on her skin. The marks that might just be the wilderness’s way of claiming her.

Jackie wants to ask Shauna about it, wants to tell her everything she’s remembering, but she can’t. Not when she doesn’t even know what it all means herself. 

She looks at the marks again, her fingers brushing over the edges of them, feeling the roughness of the skin, wondering if the wilderness had carved them there on purpose.

Maybe it was trying to tell her something.

But what?

Her mind drifts from the river’s soft murmur to the memories of Lottie, to the way she seemed to know things about the wilderness, about the strange forces that governed this place. 

The way Lottie’s eyes would narrow when they spoke about the woods, like she was listening to something that no one else could hear. It always unsettled Jackie, the way Lottie seemed so attuned to the land, as if the wilderness had a voice, a whisper just for her.

Sometimes, Jackie wondered if Lottie was the only one who truly understood what was happening to them. Maybe Lottie knew something about the land that they hadn’t figured out yet, something crucial, something that could explain the madness, the fear, and the changes they were all going through.

But then there was the fear that came with Lottie’s connection to the woods—the way she had started to retreat further into herself, into the rituals. The way she would sometimes look at Jackie with a strange expression, like she was sizing her up, measuring her for something Jackie didn’t quite understand. 

It was unsettling, this growing distance between them and Lottie, this line that was being drawn between those who were willing to follow the woods’ call, and those who were starting to resist it, question it. Jackie wasn’t sure where she stood anymore, but Lottie—Lottie was already deep in it, her roots dug into the earth of the wilderness, far beyond the reach of the rest of them.

Jackie hadn’t yet allowed herself to admit how much she feared that. She feared what it meant, what it would mean for all of them if they couldn’t break free from it. But she could feel it in the air, in the way the trees bent toward them, in the way the night was always darker here, heavier. 

The wilderness wasn’t just a place—it was becoming something much worse. It was becoming a force that had the power to break them.

Shauna’s words earlier, her reassurances that they’d figure it out, echoed in Jackie’s mind, but they felt distant. The truth is, Jackie doesn’t think the woods were something that could be figured out. It was too vast, too ancient. No one knew what it wanted, and worse yet, they didn’t even know if they were meant to fight it, or if they were meant to surrender to it.

She thinks about the scars on her skin again, the way they felt like a map of something. The wilderness wasn’t just affecting their minds—it was leaving its mark on them physically, too. Jackie wasn’t sure if she was even allowed to ask what it all meant. 

Was it a warning? Or was it just the beginning of something much worse, something they couldn’t escape no matter how hard they tried?

As she watches Shauna by the river, her silhouette softened by the evening light, Jackie can’t help but wonder how much Shauna is really aware of, how much of the wilderness had seeped into her, too. 

Shauna had always been strong, always taken charge, but Jackie has seen the way her gaze sometimes lingered on the trees, the way her thoughts seemed to drift off, as if she, too, were hearing something unspoken.

And what about Lottie? What about her belief that they were all chosen? Jackie had laughed it off in the beginning, but now… now, she isn’t so sure. 

What if Lottie had been right all along? What if they weren’t just survivors of an accident, but something else entirely? Chosen for what, though? Chosen by whom? And for what purpose?

Her thoughts spiral, growing darker and more tangled, and she can’t escape the sensation that the woods are closing in on them, watching them, waiting for them to make their next move.

The sun is setting now, the sky shifting from gold to muted purple, and Jackie feels the weight of the evening air settle around her. The quiet is almost suffocating. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to center herself, but she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong, that the wilderness isn’t just a backdrop to their survival, but a living, breathing entity, something with a mind of its own.

And Lottie—Lottie was at the heart of it.

Jackie’s eyes flicker to Shauna again. They’re both here, they’ve made it this far together, but Jackie can’t help but feel that the land is pulling them in different directions. Shauna seems to be slipping away, little by little, without even realizing it. The wilderness was calling to them both, in its own way.

The cool evening air brushes against Jackie’s skin as she stands by the edge of the river, the water lapping at the rocks, steady and soothing. Shauna is just behind her, crouching down beside the small bundle of soap and towels they’ve been using. 

The sound of the rushing water fills the space between them, but it’s still quiet enough for Jackie to hear the faint rustle of Shauna’s movements.

“Need some help with your hair?” Shauna asks softly, her voice low, almost hesitant, as if unsure of the question’s weight.

Jackie doesn’t think twice. She nods, the gesture slow and almost weary, the weight of the day pressing down on her. She’s never been good at asking for help, but there’s something in Shauna’s tone that makes it feel okay, even necessary. Something about the way Shauna always seems to know when she needs it.

Shauna shifts closer, her hands moving with practiced care as they touch the soft skin of Jackie’s shoulders. Jackie can feel the warmth of her touch seep through the fabric of her clothes, a strange comfort that brings a quiet kind of calm. 

The world outside feels distant in moments like these, like they are suspended in a space that only belongs to the two of them.

Jackie closes her eyes for a moment, letting the cool breeze sweep across her face as Shauna’s hands slide into her hair. The water from the river splashes gently against the rocks, its rhythm syncing with the calm beating of Jackie’s heart. She can feel Shauna’s fingers massaging her scalp, the pressure gentle but insistent, and for a moment, Jackie allows herself to relax into the sensation.

“Your hair’s gotten really long,” Shauna comments, a smile tugging at her lips, the lightness of the words grounding them both in the present. “How’d you let it get so messy?”

Jackie laughs softly, a sound that feels foreign to her after everything. “I wasn’t exactly worried about it before,” she replies, the words slipping out easier than she expected. 

She knows Shauna’s right—it has gotten long, tangled in places, like everything else in her life these days. But right now, with Shauna’s hands in her hair, she doesn’t mind. It feels like a small, simple thing, something they can still control, even when the rest of it feels so beyond reach.

Shauna doesn’t say anything more, but her touch never wavers. Her fingers slide through Jackie’s hair, parting the strands with care, gently untangling them as they move. There’s a rhythm to it, something intimate in the quiet space between them, and for a moment, Jackie feels her tension ease, her mind quieting from the noise of the last few weeks.

Shauna’s hands move in slow, deliberate motions, like she’s savoring the moment, like she’s not in a rush to finish or get to the next task. It’s comforting in its simplicity, this small act of care. 

Jackie doesn’t speak, just lets Shauna work, the tension in her shoulders slowly unwinding under the rhythm of her touch.

“How’s the water feel?” Shauna asks, breaking the silence with a soft question, her voice still light, but there’s something more there now. A hint of concern, maybe, or maybe just the softness of this quiet moment.

“It’s good,” Jackie answers after a beat, her voice rougher than she intends. “Cold, but… good. I think I needed this.” She doesn’t explain what she means, but the words are enough. 

Shauna doesn’t push for more, letting Jackie speak if she wants to but never pressing her for details. There’s something unspoken between them in moments like this, a quiet understanding, a comfort in each other’s presence.

The water splashes softly, and Shauna’s hands continue to work through Jackie’s hair, each stroke pulling the knots free. Jackie leans into it, letting herself sink into the feeling of it all. It’s a kind of quiet intimacy she hasn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time, especially not in a place like this—where everything is strange and survival is never far from their minds.

Shauna’s hands move to the back of her neck, her fingers gentle as she massages the muscles there, and Jackie can’t help the small, contented sigh that escapes her lips. The touch is tender, so tender that it feels like more than just a physical act. It feels like care, like something soft and steady amid the chaos of everything around them.

Jackie can’t help but feel a little flustered by the way Shauna’s hands move over her skin, the way the closeness between them seems to stretch longer than it should. It’s not the first time she’s felt this strange warmth, this fluttering in her chest, but now, with Shauna so close, it feels harder to ignore.

Her mind flits to the past—before everything became complicated—and she wonders if Shauna has always been this way, this easy to be with. This comforting. Her thoughts tumble, one after the other, but she doesn’t say anything. She just leans into Shauna’s touch, letting it ease the ache in her mind.

Finally, Shauna’s hands slide away from her hair, and Jackie blinks, as if coming out of a trance. She didn’t even realize how much she’d let herself lean into it, into Shauna’s touch. She feels a rush of warmth across her cheeks, but she doesn’t know if it’s from the lingering heat of the river or from something else.

Shauna looks at her then, and there’s a softness in her gaze, something that makes Jackie’s heart thud a little faster in her chest. She wants to say something, but the words catch in her throat. Shauna doesn’t seem to notice, her focus shifting to the river, her hands reaching for the soap again.

“It’s nice to have a moment like this,” Shauna says, breaking the silence, her voice quiet but genuine. “I’ve missed this. Just… us.”

Jackie doesn’t know how to respond, but she nods, the weight of the words settling in her chest. She’s missed it too. Missed the ease of their friendship, before everything became tangled, before everything changed.

Soon after, they begin to wrap up, the cool air wraps around them as they walk back to the shelter, the faint light of dusk painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. 

The river is behind them now, the sound of its current fading as they draw closer to the warmth of the shelter. The air feels fresher, tinged with the scent of pine and earth, but there’s something heavier in the silence between them. The quiet comfort of the river still lingers, but now, it’s just the two of them again, walking side by side in the gathering dark.

Jackie feels the need to fill the silence, a small impulse rising in her chest. It’s a soft hum at first, something familiar that slips out without her thinking. The melody flows naturally, something from before, from a time when life wasn’t so full of uncertainty, when songs were a way to pass time instead of distractions from what lay ahead.

Her voice is soft at first, barely audible over the crunch of their footsteps on the forest floor, but as the melody picks up, she can feel the tension in her chest loosen just a little. The rhythm of the song feels right, the familiar tune bringing with it a kind of comfort, the kind she hasn’t felt in a long while.

Shauna, walking just a little behind her, pauses. Her steps falter for a moment, and Jackie notices it, the way her body shifts, her attention suddenly drawn to the hum that’s floating in the air between them.

Jackie hums a little louder, just to see if Shauna will catch on. It’s an old song, something simple, but it always makes her feel grounded. She’s not sure why it feels right in this moment, but it does.

After a beat, Shauna’s voice joins in, soft at first, hesitant. But as Jackie continues, Shauna’s voice finds its place, blending with the melody like it’s always been there. The sound fills the space between them, and for a brief second, the world feels lighter, more familiar. The song floats through the air like a fragile thing, but it’s something they can hold onto for just a little while.

Jackie glances back at Shauna, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not half bad,” she says with a teasing grin, her voice light, playful.

Shauna laughs softly, the sound of it easing some of the tension that has settled between them since they came back from the river. “I could say the same about you,” Shauna replies, her voice still laced with that same softness. 

The teasing banter feels like a thread that pulls them back together, weaving the distance between them into something more manageable.

After a few moments, the song fades a little, but Shauna still follows the rhythm, humming under her breath. The simple act of singing together settles something deep inside Jackie, something she didn’t even realize she needed.

“You wanna sing the next part?” Jackie asks, her voice quiet, but the invitation is clear.

Shauna’s voice hesitates for a moment, and Jackie can almost feel her wondering if she should. But then, with a quiet breath, Shauna picks up the next verse, and they’re back in sync again, their voices blending together in a way that feels almost natural, like they’ve done this before.

Jackie can’t help but feel a warmth spread through her chest as they walk the rest of the way back to the shelter, the song carrying them forward. It’s a simple thing, just a song. But right now, it feels like something more—something shared, something that binds them together in this quiet, fleeting moment.

They reach the shelter, and the warmth of the fire calls to them, the smell of their dinner wafting through the air, but for a moment, they just stand there. Jackie looks at Shauna, and the unspoken understanding between them lingers in the space they’ve shared.

“Thanks,” Jackie says quietly, her voice more earnest than before. She doesn’t need to explain. She knows Shauna understands.

Shauna nods, her gaze soft. “Anytime.”

And just like that, they move back into the familiar rhythm of their lives in the shelter, the song still echoing in the back of their minds, a small thread of connection in the midst of everything that’s happened.

As they work, their movements become synchronized, effortless, a dance they’ve fallen into without meaning to. They hum along to the melody from earlier, now slipping into an impromptu rhythm as the evening stretches out before them. Shauna sways slightly as she stirs the pot, her body moving with the same ease that Jackie had noticed earlier, the grace of it almost hypnotic.

Jackie, feeling the weight of the past few days lift a little, grins and moves around the fire, her hands busy as she prepares some herbs for seasoning. 

She’s still humming, a soft, steady thing, when she glances up at Shauna and catches the way she’s moving. There’s something light about the way they’re both acting, something that feels almost like the world is a little bit kinder right now, in this moment.

Jackie doesn’t even realize she’s started swaying too, her body responding instinctively to the music, and then Shauna catches her eye. Their smiles meet in the space between them, and for a second, they just look at each other. 

“You remember our middle school dance?” Jackie asks, her voice light, teasing, as she adds a few more herbs to the fire.

Shauna freezes for a second, her hands stilling as she looks at Jackie, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You mean the one where you got in a fight with Megan over the last song?”

Jackie’s laughter bubbles up unexpectedly, her shoulders shaking with the amusement of it. She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so nostalgic, but the memory of that night comes rushing back. 

The awkwardness of middle school dances, the strange combination of excitement and dread. She had been there, sitting at a table in the corner, while everyone else was paired off, laughing and dancing, the kind of night that felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. And then Shauna, confident and composed, with her date, the boy Jackie had secretly liked for months.

“I wasn’t the one who started it,” Jackie says with a grin, though the memory of Megan is more of a blur now, replaced with something else. She hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice quieter now, a little more vulnerable. “I remember I was so jealous that you had a date.” She pauses, her hand faltering for a moment before she adds, “Jeff broke up with me that night. Right before the dance. I was… pissed. And embarrassed.”

Shauna turns to look at her then, her brow furrowing slightly, unsure where this is going. Jackie meets her eyes and then something shifts. She feels a strange heat in her chest, a sudden awareness she hadn’t fully registered before. The jealousy, the hurt—it hadn’t been about Jeff at all. It wasn’t about him. It was about Shauna.

Jackie stares at Shauna for a moment longer, a slow realization creeping in. She had been jealous of Shauna’s date, of the way Shauna had seemed so sure of herself that night, so put together in a way she’d never been around Jackie. 

She hadn’t been jealous of Shauna, not really. She’d been jealous of how Shauna looked at that boy, how she danced with him, like she belonged there with him, like Jackie didn’t even matter.

The thought hits her harder than she expected, and she feels a strange flutter in her chest, a mix of regret and something else she can’t quite place.

“I was… jealous of you,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She almost laughs at the irony of her words. How had she not realized it before? It was always so clear, yet she had never connected the dots.

Shauna looks at her, her expression unreadable for a moment, and then she steps closer, her hand resting lightly on Jackie’s arm. “I didn’t know that,” she says gently, her voice almost too soft. The sincerity in her tone hits Jackie harder than she expects. It’s not pity, not even sympathy—it’s understanding.

Jackie’s heart thuds a little harder in her chest, her fingers absently brushing over the herbs in her hands. She doesn’t know why it feels like this is the first time she’s ever truly been seen by Shauna, but it does. 

Shauna continues, her voice quieter now. “I didn’t even know you liked him like that.”

Jackie shrugs, not really knowing how to respond. She doesn’t want to say too much, doesn’t want to open up all those old wounds. But she can’t help it. “I guess it didn’t matter,” Jackie mutters, a rueful smile tugging at her lips.

Shauna nods, her gaze steady on Jackie as she continues to stir the pot. ”I was jealous of you, Jackie.”

“I… I don’t understand,” Jackie says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with confusion. “Why were you jealous of me?”

Shauna looks up at her, the flickering light from the fire dancing in her eyes, her expression calm but there’s a slight tightness around her mouth, as if the words are difficult to say. She nods slowly, her gaze softening. 

“It’s just,” she starts, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her words. “Everything I said during our fight… it was true. But the thing is, Jackie, I always admired you for it. For the way you could be so… unapologetic, for the way you were never afraid to just be yourself.”

Jackie’s breath catches, and she suddenly feels exposed, vulnerable in a way she hasn’t felt in a long time. She’d always assumed Shauna was confident, untouchable in her own way, always too perfect, too together for someone like her. 

She’d been so caught up in her own jealousy, her own feelings of inadequacy, that she never stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, Shauna saw something in her that Jackie hadn’t even realized herself.

And she wonders, for just a fleeting second, what it would feel like to reach out, to close the distance between them, to let her lips brush against Shauna’s. 

But the thought is fleeting, and Jackie quickly pushes it away, unsure of what it means, unsure of how to even begin to make sense of it. The idea of kissing Shauna, of acting on the strange pull between them, feels almost impossible, yet at the same time, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t know you felt that way either,” Jackie says, her voice cracking slightly as she tries to hold onto some semblance of normalcy. The words don’t feel right, like they don’t quite match the weight of what Shauna has just shared, but they’re all she can manage. She runs a hand through her hair, hoping to steady herself. “I guess… I guess I never really thought you could see me like that.”

“You’re not who you think you are, Jackie,” Shauna says finally, her voice gentle. “You don’t have to hide from it, from any of it.”

Jackie wants to say something, wants to do something, but she’s unsure of what comes next. She’s still reeling from the weight of Shauna’s confession, still trying to untangle the knot of emotions she’s feeling. 

Shauna takes a deep breath and glances away, her eyes flickering to the fire for a moment, as if searching for something in the flames. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, almost vulnerable. “It’s okay if you don’t know how to answer. I don’t expect you to understand. But I needed you to know.”

Jackie opens her mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come. She isn’t ready to say what’s on her mind, isn’t ready to confront the strange, unfamiliar feelings stirring inside her. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be ready.

She tries to convince herself that Shauna didn’t mean it the way she’s feeling it, that the warmth in her chest—the ache that seems to grow with each passing second—is just a product of her own tangled emotions. 

Hell, Shauna was in love with Jeff, right? She was always more interested in people like him, those perfect, unattainable boys. Even when Jackie and Shauna were younger, there was never a hint, not even a whisper of any deeper feelings between them.

Jackie knows Shauna didn’t mean it romantically. She knows that. Shauna’s words, no matter how tender, were just that—words. But it still stings in a way Jackie can’t explain, a sharp pang in her chest that she doesn’t know how to shake. Why does it hurt so much?

It’s not like Jackie expects anything more from Shauna, anyway. She’d always assumed, from the moment they met, that Shauna was out of her league in every possible way. 

Shauna is smart, confident, effortlessly pretty. She had that whole “together” thing about her, the one Jackie always admired from afar. Jackie had never been that. 

She was always messy, always second-best. It’s not like she thought she could ever compete with someone like Shauna—someone who had it all figured out. And if Shauna was going to be with anyone, it would be someone like Melissa, not her.

She glances over at Shauna, still caught up in her own thoughts, and feels that aching tug in her chest again. It’s almost like she can’t breathe. She wants to tell herself that it’s all in her head, that her heart isn’t racing for no reason. 

She’s torn between what she knows to be true—what Shauna said wasn’t meant to be romantic—and the nagging, unrelenting feeling that maybe it could have been something more. Maybe it could have been something real. Maybe she wasn’t imagining that tenderness, the way Shauna’s hand lingered a little too long when they touched, the way her eyes softened when she looked at her.

But Jackie knows better than to believe in these things. She knows better than to let herself get swept away by these fleeting moments of softness. Shauna had made it clear before—she had no interest in anyone like Jackie. That kind of connection wasn’t for people like them.

Shauna’s eyes flicker back to her, and for a brief moment, their gazes meet. Jackie quickly looks away, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. She swallows hard, trying to control the rising tide of emotions, trying to make sense of it all.

She’s always been the one left behind, the one watching from the sidelines while everyone else lives their lives, falls in love, has their happily-ever-afters. Shauna was never supposed to be part of that story. Not for her.

It hurts because it feels like something—something she never even dared to wish for—just slipped through her fingers. Shauna’s kindness, the quiet way she’s been looking at her, the way she’s always been there, protecting her, supporting her… it’s all becoming too much for Jackie to process. 

What if Shauna was seeing her in a way she never imagined? What if that gentle touch meant more? 

Jackie shakes her head, trying to push away the dangerous thoughts. It doesn’t matter. She knows it doesn’t matter. 

Even if Shauna had felt something more, it wouldn’t be for her. Not really. Not in the long run. She’d always be second choice, always be the girl who was too different, too messed up. And Shauna—she deserves better than that. She deserves someone who doesn’t have the kind of baggage Jackie has. 

She deserves someone like Melissa, someone who could give her everything, who could make her happy in ways Jackie could never hope to.

The ache in her chest deepens, and Jackie can’t stop herself from swallowing back the lump in her throat. She turns her attention back to the fire, feeling the heat on her skin, trying to focus on anything but the painful thoughts crowding her mind.

She knows Shauna didn’t mean anything by it. She knows Shauna probably doesn’t even realize how it feels—how those few words, so simple, so kind, are making her feel like her heart is breaking in two. But that doesn’t stop the pain. And it doesn’t stop the sting of knowing that this—whatever this is, whatever she’s feeling—will never be enough.

Jackie can feel the warmth of Shauna sitting next to her, can sense the steady rhythm of her breathing. She feels something stir in her chest, something dangerous, something fragile, but she pushes it down, deep into the pit of her stomach, where it can’t get out. 

She forces a smile, the best one she can manage, but it feels hollow, like it’s only there to hide the mess of emotions that threaten to spill over.

But the fire burns low and the evening stretches on, its embers casting a soft, flickering glow against the wooden walls of their small shelter. Outside, the wind murmurs through the trees, rustling the branches in a way that feels almost like whispers. 

Jackie listens to it absentmindedly, her body curled up under the heavy animal furs they’ve gathered over the weeks. The warmth from the fire makes the cabin feel almost comfortable—almost normal—but there’s a tension in the air that neither of them acknowledges.

They haven’t spoken much since their conversation, but the silence between them is heavy, thick with the unspoken things Jackie can’t bring herself to say. She tries not to think too hard about it. 

Jackie exhales quietly, rolling onto her side. “I guess we should sleep,” she murmurs, mostly just to fill the silence. Her voice sounds strange in the quiet, like it doesn’t quite belong.

Shauna nods, but she doesn’t move right away. She stares into the dying fire for a long moment, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of the blanket draped over her legs. Eventually, she shifts, lying down as well, but she doesn’t turn away. Jackie feels the weight of Shauna’s eyes lingering on her in the dim light.

Jackie swallows, closing her eyes, willing herself to relax. But sleep doesn’t come easily. The fire crackles softly, the wind hums outside, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she feels like something is slipping away—something she can’t quite name.

She stays still, breathing evenly, waiting for the moment Shauna’s breathing slows, waiting for her to drift off first. But long into the night, Jackie can still feel her there, so close but so impossibly far, lost in a quiet neither of them dares to break.

She replays the night in her head, the way they laughed, the way Shauna looked at her when she washed her hair, the way something inside her cracked open when she realized she had been jealous of Shauna’s date, not her. 

It should be embarrassing—childish, even—but it lingers like an ache, settling deep in her ribs.

She drifts in and out of sleep for a while, tangled in half-formed dreams and the soft crackling of the dying fire. She turns onto her side, facing Shauna’s back, and watches the slow, even rise and fall of her breathing. 

She sighs softly and closes her eyes again. She must have dozed off because suddenly she’s awake again, her senses sharpened by something unfamiliar. A sound. 

A creak. Slow, deliberate. Someone moving.

At first, she thinks it’s Shauna stirring, but there’s something wrong. Shauna isn’t moving. Jackie can still hear her soft, steady breathing beside her.

Her pulse quickens as she forces herself to keep still, to listen. Another step, careful but unmistakable, pressing against the old wood of the floor. Jackie’s fingers twitch toward the blanket, an instinct to pull it tighter, as if it could shield her from whatever is lurking in the darkness.

She swallows hard and dares to crack her eyes open just enough to see a shadow looming over her.

At first, it doesn’t register, her sleep-addled mind struggling to catch up. And then she sees the outline of the rifle, the faint gleam of its barrel catching the firelight. Her breath hitches in her throat as she follows the line of it up, up, to the face of the person holding it.

Nat.

Jackie’s stomach twists. For a second, she wonders if she’s dreaming. But no—Nat is standing over her, her expression unreadable, her grip steady.

Jackie barely has time to react before the gun moves.

There’s a sharp rush of air, a blur of motion, and then—

A blinding burst of pain cracks through her skull as the butt of the rifle slams into the side of her head.

White light explodes in her vision. The room spins violently, the walls and the fire and Shauna’s sleeping form smearing together in a dizzying blur. Her limbs go weak, her thoughts scatter, and before she can even think to cry out—

Everything goes dark.

———

Jackie’s head throbs, a sharp, pulsing pain at the back of her skull, and she feels the cold ground pressing against her cheek. Her body is stiff, and as she shifts, she realizes something is wrong—her arms don’t move the way they should. 

There’s pressure around her wrists, something rough and tight digging into her skin. Rope. Her heartbeat quickens as her mind catches up to what’s happening. 

She blinks against the dim morning light filtering through the trees, her vision still swimming, and slowly, groggily, she lifts her head. The world feels off-kilter, spinning slightly as she tries to adjust.

She’s not at the shack. She’s back at the camp.

The sight of the half-collapsed hut, the dying embers in the firepit, the pelts drying on racks—it all comes back in a blur of disorientation and dread. 

She’s sitting on the ground, hands bound tightly behind her back, her legs stiff from the cold. Her breath comes in short, panicked bursts. She turns her head, trying to catch sight of Shauna, trying to find something—anything—that will tell her this isn’t what it looks like.

Instead, she sees Natalie standing a few feet away, arms crossed, her rifle slung over her shoulder.

Jackie’s throat is dry when she speaks. “Where’s Shauna?” Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Natalie doesn’t answer at first. She exhales slowly, like she’s trying to keep herself calm, and adjusts the strap of her rifle. “Still passed out,” she says finally. Her voice is unreadable, but there’s a tightness to her jaw, a tension in the way she’s holding herself.

Jackie swallows hard. She tries to move her hands, but the rope bites into her wrists. “You tied me up?”

Natalie looks away for a second, but she doesn’t deny it.

A sick feeling creeps up Jackie’s spine. Her head is still spinning, but memories are starting to trickle back—Shauna waking her up, the frantic rush to get dressed, the sound of footsteps in the woods. The moment she turned, only to see Natalie’s gun pointed at her.

The hit to the head. The way the world blurred as she went down.

She clenches her jaw, trying not to let the fear show. “Where’s Shauna?” she asks again, more urgently this time.

Natalie’s gaze flickers over to the cabin, and Jackie follows it, craning her neck. The door is shut, the windows dark. Something uneasy settles in her chest.

“She’ll be fine,” Natalie says, but there’s something about the way she says it—too dismissive, too certain—that makes Jackie’s stomach twist.

“What did you do to her?” Jackie snaps, panic creeping into her voice now. She tries to push herself up, but the ropes hold her back.

Natalie steps forward, gripping the rifle a little tighter. “We didn’t do anything to her,” she says, low and firm. “But we couldn’t just let you both disappear in the middle of the night, could we?”

Jackie stares at her. Her mind races through the implications.

They’re not just mad. They’re afraid.

And that might be worse.

She shifts against the ropes binding her wrists, testing them, but they’re tight, the coarse fibers rubbing uncomfortably against her skin. Her head still aches from the blow, a dull, throbbing pain that pulses behind her eyes. 

Everything is disorienting—the dim candlelight, the flickering shadows on the walls, the smell of damp wood and smoke. She can hear the fire crackling somewhere nearby, voices murmuring in low tones just beyond the doorway. But none of them are Shauna’s.

She lifts her head, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “How the hell did you drag us back here?” she asks, her voice hoarse but edged with defiance. She already knows she won’t like the answer.

Nat, sitting across from her, arms folded tightly over her chest, doesn’t react at first. Her face is blank, but there’s something simmering underneath, something controlled but volatile. “You were both out cold,” she says eventually. “Didn’t put up much of a fight.”

Jackie lets out a breath of amusement, but it’s humorless. “Guess that means you carried me all the way, huh?” she quips. “What, drew straws for who got to haul my dead weight?”

“Something like that,” Nat says, unimpressed.

Jackie shifts again, her shoulders already aching from the position they’ve been tied in. “And Shauna? Just tell me where she is.”

Nat’s expression tightens just slightly. “She’s fine.”

“Fine,” Jackie repeats, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, being kidnapped and tied up usually makes me feel great, too.”

Nat exhales sharply through her nose, but she doesn’t take the bait. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You really don’t get it?”

Jackie lifts a brow. “Get what? That you guys are completely insane? Oh no, trust me, I got that memo loud and clear.”

Nat just shakes her head, gaze steady. “They’re scared of you,” she says finally. “Of what you are.”

Jackie scoffs, but there’s something unsettling in Nat’s tone, something that makes her stomach twist. “And what exactly do they think I am?”

Before Nat can answer, there’s a creak of footsteps outside, then the door swings open, and Van steps in. The firelight catches on the scars that run along her face, deep and stark against her skin. There’s something in her eyes—something calculating, something that makes Jackie uneasy.

“Nat, take a break,” Van says, voice even. “I’ll watch her.”

Nat hesitates, glancing between them before standing. “Don’t try anything,” she warns Jackie, then brushes past Van, disappearing outside.

Jackie watches her go, then turns her attention back to Van. “So, what’s this? Bad cop, worse cop?” she quips, tilting her head.

Van doesn’t smile. She steps closer, crouching down in front of Jackie, elbows resting on her knees. “You think this is funny?” she asks.

Jackie smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, hilarious. I’m having a blast.”

Van studies her for a long moment. Then she leans in slightly, her voice quieter but no less firm. “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Jackie feels her pulse skip. It’s not just a threat—it’s a warning. And that unsettles her more than anything else.

Jackie swallows hard, her throat still dry, but she doesn’t let herself falter. She lifts her chin, keeping her voice steady. “I don’t care about any of this,” she says, staring Van down. “I just want to be with Shauna.”

Van lets out a quiet breath, tilting her head as if she’s weighing Jackie’s words. There’s something unreadable in her expression, something patient and vaguely amused, like she’s waiting for Jackie to realize something she hasn’t yet.

Jackie presses on. “I don’t care what the rest of you think, or what you think I am, or whatever weird culty shit you’ve got going on now. But being around all of you—” She shakes her head, looking away for a brief moment before forcing herself to meet Van’s gaze again. “It makes Shauna mean. You all make her mean.”

Van’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. “Shauna is a survivor,” she says simply. “Like the rest of us.”

Jackie lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” She shifts against the ropes again, feeling them dig into her skin. “She wasn’t like this before. She was—” Her voice hitches slightly before she smooths it out. “She was my best friend. And when we were alone, when we were at the cabin, I got to have that again. She was just… Shauna. But the second we get back here, it’s like she snaps back into this—this person who’s always looking over her shoulder, always trying to prove something, always trying to keep up with you.”

Van exhales sharply, but it’s not quite a sigh. “She does what she has to do.”

Jackie shakes her head. “No, she does what you need her to do.”

For the first time, something shifts in Van’s expression. A flicker of annoyance, maybe, or something deeper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says.

Jackie meets her gaze, unflinching. “I think I do.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, neither of them looking away, neither of them backing down. The fire crackles in the background, the wind whistling faintly through the cracks in the cabin walls.

Then Van sits back slightly, exhaling through her nose. “Doesn’t really matter,” she says. “Because we’re having a trial.”

Jackie blinks. “A what?”

“As soon as Shauna wakes up,” Van continues, standing up. “Then we’ll decide what to do with you.”

Jackie feels a cold dread settle in her stomach, but she keeps her face blank. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Van steps closer, her face hardening, but there’s a certain softness around her eyes as she looks down at Jackie. “We’re going to fix this,” she says, her voice quieter now, though it carries the weight of the situation. “We have to. But for now, we need to make sure you’re safe, Jackie. All of you. We can’t go after Coach Ben until we’re sure you’re not a liability.” She pauses, and Jackie feels a cold shiver run down her spine. “You know what happened to Mari. Coach Ben kept her captive. And we need to find him before he does something worse.”

Jackie swallows hard, trying to process what Van just said. Coach Ben. The name sends a jolt through her chest. She hadn’t even thought about him in a while, but now that Van brings it up, the memories rush back—of the frantic search, the fear, the feeling of being hunted. 

“What… what are you saying?” Jackie asks, the words coming out too fast. “You think he’s still out there?”

Van’s face hardens again. “He’s out there somewhere. We can’t leave until we’re sure of where he is. And that means we need to know if you’re going to be a threat to us.” Her eyes narrow slightly as she watches Jackie. “The rest of the girls—Lottie, Tai, Nat—they’re all on edge. They think this is some kind of trial for you and Shauna, but it’s not just about that. It’s about making sure we don’t lose anyone else to the wilderness. They’re getting desperate, Jackie. They’ll do anything.”

Jackie shudders. Desperate. The word hits her like a slap to the face. She remembers the chaos, the broken edges of their minds starting to show, the cracks in their sanity starting to deepen. 

Lottie had gotten more erratic, Tai was unraveling, and Nat… God, Nat had been unrecognizable since they arrived here. 

“They just want someone to blame,” Jackie says, her voice shaking despite herself. “They don’t get it. None of them do. This isn’t about us. This is about—about whatever the hell we’re becoming out here.”

Van steps back, her expression unreadable. “I know,” she says quietly, her eyes lingering on Jackie. “But we can’t change that unless we get out of this mess. You’re going to need to play along for now. If you and Shauna are going to make it out of this, we need to keep the others from spiraling. And we need to make sure they don’t turn on you both.”

Jackie wants to argue, wants to scream, that this isn’t fair, but she knows better. The fight is gone from her, the anger and the frustration reduced to a dull ache deep in her chest. It’s been that way for weeks now, a constant pull to something she can’t name. 

She lowers her head, letting the tears spill out quietly. It’s not for the others. It’s not for what they’ve done. It’s for Shauna. It’s for the loss, the endless cycle of hope and destruction that keeps dragging them down.

Van watches her for a moment, a flicker of understanding passing over her face. “I know it’s hard,” she says softly. “But right now, we need to do this. For everyone.”

Jackie nods, her throat tight. “I know,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. She feels the weight of everything pressing down on her again, but she knows Van’s right. 

If they want to find Coach Ben, if they want to survive this madness, they have to get their shit together. But it doesn’t make it any easier.

Van stands up straight, her face hardening once more. “We’ll keep you safe for now,” she says, her voice firm. “But you need to understand, we’re doing this to survive. Not to win some game.”

Jackie doesn’t respond. What’s left to say? She watches as Van walks out of the room, the curtain falling behind her. The silence settles over her again, thick and suffocating. She tries to focus on something else—anything—but all she can think of is Shauna, lying unconscious somewhere, waiting for her.

———

The air is heavy, tense, and thick with the bitter cold of the early morning. The girls are all seated in a rough circle, their eyes darting between each other with distrust and uncertainty. 

Jackie can feel the weight of their gazes on her back, the coldness of their suspicion biting into her skin. She sits next to Shauna, her hands bound tightly, and the remnants of the rope burn sharp against her wrists. 

Shauna is still groggy, her eyes flickering with exhaustion, but there’s a fire in her—Jackie can see it, even through the haze of everything.

Jackie leans forward, and glares at the group with all the fire she has left. “Okay, seriously, can we just talk about the fact that you kidnapped us? Like, can we address that? No one thought to maybe, I don’t know, ask if we wanted to come back? Or maybe give us a heads-up that we were going on a little trip?”

The group falls silent, exchanging uncertain glances. Van looks like she might argue, but Jackie cuts her off, keeping her sarcasm sharp and pointed.

“Oh, no, it’s cool,” she continues, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Just drag us back to your little camp of horror and tie us up like it’s a fun weekend activity. I’m sure it’s fine. It’s not like I’m dealing with any trauma or emotional baggage, right? Who cares if we were living a pretty decent life out there? Better than the nightmare you’re all living in here, clearly.”

Lottie shifts uncomfortably in her seat, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but Jackie’s not done yet. She raises her tied hands, still very much shackled by the ropes, and jangles them for effect.

“Oh, and by the way—food, please. I’m starving. I’ve been tied up for hours and you think I’m just gonna sit here and starve while you all have your little witch trial? How about you start with the basics—maybe a bowl of soup or two?”

Van and Misty exchange a quick, awkward look, but it’s Misty who finally cracks first. She leans back, shaking her head and stifling a laugh. “Honestly, I’m with you on that one,” she mutters under her breath. “This whole thing has been ridiculous.”

“See?” Jackie gives her a pointed look, her face breaking into a grin. “Misty gets it.”

Van huffs, clearly irritated but trying to keep her composure. “Jackie, this isn’t a joke.”

Jackie raises an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Oh, I think it is. You’ve got us tied up, sitting in a circle like we’re at a cult meeting, accusing us of what? Wanting to live our lives? It’s comedy gold.”

The room is quiet for a moment, the tension shifting into awkwardness. Jackie’s words hang in the air like a cloud, but instead of fueling anger, they seem to disarm the group just a little bit. Jackie can’t help but feel a little satisfaction, though she’s aware that things are far from over.

“Anyway,” she says, with a dramatic sigh, “if we’re really going to do this whole trial thing, could we at least get some food first? I’m not trying to argue on an empty stomach.”

Van finally clears her throat, her hands twitching at her sides as she tries to keep things in check. “Fine, Jackie. You’ll get food. But we’re still doing this.”

Jackie shrugs, her face still alight with a little too much sass. “Great. Because I was really hoping for an argument that wouldn’t involve me being hungry and tied up like an animal. But here we are.”

Mari exhales slowly, looking defeated, but not willing to give in entirely. “You’re lucky we’re not feeding you poison right now.”

Jackie winks at her. “Trust me, I’m lucky you guys figured out how to cook in the first place.”

Van goes inside to fetch something, and by the time the food is brought in Jackie is practically vibrating with anticipation. Her stomach growls loudly, betraying her calm exterior. The moment the plate hits the ground in front of her, she can’t help but dig in like she’s been starved for days. 

The tension in the room lingers, but for a few brief moments, she forgets everything else as she devours the food—steamed potatoes, a bit of roasted meat, and something that might be dried fruit. It’s not much, but after hours of being tied up, it’s the best thing she’s had in what feels like forever.

The others watch her, some with curiosity, others with suspicion. Jackie barely notices. She’s too focused on eating. She hasn’t had a real meal since she and Shauna started their journey out of the wilderness, and even when they were safe, the food never felt right—always too rationed, too meager. This, even though it’s just basic camp food, feels like a feast.

As she shovels the food into her mouth, she glances up, catching Misty’s eye. Misty’s giving her that look again—the one that says she’s trying to figure her out, to read her like a puzzle. Jackie narrows her eyes.

“What?” she says, her voice muffled by food.

Misty doesn’t answer immediately, her lips twisting into a small, knowing smile. Instead, she looks at the plate, then back at Jackie. “I don’t know, you just… you really love food, huh?”

Jackie pauses mid-bite, eyes flicking up to meet Misty’s gaze. There’s a beat of silence before she lets out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah,” Jackie says slowly, swallowing. “What else am I supposed to do when I’m tied up in a circle with a bunch of weirdos? Might as well eat.”

Lottie, who had been quiet for most of the exchange, coughs lightly, breaking the tension in the air. “You’re… you’re right. You’re lucky we even got food together. There was no guarantee.”

Jackie shrugs, still chewing, but her mind is spinning. They all think she’s going to snap, or that she’s already broken. She knows they don’t understand her. They probably don’t even know what it’s like to want to go back to normal, to feel human again after everything they’ve all been through.

But there’s one thing she’s sure of, and that’s that she’s not going to let them break her. She swallows the last bite of food, feeling full for the first time in a long time, and licks her lips before speaking again.

“I swear, if you guys make me wait any longer for this trial or whatever you call it, I’m going to start getting angry.” She leans back slightly, stretching her legs out in front of her as though she’s lounging in a café instead of a camp. “I mean, seriously. Can we hurry this up?”

The others glance at one another again, unsure whether to take her seriously or not. But Jackie’s tone leaves no room for questioning. She’s had enough of this weird standoff. She’s tired, she’s hungry, and she just wants to get on with it.

After a long moment, Van finally clears her throat and stands up, walking to the corner of the camp where a makeshift fire is burning. “Fine,” she says, sounding a little defeated. “We’ll start the trial once everyone’s finished eating.”

The others sit in silence as Jackie continues eating, their faces a mix of concern and annoyance, but she doesn’t care. 

Then, Nat is the first to speak, her voice low and controlled, but with an edge of something darker beneath it. “I think we can all agree on one thing,” she starts, her eyes flicking toward Jackie and Shauna, “you both have put us in a position we didn’t want to be in. You’ve been gone for days, just missing, and we had no idea what was happening. The rest of us were left to deal with everything, trying to hold things together.” Her tone sharpens as she turns her gaze on Jackie. “You left us.”

Jackie feels the sting of Lottie’s words, but she holds her tongue. It’s too easy to get defensive, to argue back, but she knows better. Shauna shifts beside her, her jaw clenching, but she doesn’t speak. 

Jackie opens her mouth, about to say something, but before she can, Tai cuts her off.

“It’s not just about what you did, Jackie,” she says, her tone colder than usual. “It’s about what you didn’t do. All this time, you’ve been hiding. We thought you were both out there, doing what you could to survive. But what were you really doing?” She pauses, the firelight catching her eyes, making them gleam with something Jackie can’t place. “We have to know that you’re not a threat. That you won’t put us all in danger again.”

Jackie grits her teeth. A threat? They make it sound like they’re the problem. She wants to snap at them, to tell them how fucked up it is that they’ve turned on them when they should be working together. 

But she doesn’t. She can’t. Shauna’s hand subtly brushes against hers, grounding her, and she tries to steady her breathing. She doesn’t want to fight. Not like this. Not when there’s more at stake.

“We didn’t leave,” Jackie says, her voice quieter now, but still firm. “We didn’t leave you. We were trying to survive too, just like you all are. And it’s not like you made it easy. Look at what you’ve become. This… this thing between all of us.” Her voice falters for a moment, the weight of her words catching up with her. “You think I wanted to be stuck out there alone, trying to make sense of all this? Trying to understand what happened to me?”

Lottie’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t interrupt. Jackie’s heart beats loudly in her chest, her hands still aching from where the ropes have rubbed her skin raw. 

She feels Shauna’s presence beside her, steadying her, but she’s also afraid—afraid that even though she’s speaking the truth, it won’t be enough to convince the others. It won’t be enough to convince them that they weren’t just running from whatever the fuck this place was turning them into.

“You’re right,” Shauna says, finally speaking up, her voice raw but calm, as if she’s been holding herself together for too long and now everything is spilling out. “We’re not innocent. We never were. But we didn’t—” She stops herself, eyes flickering toward Jackie for a moment, like she’s looking for something in her. “We didn’t do anything to hurt you. Not the way you think we did. You think we’ve been hiding? We’ve been trying to keep ourselves from fucking losing it.”

Nat is leaning forward now, her face tight with exhaustion and frustration. “And you think it’s normal to just disappear? To keep running away from us?” Her voice breaks slightly, but the anger still seeps through. “You’ve betrayed us, Shauna. Both of you.”

The words hit Shauna harder than Jackie thought they would. She flinches, just slightly, her hands curling into fists behind her back. Jackie knows she’s struggling with the weight of the accusations, the guilt, and everything that’s been building up in the last few weeks. 

She opens her mouth, wanting to say something to defend Shauna, but she knows better than to speak over her. Shauna needs to say this for herself.

“I’m sorry,” Shauna says quietly, her voice breaking at the edges. “I know we fucked up. But I never wanted to hurt anyone.” She turns her gaze to the others, her eyes pleading. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m just asking you to understand. We’re not the ones who’ve been causing problems.”

Tai scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is about whether or not you’re going to keep putting us all in danger. This is about whether or not you two can even be trusted anymore.”

Jackie can feel the heat rising in her chest, the frustration threatening to boil over, but she keeps it contained. She looks around at all of them—Lottie, Nat, Van—and then to Shauna, whose face is pale, her hands trembling slightly. 

The silence stretches between them, a moment of unbearable tension. She doesn’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, Van speaks again.

“We need to know if you’re still… with us,” Van says, her voice softer now, but no less firm. “We need to know if you’re part of this group, or if you’ve changed too much.”

Jackie doesn’t know what to say. How could she possibly answer that? How could any of them? They’re all so far gone, and yet they’re all still here, still trying to hold on. They’re not the same people they were when they first came here, and they’ll never be. Jackie wonders if she even knows who she is anymore.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Shauna looks at Jackie, their eyes meeting, and for a moment, everything fades away. It’s just the two of them, in the middle of the chaos, holding on to each other with nothing left to lose.

“Whatever happens,” Shauna says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “I just want you to know that I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Jackie nods, her throat tight, feeling a lump forming there. She knows, deep down, that none of this was ever about them, or even the choices they made. It was about survival. It was about trying to hold on to whatever humanity they had left.

But in this room, under these harsh lights and heavy accusations, it feels like they’re all losing.

Misty’s sudden appearance catches everyone off guard. She stands there, her frame outlined by the dim light spilling from the fire, her expression unreadable. 

Her eyes, usually full of some erratic spark or hidden agenda, are strangely calm, almost distant. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just watches the group in silence, her gaze flicking over everyone in turn before it lands on Jackie and Shauna.

“Why are we still doing this?” She steps into the circle, a slow and deliberate movement, her feet quiet against the wooden floor. “You’re all wasting time arguing.”

The girls stare at her, some with confusion, others with skepticism. Misty’s always been unpredictable, never easy to pin down, and right now she’s walking into a storm without a hint of hesitation.

Van narrows her eyes, clearly not pleased by the interruption. “Misty, this isn’t the time for—”

“It’s exactly the time,” Misty cuts in, her voice growing sharper now, a rare authority threading through her words. She turns her gaze to Van, holding it for a beat longer than necessary. “Don’t pretend like we’re all on the same side here. You’ve been waiting for an excuse to drag them down, but we are the problem, not just them.”

Tai and Van exchange a brief look, and there’s something about it—something unspoken—that makes Jackie feel like the ground beneath her feet is starting to shift. It’s not just Misty speaking; it’s something about the way she’s framing the situation that makes the others start to reconsider.

“Why do you even care?” Mari asks, her voice tight, almost defensive. “Why are you suddenly on their side? After everything?”

Misty shrugs, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes—a flicker of something Jackie can’t quite place. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she says flatly, but then her tone shifts slightly. “But I will. You know, because no one else seems to be paying attention.” She gestures vaguely toward the group of girls. “You think we’re still here, still alive, because we’ve been perfect? No. We’re here because we’ve fought for it. And we’ve fought for each other. But you’re all too busy fighting over who’s to blame to see that. To see that we need to stick together.”

Jackie is still reeling from the unexpected support, but she doesn’t have time to process it fully before Misty continues, her voice rising slightly, gaining momentum with each word.

“Shauna and Jackie? Yeah, they’ve been a mess. But they’re not the only ones. We all have our blood on our hands, one way or another. So if we’re going to throw people to the wolves, if we’re going to make them the reason we’re losing… then I think we’ve all missed the point of this whole thing.” Misty pauses, her eyes lingering on Lottie, then shifting to Van. “This isn’t a trial. It’s a game. And it’s a game that none of us are winning. Not really.”

Tai clears her throat, her tone reluctant but unwilling to ignore what Misty’s said. “So, what are you saying?” she asks, her eyes hard, but there’s no more edge to her voice.

Misty crosses her arms over her chest, her gaze flicking back to Jackie and Shauna. “I’m saying that we stop pretending we’re not all in this together. And that we stop treating each other like threats.” She looks at Nat, then Lottie. “If we’re going to survive this, if we’re going to keep making it out there, we need everyone. Even them. And if you want to keep fighting over who gets to be the bad guy, then fine. But don’t drag us all down with your petty bullshit.”

There’s a beat of silence. A heavy one. Jackie feels it like a weight on her chest, like she’s holding her breath waiting for the others to respond, to make a decision about which side they’re on. 

“I’m not saying we need to forgive everything,” Akilah says, her tone more subdued, almost cautious now. “But… maybe Misty’s right. We’re fighting for the wrong reasons.”

Mari shifts uncomfortably, her eyes flicking back to the two of them. “Fine,” she mutters, her voice low but tinged with something like reluctant agreement. “But this doesn’t mean we’re not keeping an eye on things.”

Misty doesn’t smile. She doesn’t even react. She just steps back, as if her job here is done. Jackie watches her, unsure what to make of her sudden shift in attitude, but grateful for it nonetheless.

Shauna, still quiet, shifts beside her, her fingers brushing lightly against Jackie’s, a subtle reassurance. For the first time in a long while, Jackie feels like they might be able to breathe again—like, maybe, just maybe, they’re not completely alone in this anymore.

And then, as the room starts to settle, as the others begin to murmur among themselves, Jackie realizes that the trial—whatever it was meant to be—has shifted. 

She clears her throat, dragging her hands out from behind her back. “Are you planning on untying us?”

“Oh, right,” Nat murmurs, and gets up from where she’s been sitting next to Lottie. She reaches for her knife and cuts through the rope on Jackie’s wrists before moving to free Shauna as well.

“Finally, Jesus,” Jackie huffs, crossing her arms.