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

Shauna barely has time to process it before Coach Ben moves.

One moment, he’s staring at Jackie like he’s seen a ghost—like he can’t believe she’s real, like he’s questioning his own sanity. The next, he’s stumbling forward, arms wrapping around her in a tight, desperate hug.

Shauna freezes. Jackie does too. She feels it in the way Jackie’s body stiffens beside her, in the way her breath catches, barely audible. It takes a second before Jackie even reacts, her hands hovering awkwardly at her sides like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Shauna doesn’t know what to do either.

It’s not like she expected Ben to be unaffected by seeing Jackie alive—none of them are, not really—but this isn’t the reaction she would have predicted. Not when Ben has spent so much of the last year keeping himself separate from them, watching everything from a distance, quiet and closed off. He’s never looked at any of them like this, never reached for any of them, never let himself be vulnerable.

And now he’s standing there, clinging to Jackie like she’s something precious, something he thought he’d lost forever.

Jackie finally moves, hands slowly lifting to rest against his back. Shauna watches as she swallows hard, her throat working around the movement, her expression caught somewhere between bewildered and unsure.

“Uh,” Jackie starts, her voice dry and uncertain. “Hey, Coach.”

Ben exhales sharply, like he’s just now remembering to breathe, and pulls back enough to look at her properly. His hands stay firm on her arms, like he’s making sure she’s solid, real.

“You—” He shakes his head, disbelief thick in his voice. “You were dead.”

Jackie lets out a breathless, awkward laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

Shauna sees the way Ben’s fingers twitch against Jackie’s sleeves, the way his jaw clenches tight. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t.

Shauna shifts her weight, glancing between them, the tension in her own body rising. “We should—” She hesitates. “We should get going.”

Ben doesn’t respond at first. His eyes flicker to Shauna, and for the first time, she notices something else in his expression—something cautious, something suspicious. But then he nods, stepping back, gesturing toward the shelter.

Jackie catches Shauna’s eye as they follow him inside. She looks just as confused as Shauna feels.

———

The trial starts not long after, underneath the warm sun, casting long, flickering shadows across the gathered girls as Ben sits at the center, unmoving. His face is gaunt, eyes hollowed from weeks of surviving on his own, and despite everything, despite all the accusations and the tension tightening the air, there’s still something stubborn about the way he holds himself. He doesn’t cower. He doesn’t plead.

Unlike the trial for Shauna and Jackie—if that even counts as a real trial—this one carries weight. It isn’t just about anger, about fear disguised as righteousness. This time, it feels like judgment in the truest sense, something old and ancient, something Shauna would’ve called ridiculous months ago but now watches unfold with a tight chest and a silent mouth.

Nat stands at the front, acting as something like a judge, though she never calls herself that. She doesn’t have to. “We have to be sure,” she says, her voice carrying over the crackling fire, even and unshaken. “We have to do this right.”

Mari stands off to the side, wrapped in an old, tattered blanket, looking small despite the rage in her eyes. She hasn’t spoken much since they brought her back, but her silence is louder than any accusation. The bruises on her wrists and ankles, the wary way she keeps her distance, the way she flinches when Ben so much as shifts—all of it is evidence enough.

Shauna watches it all unfold, watches Ben’s jaw tighten, watches the way his fingers curl into his palms like he’s holding something back. She wants to speak up, to say something, but what is there to say? That she doesn’t believe he meant harm? That she doesn’t think he deserves this?

Because the truth is, she doesn’t know.

She looks at Jackie, sitting beside her, expression unreadable. There was a time when Jackie would’ve had something to say, would’ve broken the tension with a sharp remark, but now she just watches, silent, hands clenched in her lap.

It stretches on for hours. The tension creeps in at the edges of the clearing, seeping through their layers of clothes, making the tips of Shauna’s fingers ache where she grips her arms. No one is sitting anymore. The fear is too thick, pressing down on them like the weight of the trees overhead. Everyone is standing, shifting from foot to foot, bodies rigid with the kind of exhaustion that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the weight of what they’re about to do.

Tai is at the center of it all, her body drawn tight, arms crossed over her chest. She hasn’t stopped talking since they started. She hasn’t wavered. Her voice is steady, cutting through the silence like a knife. She goes over it again and again, making sure no one forgets, making sure they all understand. 

Shauna doesn’t know if she does. But she wants to know. She wants to believe it’s as simple as Tai is making it sound. She wants there to be a villain, someone to blame, someone they can point at and say, It was you. 

Because if they can do that, if they can make it his fault, then maybe it makes sense. Maybe the fire, the loss of the cabin, the nights spent shivering in the cold—it can all be placed on someone’s shoulders. And if they have someone to blame, then maybe they don’t have to think about how close they came to dying out there.

But Ben?

Shauna looks at him, sitting in the dirt, arms limp, his face drawn and unreadable. He doesn’t defend himself. He barely even reacts. He just listens, his eyes flicking between them, like he’s already accepted whatever they decide. And maybe that’s what bothers her the most—because if he really didn’t do it, wouldn’t he fight? Wouldn’t he try to defend himself? He’s seen what they’re capable of now. He knows how this ends.

And yet, he sits there, silent.

The thing is, Shauna does feel betrayed by him.

Not just for this. Not just for the fire—if it even was him—but for everything before. For pulling away. For hiding. For making it clear, over and over, that he wasn’t really one of them. 

He spent months keeping his distance, looking at them like they were something other, something dangerous. Even when they were starving, even when everything was falling apart, he never let himself slip into it, never let himself belong to them the way the rest of them had no choice but to do.

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy for Tai to keep hammering it in, to keep pushing the idea that he’s guilty. Because he never was one of them. He was always separate. And now, with him thrown in the dirt, it’s like that separation is finally, physically real. Like it’s proof that he was never supposed to be part of their world.

Shauna swallows, looking around at the others. Some of them are nodding along with Tai. Some of them look uncertain. Natalie is standing at the edge of the firelight, arms wrapped around herself, eyes darting between them. Van is next to Tai, her expression unreadable, but she hasn’t spoken in a while. Lottie is sitting on a log, watching quietly, as if she already knows how this is going to end. 

The fire crackles low, adding to the tense atmosphere as Misty takes her turn, her questions sharp, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Why’d you wanna be a coach?” Misty’s voice rings out, not an ounce of mercy in it. 

Ben’s gaze flicks to her, weariness settling into his features. “I didn’t,” he admits quietly, the words landing with the weight of a confession. His eyes flit between the group, meeting none of them fully. 

Misty doesn’t stop. “But you like kids right? Working with teenagers and stuff?”

Again, Ben simply looks at her, seemingly defeated and partly not caring at all. “Not really, no.”

Misty’s lips curl into something almost like a scowl. “The why the fuck are you here, Ben?”

Ben lets out a humorless chuckle, lazily gesturing at the rest of the girls. “What, stranded in a forest? Well, Misty, there was was a planecrash—“

Misty cuts him off abruptly, leaning closer, speaking louder. ”But why were you on the plane? Why spend so much time coaching soccer at a high school if you hate it all?” She pauses only to take a deep breath, straightening her shoulders when she continues, “I mean, you’ve been at Wiskayok high for nine years. You could’ve left at any time. Every school needs a coach or a substitute teacher.”

Ben shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his hand over his face as if he’s trying to wake himself up from this nightmare. “I don’t know,” he mutters, his voice distant, as if the answer doesn’t come easily. “You guys ended up being the best in the state. I guess I figured at some point I’d get offered a better gig.”

Misty’s eyes narrow as she presses on, not letting him off the hook. “And you just hated us, huh? It was all a job, you never enjoyed any of it? What, we were just… just another group of kids you had to get through?” Her tone turns icy as she leans forward, not breaking eye contact. 

Ben’s face twists with something like regret, but also a deep exhaustion, the kind that doesn’t come from physical fatigue, but from carrying a weight that’s too much to bear. “Look, I liked teaching,” he finally admits, his voice rough, like it’s been dragged out of him. “I didn’t think I would, and then I did. And yeah, of course I ended up caring about you guys too. I liked coaching you because you guys were— God, you were annoyingly fucking relentless. And you were underdogs. I kind of like those.” He shrugs, turning to look down at the ground. “I am one. Grew up one, stayed one.”

Misty isn’t satisfied. She raises her eyebrows, leaning in a little closer. “And you never wanna hurt an underdog, right? Keep them down?”

Ben looks away, a flush creeping up his neck as his eyes flicker down to the ground, then back up at her. “if I wanted to hurt you, hell, I would have turned half of you in for getting so shit-faced the night before our first away game that I had to pretend to the staff I got food poisoning in seven different rooms,” he admits, the guilt palpable in the air between them. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would’ve told the school and the parents I found Taissa and Van together in the back of the parking lot after practice. And I would’ve put you on the team, Misty, instead of asking you to be the equipment manager because I knew you’d get hurt and then get bullied when you weren’t good enough.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing. “My entire family sucked,” he admits in a voice that cracks, his vulnerability naked for all to see. “No one really cared what happened to me or what I was doing, and I think I just wanted to look out for you guys the way I never got.”

Misty doesn’t let him off the hook. “You could’ve stuck around,” she spits out. “So why didn’t you stay?”

Ben sighs. “I loved you. I cared about you. And then we got here—Jesus, you cut my fucking leg off. And after that, it was like nothing I said mattered. Like I didn’t exist. And now you’re putting me on trial? For what? I didn’t do anything except try to get away because I was scared. Scared that I was next. And yeah, I was a coward. I ran when I shouldn’t have. I acted exactly like my parents would have, and that—that fucking humiliates me. It’s shameful.”

He exhales sharply, like he’s trying to steady himself, like he’s disgusted by the words even as they leave his mouth. “And I’m sorry, Shauna. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The weight of his admission hits the group. Shauna’s stomach churns with a mix of anger and something else, something that feels too close to pity. She watches him, sees the way he’s unraveling, and it does something to her—she doesn’t know what, but she can’t look away. She feels the sharp sting of betrayal again, and this time, it doesn’t hurt as much. Now it’s just numb.

She feels the sting of that apology more than she’d like to admit. He had been the one person who was supposed to take care of them, the one person who was supposed to protect them. And he had left. Left them all to fend for themselves. 

Ben continues, his voice lowering. “What you’ve done here, what all of you have done to survive—it’s incredible. I didn’t see that before. I should have. Because the truth is, I’m in awe of you. I always have been.” He shakes his head, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I fucked up. I judged you, and maybe I don’t understand what you believe, maybe I never will, but I didn’t try to kill you. I wouldn’t do that. I couldn’t.”

“Enough,” Misty says finally, her voice cutting through the air. “No further questions.”

There’s a tense silence as Ben slumps back, his head hanging low. Shauna’s heart pounds in her chest as the group begins to disperse. She doesn’t know what to think, what to feel. Everything’s too complicated now. Too much has happened. Too much has been said.

She stays quiet, her mind swirling with his words. She hadn’t expected him to break down the way he had, hadn’t anticipated that glimpse of vulnerability—the guilt, the fear, the weight of the truth spilling out of him like he was purging a poison. 

It pulls at something deep inside of her, a twisted knot of anger, confusion, and pain. She wants to hate him. She wants to scream at him, tell him that his apology is too little, too late, but something in her softens. She doesn’t want to forgive him, not yet, but she can’t quite shut herself off from the rawness of his words.

It’s as if the wilderness has worked its twisted magic on all of them. They’d been forced into this world where the rules were different, where survival came first and everything else was secondary. No one could remain untouched by it, not even Ben. Especially not Ben. He was just as broken as they were, wasn’t he? He just hadn’t known how to show it until now.

But as she stands, preparing to head back to the campfire for the vote, the knot in her chest tightens again. She hasn’t decided anything yet. The trial is over, and it’s time to vote. And even though Ben has laid himself bare, even though she can see the cracks in his armor, she can’t help but feel the pull of betrayal. 

Shauna turns to Jackie, who’s standing a little off to the side, watching her closely. Jackie doesn’t say anything right away, but her eyes hold that familiar glint of something, something deep and knowing. It’s like she understands that Shauna is struggling with this, that there’s more going on than just the trial. 

She steps forward, slowly, as if she’s trying to give Shauna space to breathe, to figure things out on her own.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the tension between them. 

Shauna turns to look at her, and for a moment, neither of them says anything. It’s like there’s a weight between them, a shared understanding of how everything has changed. The way the wilderness has warped them all, made them something they didn’t recognize anymore.

“You’re still angry, I’m guessing?” Jackie asks, her tone gentle, but Shauna can hear the quiet desperation in her voice. “You’re angry at him, but… are you angry at me too?”

Shauna doesn’t know how to answer that. She feels everything at once—anger, hurt, guilt, confusion—and it all threatens to spill over. But when she looks at Jackie, the anger fades just a little. Maybe it’s because Jackie is standing there, looking so damn vulnerable, like she’s still holding on to something. 

Shauna swallows hard, trying to push down the lump in her throat.

“I don’t know,” she admits finally, her voice quiet. “I don’t know what to feel anymore, Jackie.”

Jackie steps closer, her eyes searching Shauna’s face. “I just think… I think this place is giving us a chance to do something different, Shauna. Maybe that’s what it wants from us, to make up for everything we’ve done. Maybe it’s why it brought me back.”

Shauna’s breath catches in her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. The words hit her harder than she expected, and she’s surprised by the weight of them. “You seriously think this is a chance for what, redemption?” 

Jackie nods slowly, a faint smile tugging at her lips, but there’s something almost sad about it. “Maybe we can do something good with this second chance, don’t you think? Maybe I’m supposed to help you.”

Shauna feels a tightness in her chest, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches out to touch Jackie’s arm. There’s a warmth in her touch, a reassurance that feels fragile but real. She wants to believe her. She wants to believe that they can fix everything, that this place hasn’t taken everything from them, that it hasn’t broken them beyond repair.

But there’s too much hurt, too many things left unsaid, too many memories of what’s already been lost. The wilderness has taken so much, and Shauna doesn’t know if she has the strength to keep fighting against it, to keep believing that there’s something worth saving.

“I don’t know if I can forgive him, Jackie,” Shauna whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

Jackie’s expression softens, and she steps closer, her body heat radiating against Shauna’s skin. “You don’t have to forgive him right now,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to forgive anyone right now. But you don’t have to be so angry about it either.”

Shauna looks at her then, really looks at her, and for that short moment when their eyes meet, Shauna feels like maybe Jackie is right. That she can do something good with herself, something that matters, even in this hell they’ve been trapped in.

“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Jackie nods, her eyes steady and sure, and Shauna feels a flicker of something light in her. It’s faint, like a candle in the dark, but it’s there. It’s almost like that’s all she has left now—Jackie, and the honey sweet words she speaks into her ear.

However, the moment the voting begins, that soft, little moment shifts, growing thick with tension. Shauna feels the weight of every stare again, every eye on her, the pressure of their judgment, and the knot in her stomach tightens as the votes are read out loud, one by one.

Each one feels like a small hammer pounding at her chest. She feels her heart racing, and she can’t even look at Jackie, not yet. Not with the fear gnawing at her insides.

Then, the votes are read off quickly, methodical, cold, and Shauna’s hands tremble as she tries to maintain control. She’s trying to be strong, trying to be calm, but as the numbers are tallied, she feels the ground beneath her shifting.

The count ticks up, each vote digging deeper into Shauna’s resolve. Six votes in Ben’s favor, three votes against. It’s not enough, not two-thirds, and that makes everything feel pointless. 

The anger surges inside her, unfiltered, raw. She can’t sit back and let this happen. Not again. Not after everything they’ve been through, after everything that’s been said, done, everything they’ve had to live through.

She can’t let it happen.

Shauna rises from where she’s sitting, hands balling into fists at her sides as she steps toward the table, her voice a low, trembling growl as she addresses them all.

“Fucking vote like you mean it!” she demands, her voice shaking but fierce. “Are you all just going to hide behind each other’s opinion and pretend you actually mean it?”

Her eyes sweep over the group, meeting each of theirs in turn, but she can’t stop the fury from building. It’s like it’s taking over her, the frustration, the helplessness of it all, the betrayal of everything that’s happened since they were stranded here.

“You’re all so fucking scared of making the hard decisions, aren’t you?” Shauna spits, her breath coming faster, faster. “This isn’t just about Ben. This is about everything that’s happened. All of it. The way we’ve been living, the way we’ve been treating each other. The lies and the secrets. All of you just want to get through this like it’s some fucking game. But it’s not. It’s our lives! And you can’t keep being fucking cowards!”

The words feel like they’re clawing their way out of her throat. They burn as they come, cutting through her, scraping her raw. She’s shaking now, her body trembling with the force of everything she’s feeling—everything she’s held inside for so long.

“Raise your fucking hand!” she screams, voice cracking with the intensity of her emotion. “Do it like you fucking mean it!”

Her breath is ragged as she looks from face to face, daring any of them to argue, to challenge her. The silence that follows is thick, almost suffocating. Shauna can hear her own pulse in her ears, thundering, deafening. Her eyes burn, and her chest aches from the weight of it all.

A hush falls over the group, the air so thick with tension Shauna feels like she’s suffocating. For a moment, no one speaks, no one moves. And then, slowly, as if her words have cut through something deep, the others begin to shift uncomfortably. The quiet hum of the night seems to grow louder, the crackle of the fire suddenly too intense.

Jackie, standing nearby, her face pale but determined, watches Shauna carefully, her eyes flicking to the others and back again. She seems to know what Shauna is doing, understands that the words are for everyone, not just for Ben. 

Shauna wants to keep going, wants to make them all feel how much they’ve been avoiding, but when she looks at Jackie, something inside her softens just enough. The anger doesn’t go away, but there’s something else there, something more tender that she’s not ready to name.

“Those who are in his favor, raise your hand,” Jackie’s voice rings out, quiet but resolute. 

Shauna doesn’t look away from her, feeling the weight of her words settle between them. The moment feels fragile, but somehow, she can’t help but feel like they’re on the same page now. She exhales sharply, her anger and frustration still smoldering, but with a small sense of release. 

Her heart pounds in her chest as the others start whispering, murmurs of agreement passing between them. Hands begin raising, and she watches as they gather their resolve, the decision weighing heavily on them all. 

The tension in the air is unbearable as the final vote is tallied. Shauna can feel every second stretching into eternity, every heartbeat echoing too loudly in her chest. She stands there, watching the faces around her, the weight of the decision hanging in the air. Seven votes for Ben. Three against. It’s enough. The trial is over.

Nat’s voice is distant when she announces the verdict. “We find you, coach Ben, not guilty of attempted murder.”

For a moment, the world seems to stand still. The fire crackles in the silence, the trees moving and rustling against each other, but Shauna’s mind is spinning, her thoughts tangled in knots. This wasn’t how she imagined it, wasn’t how she thought things would play out. She feels numb, almost as though she’s watching it all from a distance, like someone else is living her life for her.

Ben looks relieved, but there’s something about his expression that makes Shauna uneasy. She’s not sure if he’s grateful, or if he’s just happy to be alive. 

The whole situation feels… wrong. It feels like they’ve made a choice, but she doesn’t know if it was the right one.

The group begins to disperse, the weight of the decision settling over everyone like a thick fog. Some of them avoid her eyes. Others stand quietly, lost in their own thoughts. Shauna doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t know what to do next. She stands there, her hands still clenched at her sides, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on her.

That’s when Nat approaches. Her footsteps are quiet against the cold earth, but Shauna feels her presence before she sees her. Nat’s eyes meet hers, and there’s a strange softness in her gaze, something Shauna doesn’t quite know how to interpret.

“Shauna,” she says, her voice surprisingly gentle. “Thank you.”

Shauna blinks, taken aback. “For what?” she asks, her voice thick with confusion. She doesn’t know what she’s being thanked for. She doesn’t know if she should be relieved, or guilty, or… anything at all.

“For standing up,” Nat says, her eyes searching Shauna’s face. “It wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing to do.”

Shauna feels a strange tightness in her chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. “I don’t know if it was the right thing,” she admits quietly, almost to herself. “I don’t know what I’ve done. I just… I just couldn’t sit back anymore. It felt like everyone was too afraid to actually make a choice, and I just—” She cuts herself off, frustrated by the words that are tumbling out of her mouth, by the way everything feels so heavy and tangled.

Nat takes a step closer, and there’s something in the way she looks at her, something that feels like understanding. “You did what needed to be done,” she says firmly. “That’s good.”

Shauna’s chest tightens even more, the words hitting harder than she expected. She hadn’t realized how much she needed to hear that. She hadn’t realized how much she had been hoping for someone to tell her that she hadn’t completely fucked up.

But it doesn’t make her feel better. It doesn’t make the knot in her stomach loosen. Instead, all she feels is a quiet, gnawing sense of uncertainty. She doesn’t know what’s coming next. She doesn’t know what they’ll do, or how things will unfold.

But she knows one thing for sure: she’s changed something. She’s shifted the dynamic. And that scares her more than she’s willing to admit.

“Yeah,” Shauna says, her voice small. 

Nat watches her for a long moment, and Shauna can see the wheels turning in her head. There’s a mix of gratitude and something else in her eyes—something deeper. “We’re going to make it through this,” Nat says, her voice softer now. “We have to.”

Shauna nods, but she doesn’t believe her words. She doesn’t know if they’ll make it through this, or if they’ll make it through together. She doesn’t know if they’ve crossed a point of no return. The weight of everything—the decisions, the guilt, the fear—is too much to carry alone.

And in this moment, Shauna feels more alone than she ever has. She’s done something, yes, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if it wasn’t the right choice?

“What if I did the wrong thing?” She asks suddenly, the question slipping out before she can stop it. Her voice cracks, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds. “What if this… this decision just makes everything worse?”

Nat hesitates, and for the briefest moment, Shauna wonders if she’s about to say something comforting, something that will make all of this feel a little less suffocating. But instead, Nat just gives her a long, unreadable look.

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I really don’t think it will.”

And with that, she turns and walks away, leaving Shauna standing there, still caught in the chaos of everything that’s just unfolded.

The trial is over. The decision has been made. But she feels no closer to finding peace. She looks at Jackie from across the campfire, the girl who had been through everything with her, and wonders if the wilderness has really given them a chance for more, or if it’s just a twisted game that they’ll never fully escape.

Shauna doesn’t move. She stays where she is, her back pressed against the rough bark of the tree, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames. She feels disconnected from the world around her, as though the weight of what just happened has set her adrift. For a moment, she’s not sure what to feel, not sure where to place herself in all of this.

Jackie sits beside her, her presence grounding, but there’s a distance between them now, unspoken, like the space between them has grown despite their proximity. 

Shauna glances over at her, taking in the way the firelight plays across Jackie’s face—softening the sharpness of her features, highlighting the exhaustion in her eyes. She looks older than she did before, haunted by the time spent lost in the wilderness, by the things they’ve all been forced to endure.

Shauna can’t help but feel a strange mix of relief and guilt as she watches her. Jackie is back, alive, but how does that fit into everything she thought she wanted? Shauna thought she hated Jackie. She thought that the pain of losing her was something she could never move past. 

But now that she’s sitting next to her, with her warm skin pressed against her arm, that hatred feels foreign, like something Shauna’s worn too long and can’t quite get rid of.

Jackie looks over at her, her lips parted as if she’s about to say something, she hesitates, her voice caught in the silence. Shauna doesn’t know if she’s afraid of what she might hear, or if she’s just not ready to face the reality of this moment. 

The moment when the two people she wanted dead the most—the ones who had hurt her so deeply, the ones she thought she could never forgive—are now back in her life.

What does it mean that they’re here? What does it mean that, despite everything, Shauna didn’t want them to stay gone? That when she saw Jackie’s face, alive and breathing, in that clearing, something inside her broke open, something she wasn’t prepared for?

Her mind races, the confusion gnawing at her insides. She wanted Jackie gone, didn’t she? She hated her for leaving her behind, for taking so much from her. But now? Now, with Jackie sitting next to her, Shauna realizes that the anger she once felt has turned into something more complicated, more painful. It’s not just anger—it’s longing. 

It’s wanting the past back, wanting to fix the things that went wrong, wanting to undo the hurt they caused each other. But it’s also fear, a deep, gnawing fear that things will never be the way they were before, that this place has changed them both in ways they can’t undo.

The more Shauna thinks about it, the more she feels like her emotions are slipping through her fingers, just out of reach. Her needs, her desires—they feel like they’re constantly shifting, like the ground beneath her feet is unstable, untrustworthy. 

She wants Jackie, but she’s afraid of what that means. She wants to move forward, to heal, to leave behind the mess of their past, but she’s terrified that doing so will mean losing something essential, something that’s always—

“Shauna?” Jackie’s voice breaks through her thoughts, soft and hesitant. Shauna blinks, turning to face her, but her words are stuck, tangled in the whirlwind inside her chest.

Jackie gives her a small, almost apologetic smile. “You okay?”

Shauna opens her mouth, but for a long moment, no words come out. She wants to tell Jackie everything, wants to explain the storm in her mind, but she doesn’t know how. She doesn’t know how to make sense of what she’s feeling. So she simply nods, not trusting herself to say anything more.

The silence lingers between them, thick and heavy. Shauna feels the weight of it, but it’s different now—more comfortable, somehow. There’s no urgency to fill it, no tension hanging in the air. It’s just the two of them, sitting side by side, their bodies almost touching, as the sun burns low and the night stretches on.

Melissa passes by them, her smile warm, almost too warm, and her eyes glinting with something Shauna can’t quite place, a kind of self-assurance that seems to radiate off her like a second skin. She approaches slowly, deliberately, and Shauna watches her, not sure what to expect. The group has started to disperse, but Melissa is focused on her, her gaze never leaving Shauna.

“You did so good today,” she says, her voice soft but edged with a certain intensity. “That was powerful.”

Shauna’s heart skips a beat. She feels her chest tighten, like she’s caught in a snare. “I didn’t— I didn’t make anyone do anything,” she mutters, avoiding Melissa’s gaze. “They made their own choices.”

But Melissa only shakes her head, stepping closer, her presence filling the space between them. “You don’t get it?” she continues, her voice a little quieter now, but no less certain. “You’re the reason they all voted the way they did. They look to you, Shauna. They trust you.”

Her words slide into Shauna’s chest, and for a moment, it almost feels like something is burning inside of her. Something dark and unfamiliar, something she’s not sure she’s ready to face.

Before she can respond, Melissa takes another step forward, her hand reaching out, fingers almost brushing against Shauna’s. The gesture is slow, deliberate, as if she’s is trying to give Shauna the chance to pull away. And Shauna does—she jerks her hand back quickly, her breath catching in her throat.

Melissa’s expression falters for a split second, but she recovers, smoothing her face into a calm, collected smile. She withdraws her hand, nodding slightly, as if she’d expected the rejection.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it,” she murmurs, her voice still warm, but the underlying tension is palpable now. She turns, walking away without another word, her steps sure, purposeful, like she has no doubt in her mind about anything. 

Shauna watches her go, her heart still pounding in her chest, trying to make sense of what she just said.

“Shauna?” Jackie’s voice is soft but steady, pulling her back to the present. Shauna turns to face her, finding Jackie watching her with a mix of curiosity and concern, her brow furrowed slightly. “What was that about?”

Shauna doesn’t know how to answer. The words feel too heavy in her mouth, like they’re stuck, lodged in her throat. She opens her mouth, then closes it again, trying to find the right thing to say.

“It was nothing,” she mutters eventually, though she can’t help the slight shake in her hands as she tucks them into her lap. She doesn’t meet Jackie’s eyes, unable to hold the gaze for too long. She’s suddenly too aware of the space between them, the way her body feels tight, like she’s being pulled in two different directions.

Jackie doesn’t seem convinced. She leans in a little, her voice lowering as if testing the waters. “You sure?” she asks. “It looked like… like she was trying to get close.”

Shauna shifts uncomfortably, her eyes flicking to where Melissa disappeared into the distance. “She was just… being nice. Giving me credit for something I didn’t do. I don’t know why.” She gives a sharp laugh, but it feels hollow, like she’s trying too hard to convince herself. “It’s probably nothing.”

But Jackie doesn’t look convinced. She studies Shauna closely, her gaze lingering for a moment longer than usual, as if she’s weighing something in her mind. “Hmm,” she says, voice quiet, thoughtful. “I don’t know. Something felt off about it.”

Shauna shrugs, still not meeting her eyes. “You’re just overthinking it. She’s probably just trying to… I don’t know, make me feel better. About everything.”

Jackie doesn’t press any further, but Shauna can feel the weight of her gaze, the quiet understanding in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything else, but the unspoken question still hangs in the air between them.

Shauna’s heart beats a little faster at that, and she feels a flicker of unease—a sense that there’s something she’s missing, something she’s not fully grasping about the way Jackie looks at her, the way her words linger long after they’re spoken.

But her presence beside her is steady, grounding. She’s there, a quiet constant in the storm that’s been raging inside Shauna since the trial. For a moment, Shauna lets herself breathe, lets herself feel the weight of Jackie’s proximity, the way she’s sitting just a little too close, their shoulders brushing every so often.

“Whatever,” Jackie says after a moment, her voice gentle, “You are the one overthinking things. So stop it, okay?”

Shauna looks over at her, finally meeting her eyes, and for a brief moment, everything feels clearer. No answers, no certainty—but Jackie’s right. She has to stop thinking about everything so much.

———

Shauna’s pen moves slowly across the pages, the words coming out in a steady but deliberate rhythm. The diary has become her one place of solace in a world that feels increasingly chaotic and heavy. There’s something about the simplicity of writing, the way the ink glides over the paper, that lets her feel like she’s doing something, anything, to make sense of all the things swirling inside her. She writes about the trial, about the confusion and the anger she’s been feeling, about how everything feels like it’s shifting under her feet.

Her hand stops mid-sentence, her eyes unfocused on the words she’s written. She’s too tired to think anymore, too worn out by everything that’s happened, by the constant churn of survival, the pressure of leading, of being someone everyone else looks to. It’s as if she’s been carrying the weight of everything for so long now that her body has forgotten what it’s like to just… rest.

That’s when she hears the crunch of footsteps outside her shelter. She doesn’t look up immediately, too lost in the fog of her own thoughts, but the steps grow louder, drawing nearer. There’s a soft rustle, and then the faintest sound of the shelter’s flaps being pushed aside. Jackie slips inside quietly, her presence like a shadow moving across the dim light.

Shauna doesn’t need to ask. She can feel Jackie’s eyes on her, can sense the way she’s standing there, waiting for something, maybe for Shauna to acknowledge her.

“Hey,” Jackie says quietly, her voice steady but soft, as if not wanting to disturb the fragile silence.

Shauna lets out a tired sigh, lowering her pen to the side of the notebook. She sets it down on her lap and leans back slightly, letting her shoulders sink into the makeshift cushions beneath her. Her eyes flicker briefly toward Jackie, but she doesn’t say anything at first. The exhaustion is heavy on her bones, weighing her down in ways she can’t quite explain.

Jackie moves closer, sitting down next to her with a soft rustle of fabric. The air between them is thick, but not uncomfortable. There’s an unspoken understanding between them now, one that didn’t need words to exist. Jackie doesn’t try to fill the silence with anything unnecessary, instead sitting quietly, just there, her presence grounding, like she’s waiting for Shauna to find the words.

Shauna leans her head back against the wall of the shelter, staring up at the darkened sky outside, the faint flicker of the stars just visible through the small opening. For a long moment, she doesn’t speak, as though she’s gathering the right words to explain the weight that’s pressing down on her chest.

“I don’t know how to keep doing this,” Shauna says finally, her voice barely above a whisper. She doesn’t look at Jackie as she speaks, but the words spill out anyway, heavy and raw. “I feel like I’m just… treading water. Every day it’s just the same. And then at the end of it, I’m still here. Stuck.”

Jackie doesn’t say anything, but Shauna can feel her presence beside her, calm and steady. She breathes in deeply, trying to steady her own pulse, but the words continue to come, pushed from somewhere deep inside her.

“I didn’t know what it was like before, not really,” Shauna continues, her voice a little shaky. “I mean, I thought I did. I thought I was doing okay before… before everything happened. I had my life, I had a plan, I had things that made sense.” Her eyes flicker toward the darkened space, but she can’t really focus on it. “But then it was all gone. And now I don’t know what I’m supposed to be. I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

She pauses, swallowing thickly, and lets out a soft, shaky laugh. “I used to think I wanted… I don’t know. To be normal. To go back to a life that wasn’t this. But now? Now, I don’t even know what that means. What is normal anymore?”

Jackie shifts beside her, her presence a quiet, reassuring thing. Shauna feels the heat of her body next to hers, and for a moment, it’s almost like everything else fades into the background. Just Jackie’s quiet strength, just her proximity, offering a kind of silent comfort that Shauna doesn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t think anyone knows what normal is anymore, Shauna,” Jackie says softly, her voice low but steady. “I think it’s different for all of us. It’s not about going back to what we had before. I think it’s more about… finding something new. Something we didn’t even know we wanted.”

Shauna lets out a long breath, turning her head to look at Jackie for the first time. The dim light in the shelter makes her face soft, her expression more open than Shauna’s used to seeing it. Jackie’s eyes are dark, but there’s something in them that makes Shauna’s chest ache—a warmth, a quiet understanding, a hint of something that feels familiar and comforting, even in the middle of all this.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Shauna admits, her voice smaller now, more vulnerable than it’s been in a long time. “I don’t know how to figure out what I want when everything’s just… chaos. I’m tired. All the time. I don’t know if I can keep pretending that I’m whatever I’m trying to pretend.”

Jackie reaches out slowly, her hand resting lightly on Shauna’s shoulder. The touch is light, but it’s grounding, and Shauna feels her breath steady, just a little.

“You don’t have to, you know?” Jackie says, her voice quieter now. “You don’t have to pretend. We’re all just trying to get by, right?”

Shauna closes her eyes, the simple truth of Jackie’s words sinking in like a balm. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to hear that, how much she’d been carrying by herself without letting anyone else in.

She shifts slightly, her eyes losing focus on the space around her as she leans back, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her chest. The silence that hangs between them is comfortable now, the air thick with unspoken understanding. 

Jackie’s presence, the quiet and steady way she sits beside her, makes Shauna feel a sense of safety she hadn’t realized she was craving. It feels strange, to let herself be this way, but it’s also a relief, like the walls she’s spent so long building up are finally starting to crumble, piece by piece.

“I’ve always felt this kind of loneliness,” Shauna says slowly, her voice thick with something raw. She doesn’t look at Jackie as she speaks, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her, the words coming out almost like an admission. “I didn’t realize it at first. I thought it was just me being… well, me. But then, when I was younger, I thought it was because I wasn’t like you. You were always so… so sure of yourself. So… there. Always surrounded by people, always so confident.”

She pauses, the weight of her own words sinking in, and she draws in a slow breath, letting it out shakily.

“I don’t know. It was like this aching thing inside of me, like there was something I needed. And I thought, maybe if I could be more like you—more… alive, I’d fill that emptiness. Maybe I’d stop feeling like there was something missing inside me.” Shauna’s fingers twitch, the sensation of the cold air on her skin grounding her. She looks at Jackie now, the words coming faster as her heart picks up speed. “But that wasn’t it. I realized, it wasn’t about wanting to be like you. It was about something else, something that I couldn’t even put into words. Something I’d been ignoring for so long, thinking it was just my fault, like I just wasn’t enough.”

She swallows, her throat tightening, and turns her body slightly, so she can face Jackie fully. Her chest feels tight with the weight of everything she’s trying to say, everything she’s trying to understand. She can’t find the right words to explain it, but it doesn’t matter. Jackie’s here, listening, and for once, Shauna feels like maybe she doesn’t have to have it all figured out.

“I never realized how much I needed this. Not just you, not just being with you, but… being here. In the woods. With all of this. I never understood before why I felt like I was always trying to outrun something, like I was trying to fill a void I couldn’t explain. But now? It’s like, I’ve found myself here more than I ever did back… back before everything. It’s not what I expected. I thought I’d find the answers in people or in some kind of… purpose. But here, in the mess of all of this, I’ve… I don’t know. I’ve found something. Something real. Something more… me, than I ever was before.” 

Shauna lets out a soft breath, her fingers gripping the edges of her shirt as she tries to steady herself, as if holding on to something solid.

“I don’t know what that means,” she admits, her voice quieter now, the truth of it settling in. “But it’s like… everything before was a dream. I don’t know who I was before, or what I was looking for, but it doesn’t feel important anymore. Here, I… I think I finally understand what it means to actually be. To just… be me.”

Jackie’s silence is heavy, not uncomfortable, but filled with the weight of her own understanding. She doesn’t say anything right away, and Shauna doesn’t expect her to. She lets the silence stretch between them, just a quiet moment of shared solitude in the chaos of everything else.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Shauna continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “but I think I’ve stopped trying to run from it. From who I was supposed to be. Because right now, I think… I think I’m okay with just being me.”

She looks at Jackie then, the full weight of everything she’s said pressing down on her chest, and she feels lighter for it. It’s like a piece of the puzzle she didn’t even know she was trying to solve has finally clicked into place. She’s not looking for someone else’s answers anymore. She’s looking for her own.

Jackie’s eyes soften as she watches her, and she doesn’t say anything at first. She just sits there, her gaze steady, taking in every word Shauna has said. And for the first time in a long time, Shauna doesn’t feel like she has to explain herself. She doesn’t have to justify her feelings, her choices, or the way she’s navigating all of this. Jackie understands.

Finally, Jackie speaks, her voice quiet but sure. “That’s just it though,” she says, her words simple but powerful. “That’s all I ever wanted you to be.”

Shauna lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little as Jackie’s words settle in. 

Her fingers fidget with the edges of the diary, flipping through pages without really seeing them. Jackie’s presence beside her is a comfort, but there’s still a heaviness in her chest, a weight that she hasn’t quite been able to shake off. She takes a deep breath, the words spilling out of her before she can stop them.

“You know,” she starts, her voice quiet but steady, “the only time that… that emptiness inside me… ever felt like it was actually filled, was when I ate you. When you were inside me.”

Her words hang in the air, sharp and raw, and she feels her breath catch in her throat as she says them aloud. It feels like something broken, something she’s never let herself say before. The words are almost foreign to her, but they come out with a quiet, agonizing truth.

Jackie’s expression doesn’t shift right away. There’s no shock, no immediate disgust, just a flicker of something in her eyes. Shauna can’t quite read it, and she’s not sure she wants to. She doesn’t look at Jackie, focusing instead on the ground in front of her. The words taste bitter in her mouth, but she can’t take them back now.

“It’s not what I wanted, I swear,” Shauna continues, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “But… it felt like I finally had a piece of something that had been missing. You were always so present before and when you were gone… it was like… I don’t know, like I was empty, Jackie. Like there was this part of me that was just gone. And when I—when I carried you… when I had a piece of you inside me, it felt like… it felt like I could finally fill that hole. Like I could hold on to something that was always slipping through my fingers.”

She takes another breath, her chest tightening as she speaks, the words spilling out like a confession she didn’t even know she needed to make. “It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right. I know that. But for a moment… for a few days… it was like I wasn’t alone. It was like I had everything I needed, all in one place, and I didn’t have to fight for it anymore. You were there, in a way I couldn’t have before. It was… I don’t know. It was peaceful. That’s the only way I can describe it.”

Her hands tremble now, the memories of those days and nights flooding her mind in a rush. She’d never let herself go back there, never let herself remember it so clearly, but now, with Jackie sitting next to her, her presence somehow pulling everything to the surface, it all feels unavoidable.

Shauna shakes her head, her fingers curling into the edges of the blanket beside her, trying to steady herself. “It was like… I needed you so much. And now, it’s… it’s like I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know what it means. I don’t know how to look at you anymore, Jackie. I don’t know who I was, or who you were to me.”

She looks up at Jackie now, her eyes heavy with the weight of everything she’s said. “I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to make you a… a thing I used to feel better. But when it happened,” Shauna’s voice falters, and she looks away again, ashamed of the truth. “It’s like everything I’ve ever needed was suddenly right there, and I didn’t have to ask for it. I didn’t have to beg for it.”

There’s silence between them now, thick and suffocating, and Shauna feels exposed in a way she never has before. She’s said too much, she’s crossed a line, and she’s not sure what Jackie will say next, or if there will even be a next. It’s out in the open now, the darkest parts of herself laid bare, and she’s terrified.

But then Jackie speaks, her voice soft and steady, but with an edge of something Shauna can’t quite place.

“I get it,” Jackie says, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to get it, but… I do. I understand more than you think.”

Shauna looks at her then, her heart racing. She doesn’t know what Jackie means, or what to make of it. But there’s something in Jackie’s eyes, something familiar and comforting that makes Shauna feel like maybe, just maybe, she’s not as lost as she thought.

“I don’t know how we move forward from here,” Shauna says quietly, her voice hoarse, “but I think I’m finally starting to understand that we don’t need to have it all figured out. Not right now. Maybe we never will.”

Jackie doesn’t say anything in response to that, but she shifts closer, just slightly, the space between them shrinking ever so slightly. Shauna can’t explain it, but somehow, that small movement feels like an answer.

Shauna’s breath catches in her throat, the weight of Jackie’s words settling heavily on her chest. Her heart pounds, and for a moment, the world seems to slow down, as if time itself is holding its breath, waiting for something. She glances at Jackie, her gaze searching, uncertain, trying to make sense of what she’s hearing.

Jackie shifts slightly, her shoulders tensing as if the memory she’s about to share is something deeply personal, something she’s never really said out loud. Shauna can feel the shift in the air, like the space between them is suddenly charged with something unspoken, something fragile.

“Do you remember that one time,” Jackie starts, her voice a little quieter now, the edges soft but firm, “when you got really drunk…?”

Shauna’s stomach drops. She knows exactly where this is going, but she doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to feel it. She can’t help the way her body freezes, her mind flashing back to that night. The laughter, the warmth, the blur of alcohol and the way everything felt lighter, more carefree than it had in ages. 

The night everything had felt so close, so simple, filled with so much Jackie.

Jackie pauses, her eyes distant for a moment as she gathers the words. Shauna feels a pang of discomfort in her chest, as if the air has thickened with something she’s not quite ready to face.

“You were completely wasted,” Jackie continues, a little chuckle slipping through her words, though it’s soft and not quite light. “And I don’t know why, but we ended up… we ended up kissing.” She looks at Shauna now, her gaze steady, not meeting Shauna’s eyes directly, but somewhere just below them. “It felt like something ours,” she adds, her voice low and almost reverent. “It was this little language we had, something that didn’t need words, just… just that moment.”

Shauna’s chest tightens, her breath catching as she remembers the kiss in fragmented pieces. The way Jackie’s lips had tasted on hers, warm and unexpected, the way she hadn’t known what to do with it but hadn’t wanted to pull away either. The soft urgency in Jackie’s touch, like she was trying to say something without saying it, the heat of the moment blurring the lines between them.

Shauna had been so drunk that night, so out of control, but now, in the quiet of their little shelter, it feels like she’s seeing the whole thing with fresh eyes. The kiss, the connection, the way it had felt like something else entirely. 

Something deeper, even though neither of them had acknowledged it then. She never thought about it much, never let herself reflect on it, because it felt too dangerous, too confusing. But now, hearing Jackie speak of it this way, Shauna feels like maybe she’s been avoiding something for a lot longer than she realized.

Jackie lets out a soft breath, her eyes glancing at Shauna now, gauging her reaction, before continuing. “I always thought… I don’t know. I always thought there was something about that. It wasn’t about what we should have felt, but about what we did feel. You know?”

Shauna nods slowly, though the words feel like they’re lodged in her throat. She’s not sure how to respond, not sure if she even can. The idea of that night, of the kiss, of everything they were to each other, is too heavy now, and she feels the weight of it pressing down on her chest, suffocating her.

“You mean… it wasn’t just something that happened?” Shauna finally asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She can’t help it, the question just tumbles out, desperate for clarity, for some understanding of what Jackie is trying to say. She feels the ground shift beneath her as she asks it, like the foundation of everything they’ve been, everything they were, might crumble with the answer.

Jackie’s gaze softens, her lips pressing together as if she’s choosing her next words carefully. “No,” she says after a long pause, her voice steady. “It wasn’t just something that happened. I think maybe it was something that always should’ve been, but we were always too scared.”

The silence between them grows heavy, thick with the weight of what’s been said, what’s been left unsaid. Shauna doesn’t know what to do with it. She doesn’t know how to feel about the kiss, about Jackie, about what it means now, in the cold, muted stillness of the wilderness. Her heart races, her mind spins, and she’s not sure if she’s ready to hear more or if she even wants to.

But Jackie’s words linger, echoing in her chest like a heartbeat, soft and persistent. Something that always should’ve been. The thought of it feels like a door opening, a possibility she never let herself consider.

Shauna’s heart beats a little faster now, the weight of the truth settling over her like a fog. She doesn’t know how to respond to this, doesn’t know what to make of the words that feel like they’re meant to tie her in knots. 

Her gaze lingers on Jackie, not because she means to, but because, in that moment, she can’t look away. It’s as if her eyes are drawn to her without her permission, like she’s being pulled by some invisible force, something deep inside her that demands she pay attention. 

The way Jackie’s hair falls messily around her face, the loose strands catching the dim light, the soft curve of her lips forming that half-smile that Shauna can’t quite decipher—it all feels so… intimate.

It’s the flannel that really makes Shauna pause, though. Jackie’s wearing her flannel, the one she had thrown over her shoulders on a cold night. The sleeves are rolled up, just the slightest bit, and it hangs a little looser on Jackie than it ever did on her. 

The familiar checkered pattern, the way it drapes over Jackie’s frame like it belongs to her now, feels like something Shauna has to digest. There’s something so… personal about it. Something simple, but profound. Like this is their space, their shared comfort, in a way Shauna hasn’t fully allowed herself to understand.

Her eyes trace the fabric, the way it falls across Jackie’s chest, the way it clings just slightly to the contours of her body. Her fingers itch with the thought of reaching out, of pulling the fabric tighter, like she could pull Jackie even closer, make her more a part of the moment. 

But Shauna doesn’t reach. She stays rooted, simply watching, trying to piece together why this image feels so important, why it’s hitting her so hard.

Jackie’s looking at her now, too, her gaze soft but steady, like she knows Shauna is studying her. There’s something in her eyes, a knowing look, almost as if Jackie is aware of how she makes Shauna feel—how this moment, with her wearing Shauna’s flannel, could change everything without either of them having to say a word. 

“Why are you staring at me?” Jackie asks softly, a faint teasing edge to her voice, but there’s something else there too. Something vulnerable, something searching. She shifts slightly, as if unsure how to handle the intensity of Shauna’s gaze.

Shauna blinks, suddenly realizing she’s been staring for longer than she should have, but the words don’t come right away. She has no idea what to say, how to explain the sudden rush of emotions that are flooding her, or how to put into words what she’s feeling without completely unraveling. Her heart is beating a little faster, and her chest tightens, like there’s a pressure building up inside her that she doesn’t know how to release.

Finally, she speaks, her voice a little raspier than she intended, as if it’s been caught in her throat for too long. “I don’t know,” she admits, her gaze finally breaking from Jackie’s face and falling to the ground, like she needs a moment to gather herself. “I just keep thinking about how different things are now.”

Jackie’s half-smile fades slightly, replaced by a more thoughtful expression. She shifts closer, her body moving with a subtle grace that makes Shauna’s heart thud a little harder. The space between them feels charged now, like everything they’ve ever known is shifting, realigning in ways that Shauna can’t predict.

“I know, right?,” Jackie says quietly, her voice soft and steady. “I missed you, though.”

Shauna looks back at Jackie, meeting her eyes again. This time, there’s something raw in her gaze—something that feels like it’s breaking open inside Shauna, something she’s been holding back for too long. 

“Really? Even when—you know, you were gone?” she asks, her voice quieter now, like she’s afraid of what Jackie might say.

Jackie shifts, then reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face in a movement that feels so natural, so intimate, that Shauna’s breath catches in her throat. Jackie’s hand lingers for just a second, like she’s hesitant to pull it away, but then she lets it fall back to her side.

“I guess so, yeah,” she starts, her voice barely above a whisper, “It didn’t feel like I was really gone. I mean, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember you guys being there. I… remember the night the cabin burned down.”

Shauna’s pulse quickens, and she can feel her breath catching in her chest. Jackie looks at her, eyes wide, searching, as if waiting for her to respond, to say something, anything. But Shauna feels frozen in place, like all the words she wants to say are stuck in her throat, too tangled up in everything she’s been feeling for so long.

“That is so fucking weird,” Shauna admits, her voice thick with emotion. “You—you felt us? But you weren’t like, conscious?

Jackie nods, her expression soft, understanding. “No,” she murmurs. “It’s very fuzzy, so I’m not exactly sure I understand half of it. But I don’t feel like I have a few months missing in my memory. I just woke up after I went to sleep.”

The simplicity of it makes Shauna’s heart ache. Just here. It feels like everything she’s been running from, everything she’s been avoiding, everything she didn’t want to see.

It’s strange, how the wilderness has become Jackie’s anchor, how she feels as though she wasn’t truly absent all that time, just… waiting. Waiting for the moment when Shauna would need her again. When Shauna would finally be ready for her, in whatever way they both needed, even if neither of them could quite name it yet.

Jackie’s words are soft, almost poetic, but they don’t land on Shauna. Instead, Shauna’s mind keeps drifting, over and over again, back to that moment. The kiss. The one she doesn’t actually remember but still knows. The memory of it sits just out of reach, like a dream that slips away as soon as you try to grab it. But she wants it. She needs it.

She isn’t listening to Jackie anymore. Not really. Her thoughts are tangled, too caught up in the memory that isn’t a memory at all. She’s thinking about how Jackie feels next to her, about the way her flannel clings to her body, how close she is. 

Shauna is hyper-aware of the space between them, the warmth of Jackie’s presence, and yet it feels like there’s so much more to know.

Her gaze lingers on Jackie’s lips. That half-smile again, the curve of them. The way they move as Jackie speaks, and Shauna wonders what it would feel like to kiss them again. Her heart races just at the thought, her chest tightening as she imagines leaning in, closing the distance between them.

Everything inside her screams to do it. Every time Jackie speaks, every word she says seems to blur into the background noise, muffled beneath the pulse in Shauna’s veins. The sound of her heartbeat, faster and louder, drowns out Jackie’s voice until Shauna can’t hear anything but the thrum of her blood and the urge to finally kiss Jackie for real, to feel the pressure of their lips together, to taste whatever’s been left unsaid for so long.

And then, as if the thought alone is too much, Shauna catches herself. Her breath catches in her throat, and she shifts slightly, uncomfortable with the weight of what she’s feeling.

She doesn’t even know what she’s doing. She’s never really known, not with Jackie. Everything has always been so complicated, so tangled up in all the wrong ways.

Jackie must sense the shift. Her voice lowers, becoming softer, a little more uncertain. “Shauna?”

Shauna blinks, her eyes refocusing on Jackie’s face, but the need is still there, still pulsing beneath her skin. Her mouth is dry, her fingers are trembling just a little, and she can feel the tension in the air like it’s wrapping around them both. It’s all too much. The wilderness, the darkness, the history between them. And yet, none of it matters in this moment.

Jackie goes still. Shauna can practically feel her  nerves, the weight of it, but she’s not sure what to expect. There’s a pause, and for a moment, Shauna wonders if Jackie will pull away, or if she’ll stay quiet, pretending nothing’s changed.

But Jackie doesn’t pull away. Instead, she shifts closer, her breath warm against Shauna’s cheek as she leans in, just a little, close enough for Shauna to feel the heat radiating off her skin. 

Shauna’s chest tightens, the words catching in her throat. She’s not sure what she’s afraid of anymore. All the distance, all the space they’ve kept between them, feels insignificant now. The thought of pushing forward, of closing the gap between them completely, feels like the only thing that could make any sense of this mess of emotions and feelings.

Jackie’s breath hitches, and Shauna finally looks up, catching her eyes. There’s a spark there, something shared, something raw and real that neither of them have ever fully acknowledged before. Shauna can feel the weight of it pulling her in, the way Jackie’s body seems to be moving just a little closer, just enough for their lips to almost touch.

“What do you want, Shauna?” Jackie asks, her voice trembling just a little, but the question is still steady. Still sure.

Shauna doesn’t answer right away. She doesn’t need to. The answer is already in the way her body reacts, in the way her hands ache to reach out, to pull Jackie closer, to make the distance disappear.

She leans in, slowly, almost as if she’s afraid this moment will shatter if she moves too fast. And when their lips finally meet, it’s like a floodgate opens. It’s not gentle, not soft like their last kiss that Shauna can barely remember.

No, this one is full of everything they’ve both been holding back, all the want and need and fear that they’ve been burying deep inside for so long.

Shauna’s heart races as she presses into the kiss, her hands finding their way to Jackie’s shoulders, pulling her in closer, deeper. Jackie doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t hesitate. Instead, she melts into it, matching Shauna’s urgency with equal force, her hands sliding up into Shauna’s hair, fingers tangling in it as if she’s afraid to let go, afraid that this might end before it really begins.

The kiss is messy, frantic, full of everything they’ve both been afraid to admit. It’s raw, it’s real, and it’s everything Shauna has ever needed, everything she’s been searching for in all the wrong places. It’s Jackie, and it’s her, and for the first time in a long time, Shauna feels like she’s not alone.

The kiss deepens, urgent and full of a hunger neither of them had anticipated. Shauna feels a rush of warmth spread through her chest as Jackie’s lips press harder against hers, as if they’re both trying to make up for lost time, for all the years of distance between them. It’s different this time—there’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt. There’s only the raw, overwhelming need to feel connected, to feel something real and true in the middle of all this chaos.

Shauna’s hands tremble as they move, almost instinctively, to Jackie’s waist, pulling her even closer. The heat between them grows, the pressure of their bodies coming together making everything feel more alive, more intense. It’s like the world outside has disappeared, like nothing else matters except this moment, except Jackie, except them.

Jackie responds in kind, her hands sliding up to Shauna’s neck, fingers pressing into the soft skin there as she tilts her head to feel her better. Her lips are urgent, her tongue tentative at first, but Shauna doesn’t hold back. She meets Jackie’s movements with her own, her body pressing into hers, hands sliding up the curve of Jackie’s back.

It feels electric, like they’re both discovering something they didn’t realize they’d been missing all this time.

It almost becomes frantic, not just an expression of need but something deeper, something primal. Shauna’s heart pounds as Jackie’s breath mingles with hers, their chests rising and falling in sync. It’s messy—lips slipping, teeth grazing, the heat between them making everything feel dizzying. 

Shauna’s mind is spinning, but she doesn’t care. She wants this. She needs this. She wants to lose herself in it, in Jackie, in the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that were always meant to be.

Jackie pulls back for just a second, her lips swollen and red, her breath heavy as she looks at Shauna, her eyes dark with something that’s both familiar and new. “Is this—” she starts, but Shauna doesn’t let her finish, not with the way her body is screaming for more.

Shauna pulls her in again, silencing her with another kiss, with a breath of air that she gives her. There are no words, no explanations. There’s just the need to feel this connection, to make sure this moment isn’t a dream, that it’s real. 

Jackie’s hands find their way to Shauna’s shirt, tugging at it, fingers fumbling with the buttons in the heat of the moment. Shauna’s hands mirror her movements, sliding down Jackie’s body, feeling the warmth of her skin through the fabric. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time—every touch, every press of lips feels like it’s building toward something neither of them can fully grasp yet.

The world outside of their shelter, the wilderness that surrounds them, fades into the background. It’s just them, the raw energy of this, the feeling of skin against skin, the pulse of their bodies together. Time feels like it stretches, like it’s bending to their will, like they could stay in this moment forever if they wanted to.

Shauna’s hands start to move lower, her fingers brushing against the soft skin beneath Jackie’s shirt. Jackie lets out a sharp breath, her body tensing at the touch, but there’s no pulling away—just the soft, involuntary gasps escaping her lips as Shauna’s touch becomes more deliberate.

Shauna is acutely aware of every movement, the way her fingers graze over the smoothness of Jackie’s skin, the way the muscles contort under her touch, responding to the intimacy of it. Her own breath catches in her throat as Jackie’s chest rises and falls, her body soft but trembling, as though it’s not quite sure what to do with itself.

Jackie’s breath hitches when Shauna’s fingers brush over her ribcage, her hands sliding up, tracing the outline of her breasts. 

The reaction is instant: Jackie arches into her, her hands gripping at Shauna’s shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself. It’s so raw, so immediate that Shauna can’t help but be caught in the intensity of it, the way Jackie’s body responds to her touch, the soft gasps that she can’t hold back.

“Shauna—” Jackie whispers, her voice breathy, filled with a mix of desire and something else, something that’s just as vulnerable.

There’s no pretending anymore, no distancing themselves from what’s happening between them. It’s a collision of want, of need, of everything that’s built up over time, and Shauna can feel her heart pounding in her chest as she pulls Jackie closer, needing more of her, needing to feel this.

Her hands move with more urgency now, slipping under Jackie’s shirt fully, the coolness of the fabric pressing against her palms, contrasting with the warmth of Jackie’s skin. She can feel every little shift in Jackie’s body, the way her breathing becomes faster, more erratic as Shauna’s hands travel further, exploring, learning the familiar curve of her body in a new way.

Jackie lets out another sharp gasp, her fingers digging into Shauna’s back as she pulls her in, wanting more. Shauna can feel the way Jackie’s pulse quickens, her body reacting instinctively, leaning into the touch as though she’s been waiting for this moment as much as Shauna has. 

There’s a slight tremble to Jackie’s hands as they slide down to the buttons of Shauna’s shirt, unfastening them one by one, the sound of each button coming undone like a small promise.

“Don’t stop,” Jackie murmurs, her lips brushing against Shauna’s neck, sending a shiver down her spine. It’s the kind of plea that sinks deep into Shauna’s chest, something between a question and a command.

Shauna swallows, trying to steady her breath as she presses closer, feeling the heat of Jackie’s body against hers. She doesn’t want to stop—she can’t, not when everything feels so right, so necessary. Jackie’s hands are moving now, too, pulling at the waistband of Shauna’s pants with a sense of urgency that mirrors her own. 

Every inch of their skin that touches feels like an electric shock, like their bodies were always meant to be this close, this entangled.

Jackie’s lips find hers again, hungry, desperate, as if they’re both trying to fill a space between them that’s been empty for far too long. Shauna deepens the kiss, one hand sliding up to tangle in Jackie’s hair, the other tracing the curve of her waist, her fingers slipping lower, memorizing every part of her.

It’s messy and uncoordinated, but neither of them cares. There’s no time for perfection, no time for hesitation. There’s only the heat between them, the desperate need to feel alive, to feel real. Everything else—every doubt, every fear—is drowned out by the sound of their breaths, the soft murmurs, the way their bodies come together in a rhythm that feels completely natural, like this was always meant to happen.

Jackie pulls back slightly, her breath ragged, her eyes searching Shauna’s face with an intensity that almost makes Shauna freeze. There’s a slight hesitation there, one that Shauna can’t ignore, and for a split second, the air between them shifts. 

Jackie’s gaze lingers on her lips before she asks, voice low and shaky, “Is this how it felt with Melissa?”

The question hits Shauna like a jolt of ice water, snapping her out of the heat of the moment for just a second. Jackie’s eyes are full of something—uncertainty, maybe? Maybe jealousy, or doubt, or fear? Shauna doesn’t know, doesn’t have time to think. All she knows is that she needs to erase the question, erase everything but the feeling between them.

Her heart is racing, blood rushing to her head, and the sudden intrusion of Jackie’s words makes everything feel frantic, like a rush of cold air after being submerged in warmth. Shauna doesn’t answer, can’t answer, not like this—not when her body is pulsing with need, her hands trembling as they grip Jackie’s sides, pulling her closer again.

“No,” Shauna gasps, but it’s less of an answer and more of a breath, escaping between them as her hands slide to Jackie’s back, needing to feel her closer, deeper. 

Her fingers dig into the fabric of Jackie’s shirt as she pulls her back into a kiss, frantic and messy, the taste of her mouth overwhelming. She needs Jackie to keep kissing her, to keep touching her, to fill her up and erase the space between them, because if she doesn’t, she might lose herself again.

Jackie’s hands are on her chest, pushing at her shirt now, but Shauna isn’t really thinking about that. She just needs to feel as much as possible. The question from Jackie lingers in the back of her mind, but it fades, drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, by the way Jackie’s body feels so alive against hers.

She can’t think about Melissa, can’t think about anything but the overwhelming need to be here, in this moment, with Jackie, who is warm and soft, who is hers, at least for now.

Shauna gasps against Jackie’s mouth, pulling back just long enough to try to catch her breath, her chest heaving. “Don’t—don’t think, Jackie. Just—” She swallows hard, her words choking in her throat, but she doesn’t need to finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to explain what she means. She just needs Jackie to understand, to keep kissing her, to keep touching her.

Jackie’s eyes flicker, confused for a brief moment, but then she leans in again, capturing Shauna’s lips, and everything else fades. There’s only the feel of Jackie’s body pressed against hers, the way their mouths move together, the way their hands are pulling, pushing, trying to get closer, as if there’s no space left to fill.

Shauna feels something sharp and desperate in the pit of her stomach as her hands roam, as her body aches for more. The need, the craving, is relentless now. There’s no time for questions, no room for doubts. She can’t afford to think, can’t afford to pause. 

All that matters is the way Jackie’s skin feels under her hands, the way she gasps when Shauna touches her in the right places, the way her body arches into Shauna’s touch like she needs it just as much.

“Shauna,” Jackie breathes, her voice trembling with something Shauna can’t identify, but it makes her feel like she’s being pulled under, deeper and deeper into something that’s all-consuming.

She’s too far gone, too caught up in the moment to think about anything else. The only thing she knows is that she doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t want to think about anything else but this, but Jackie, but the way they fit together, perfectly and desperately.

“Just—please, Jackie,” Shauna whispers, not even sure what she’s begging for, but she doesn’t care. 

The moment is fragile—Shauna and Jackie’s lips barely parted, their breaths shallow and hurried as the world around them feels like it’s both speeding up and grinding to a halt at the same time. The heat of the moment still lingers between them, electric and heavy, but something shifts when Shauna hears the soft sound of a footstep—barely noticeable but enough to send a wave of awareness through her.

She doesn’t move at first, too lost in the pull of her body to Jackie’s, her mind still reeling from what they just shared, but the stillness in the air grows suffocating.

And then, slowly, as if time itself has decided to hold its breath, Shauna blinks, and everything snaps back into place. The warmth of Jackie’s body pressed against hers, the way she felt so completely and terrifyingly right in her arms—it’s gone. Like it never happened. Because it didn’t.

Her breath catches, her pulse hammering in her ears. She hasn’t kissed Jackie. She hasn’t let herself go. She hasn’t done anything at all.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut. She’s still sitting here, hands clenched in her lap, feeling the heat of a moment that never was. Jackie is beside her, close enough that Shauna can hear the steady rhythm of her breathing, can see the way her flannel shifts with each inhale. Jackie’s looking at her expectantly, waiting for something Shauna hasn’t even said yet.

The weight of it is suffocating.

She wants to. She wants to so badly she can feel it in every part of her. The longing, the ache, the need to finally just take, to feel, to drown in something other than guilt and hunger and exhaustion. She wants to close the distance between them, press her lips to Jackie’s, make it real this time. 

She wants to stop thinking, stop questioning, stop feeling like she’s constantly teetering on the edge of something she can’t name.

Her mouth opens—she’s going to say it. She’s going to tell Jackie she wants to. That she doesn’t care about anything else, that all she knows is that she needs this, needs her—

Lottie stands in the doorway, unmoving in her place. Her wide eyes are locked on Shauna and Jackie, an expression of surprise quickly morphing into something else—something unspoken, but far from comfortable. 

The realization hits them both at the same time. Lottie’s gaze isn’t just curious or neutral; it’s caught in a mixture of disbelief and the kind of awkwardness that can’t be shaken off. For a long, uncomfortable moment, there’s only silence, thick with the weight of what’s been exposed.

Jackie’s face burns red, her eyes wide in shock, her hand instinctively trying to pull away, but she’s still so close to Shauna. Shauna, too, feels the heat rise to her cheeks, the sting of vulnerability hitting her hard, making her self-conscious in a way she hasn’t been since—well, since the crash. 

She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not with Lottie watching them. 

Before either of them can speak, the moment is interrupted again, this time by Tai’s voice from the entrance. “Hey, what’s taking so—” She steps in, her words trailing off as she takes in the scene in front of her. Shauna’s eyes meet Tai’s for a brief, awkward second. 

She’s been caught, but at least it’s just her, and she hadn’t dragged down Jackie with her.

Tai’s usual confidence falters for just a second as she takes in the tableau before her. Shauna’s heart pounds in her chest, her body frozen in place. She watches as Tai’s eyes flicker between them, then to Lottie, before she breaks the tension with a half-smile, awkward but trying to play it off. 

“Well, this is… something,” she says, her tone just a little too light, a little too forced, as if she’s trying to pretend like this is normal, like she hasn’t just walked in on something that shouldn’t have been seen.

Jackie’s voice is a soft, barely-there whisper. “Hey, Tai,” It sounds weak even to her own ears, but Shauna can’t, for the life of her, figure out what the hell she’s so embarrassed for.

Lottie’s expression hardens, the awkwardness turning into something a little more guarded. She doesn’t say anything, just stands there, still watching them, still processing. The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable, until finally, Tai clears her throat and nudges Lottie, as if trying to usher her out of the moment, trying to get them to move past it.

“So,” Tai says, her voice now a little more steady, “I was just wondering what was taking so long. Lottie, you good?”

Lottie doesn’t immediately respond. She seems caught in the moment, still struggling to process what she’s just seen, but then she exhales sharply, as if shaking off something heavy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she mutters, her voice flat and clipped, and without another word, she turns to leave, her footsteps echoing softly as she retreats down the hall.

”Okay, just— we’ll wait outside, Shauna,” Tai lingers for a moment longer, her eyes still on Jackie and Shauna, but then she follows Lottie, leaving them alone again.

The curtain closes behind them, and the room falls into a stifling silence. Shauna and Jackie are left alone once more, but it’s a different kind of quiet now—awkward, full of the weight of the intrusion. 

Shauna exhales, her chest tight, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She doesn’t know what to do with herself now, doesn’t know how to process the chaos that has just been set loose.

Jackie, on the other hand, seems to let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. She laughs, but it’s a nervous, shaky sound, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “That was so weird,” she says, her voice faltering. “Wonder what they were on about.”

Shauna half-smiles at her, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She sits there, staring at nothing. Nothing else registers. Her heart is still pounding in her ears. Her skin still feels flushed, her fingertips tingling like they’ve just been touching something electric.

She hadn’t kissed Jackie.

Not really.

But it had felt real. More real than anything she’s let herself imagine before. The heat of Jackie’s breath against her mouth, the press of her hands against Shauna’s skin, the way she melted into her touch like she belonged there. It had been so vivid, so consuming, that for a moment, Shauna had fully believed it. She had let herself go, let herself get swallowed by the feeling, let herself chase that warmth, that closeness—

And then it had shattered.

She clenches her hands into fists on her lap, fingers curling tight against the fabric of her skirt. She feels sick. Not just embarrassed, not just exposed—sick. Because why had it felt so real? Why had she let herself believe it so easily?

Why had she imagined it in such excruciating, dizzying detail?

She swallows hard, glancing across the room to where Jackie—her mind corrects, the thing she thought was Jackie—is sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, watching her carefully. She looks so solid, so present, like she’s always been here, like she’s supposed to be here. But she isn’t. And Shauna knows that. She knows that.

So why did it feel better than anything else had in months?

She exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her forehead. Maybe Mari’s right. Maybe she is delusional. Maybe the isolation, the hunger, the sheer exhaustion of surviving out here has finally broken something in her, and now her brain is just filling in the blanks however it can. Maybe she’s losing it, completely and irreversibly.

But that’s not what it feels like.

What it feels like is a truth she’s spent her whole life ignoring.

That hunger inside her, the one she’s carried for as long as she can remember—that longing that she used to think was about being like Jackie, about wanting what Jackie had, about wanting to be wanted the way Jackie was—maybe it was never about that. Maybe it was about Jackie herself. About the way she felt when Jackie looked at her, when Jackie laughed with her, when Jackie leaned into her space without hesitation, like it was natural, like it was right.

Maybe it was about the way it felt when Jackie was inside her, literally part of her, and how for the first time, that hunger had been satisfied.

Shauna digs her nails into her palms, her stomach twisting. It doesn’t make sense. It can’t make sense.

But then, Jackie looks at her, searching her face, and just shrugs. “It’s okay,” she says softly. “They won't tell.” But even as she says it, neither of them truly believe it.

———

Shauna walks quickly, her breath coming out in short, sharp exhales, the bucket clutched tightly in her fingers. The air presses against her skin, biting at the exposed parts of her face and arms, but she barely notices. 

Her thoughts are loud, circling in her head like scavengers picking at something raw and bloody. The river is close, just a short walk from camp, but right now, she doesn’t care about the water. She just needs to be away. Away from the lingering heat of Jackie’s phantom touch, away from the weight of all those stares at dinner, away from Mari’s words ringing in her head.

She pushes forward, ducking under low branches, her grip tightening around the bucket. The river is just ahead, its surface dark and still in the moonlight, the edges bending where the current slows. She crouches by the bank, dipping the bucket into the water. The shock of it against her fingers jolts her back to herself, makes her feel here again.

“Shauna.”

She doesn’t turn. She doesn’t have to. She knows Lottie’s voice too well by now, soft and even, like she’s never surprised by anything. Shauna lets out a breath, forcing her fingers to unclench.

“What?” she says, voice flat, tired.

Lottie steps closer, and Shauna finally turns her head, watching as Lottie crouches beside her. Her face is calm, her expression unreadable in the dim light. For a moment, neither of them speak. The river murmurs softly beside them.

Then, she says, “Jackie.”

Shauna grips the tin cup so hard it might dent. “What about her?” she asks, trying to sound indifferent.

Lottie tilts her head slightly, studying her. “She’s with you a lot.”

Shauna exhales sharply through her nose, looking away. “Yeah, well. Kind of hard for her not to be.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Shauna swallows. Of course it isn’t.

She glances at Lottie out of the corner of her eye, taking in the way she’s watching her, gaze steady, unblinking. Shauna has learned to recognize this look. It’s the same look Lottie gets when she talks about the wilderness, about things bigger than them. Shauna isn’t sure if it infuriates her or unsettles her.

“I don’t need a lecture,” she mutters, yanking the bucket handle and straightening. Droplets spill over the rim, wet against her fingers.

Lottie doesn’t move. She just keeps looking at her, calm, unshaken. “I’m not here to lecture you,” she says simply.

Shauna scoffs, tucking the bucket against her chest, trying to steal some warmth from her own body. “Then what do you want?”

Lottie is quiet for a moment. Then, “I want to know what you think she is.”

Shauna stiffens. Her breath catches, just for a second. The question is simple. But it isn’t, because Shauna doesn’t know. Jackie is Jackie. But she isn’t.

She is here, breathing, touching, laughing, but she is also something else entirely. Shauna doesn’t know if Jackie is real or if she willed her into being. And she can’t bring herself to ask.

So instead, she says, flatly, “She’s my best friend.”

Lottie watches her, calm and patient, as if she has all the time in the world to wait for Shauna to admit something she isn’t even sure of herself. The river rushes between them, steady and ceaseless, filling the silence with its cold, relentless movement. Shauna feels it in her bones, the way the water never stops, how it carves its way through the earth no matter what stands in its path.

“You don’t have to be afraid of her,” Lottie says, voice soft, like she’s coaxing an animal closer.

Shauna clenches her jaw, her hands tightening into fists against her knees. The air is sharp, but all she can feel is heat creeping up her neck, settling in her chest. Her pulse beats fast, too fast, hammering against her ribs. She hates that Lottie is looking at her like that, like she already knows what Shauna is going to say, like she already understands something Shauna herself hasn’t even figured out yet.

“I’m not afraid of her,” Shauna says, and it comes out harsher than she meant it to, her voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

Lottie doesn’t react to the bite in her tone. She just tilts her head slightly, considering. “Then why do you keep running?”

Shauna blinks, startled, and something inside her stutters.

She isn’t running. She isn’t—she’s just trying to think. Trying to get away from the noise, from the way the others had looked at her, from how Jackie had felt pressed against her— No, she isn’t running.

Lottie steps closer, movements slow and deliberate, like she’s careful not to spook her. She kneels beside Shauna, dipping her fingers into the river like she’s feeling for something beneath the surface. The water flows around her hand, unbothered, continuous. Shauna watches the ripples move outward, distorting the reflection of the trees, the sky, both of them crouched at the edge of the world like ghosts.

“I can feel it,” Lottie says after a moment, her voice almost reverent. “The way she’s tied to you. The way this place moves through her.” She lifts her hand from the water, droplets slipping from her fingers like silver beads. “She’s part of it now, Shauna. Like Javi was.”

Shauna’s breath catches in her throat, and her chest tightens with something sharp and heavy. She shakes her head. “Jackie’s not—she’s not like Javi.” The words feel strange in her mouth, unsure.

Lottie looks at her, steady and unblinking. “No,” she agrees. “She’s something else. But she’s here.”

Shauna swallows hard. She wants to argue, to say that Jackie is just Jackie, that she’s not some force, some spirit moving through the woods, that she’s not something other. But she doesn’t. Because part of her—some small, splintered, wounded part—doesn’t want to deny it.

Because if Jackie is here, if the wilderness is what brought her back, then maybe Shauna hasn’t lost her. Not really.

Lottie must see something in her face, because she smiles, the corners of her mouth curving upward in a way that makes Shauna’s skin prickle. She reaches out, her fingertips barely brushing Shauna’s wrist, just the lightest touch, like an offering.

“She’s the current,” Lottie murmurs. “She’s how it reaches us.”

Shauna stares at her for a long moment, the weight of the silence between them pressing down on her like a physical thing. The air feels heavier now, thick with something unspoken, like the tension before a storm. Her fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t move.

“Do you really believe all of this?” Shauna asks, her voice soft, almost hesitant, though she’s trying to sound dismissive. She’s trying to make it sound like it’s just some bizarre idea, something that can be shrugged off. 

But she feels the question pull at her insides, like the knot in her stomach that’s been there since Jackie came back.

Lottie doesn’t flinch. Her eyes are calm, patient, like she’s been waiting for this question for a long time. She exhales slowly, her breath rising in the cold air like smoke.

“It’s hard not to believe in it,” she says, her voice low, almost contemplative, like she’s speaking from some place deeper than the conversation itself. “When it’s so strong. It just keeps going, no matter what. And it’s been pulling at us, Shauna. It’s been here, waiting, marking everything we’ve done.”

Shauna feels the chill of those words creeping up her spine, something unsettling turning over in her chest. She’s always known that something’s been off about the woods—about the way things have changed since they crashed here. 

But hearing Lottie say it out loud, so sure, makes it feel real. Makes it feel like the woods have been watching them all this time, like they’ve been part of everything that’s unfolded, part of them in ways that are impossible to ignore.

She shakes her head, the feeling of nausea creeping up her throat. “And you think it’ll just keep pulling us in? Pulling her in?”

Lottie doesn’t answer immediately. She just stares out at the river, watching the current swirl, the water carving its way over rocks, relentless, unyielding. Shauna follows her gaze, but it only makes her feel more unsettled, like the river is alive and watching her back.

“Do you really think Jackie’s the only one it’s pulled?” Lottie asks after a long beat. Her voice is softer now, more like a whisper, as if she’s speaking something sacred. “It doesn’t just bring people back. It brings them for a reason. It connects us. And I think… Jackie’s here because we need her. Because you’re meant to understand her.”

Shauna doesn’t know what to say to that. Her chest tightens, and she feels a flicker of anger at herself for feeling so weak around this whole thing. She wants to push it away, dismiss it as some kind of fevered nonsense. 

She can’t. Not when everything about this place has felt so wrong. Not when the woods have kept her, kept all of them, trapped in a way she can’t explain.

Lottie looks at her then, as if she’s reading every hesitation, every doubt. “You could try the mushrooms, Shauna. Like Travis did. Maybe Jackie will tell you something. Help you understand.”

Shauna’s stomach churns at the mention of the mushrooms. She remembers how the visions had twisted Travis, how they’d made him see things that weren’t real, or maybe they were. Maybe none of it was real. She doesn’t know. The thought of going down that path again—of losing control, of letting something else take over her mind—makes her recoil.

“I don’t need them,” she says quickly, her voice sharp as she shakes her head. “She already told me about the time she was gone.”

Lottie raises an eyebrow, surprised. “She did?”

Shauna nods, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. She thinks about it, about Jackie’s words, about how she’d spoken of the wilderness like it was something that had kept her, something that had held her while they were apart. 

Lottie watches her closely, her expression unreadable. “What did she say?”

Shauna takes a deep breath, her throat tightening, trying to put the feeling into words. “She said she was… waiting. That it kept her alive somehow. Like it wasn’t her, not really, but something else.”

Lottie nods slowly, as if the pieces are falling into place for her. “That makes sense,” she says softly, her voice almost reverent. “It’s how it works. The wilderness doesn’t just give. It takes.”

Shauna’s head spins, her heart racing as she processes Lottie’s words. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but she feels it too—the longing, that gnawing need that had been with her even before the crash. The emptiness that nothing ever seemed to fill. And now, with Jackie back—alive—she wonders if this is what it’s been building up to.

The wilderness doesn’t just give. It takes.

Maybe that’s what Jackie was. A piece of the wilderness, something Shauna could reach out and touch. Something that made sense in a world that had stopped making sense a long time ago.

“I don’t know what to do with any of this,” Shauna says quietly, her voice cracking at the edges.

She glances sideways at Lottie, whose eyes are still on the river, but there’s something softer in her expression now, something that doesn’t quite match the intensity of the wilderness that has seemed to swallow her whole.

“You’re a good friend, Shauna,” Lottie says, her voice gentle but steady, as if she’s been thinking about it for a while. “Even when you’re a little mean.” 

There’s a wry smile tugging at her lips, but it’s not mocking. It’s just… true. And for some reason, Shauna feels the weight of it more than usual. Maybe because, in this strange, twisted place, she isn’t sure she’s ever been a good friend to anyone—not really. Maybe she hasn’t even been a good friend to herself.

She looks at Lottie, blinking as she tries to take in her words, but she’s still unsure of how to respond. She feels raw, unguarded, and yet, Lottie seems to be reading her like an open book, something Shauna doesn’t quite know how to handle.

“I—” she starts, and her voice cracks a little, betraying her. “I’m just really fucking freaked out by how… open you are with all of this.”

“You think it’s that easy?” Lottie asks quietly, but with a firmness that shakes something deep within Shauna. “You think I’ve always been comfortable with this? With knowing all this?”

Shauna doesn’t respond, but her heart starts to pound in her chest. It’s like there’s a crack in Lottie’s calm exterior, a glimpse into something darker, something more fragile than Shauna had realized. Lottie turns to look at her now, eyes serious but understanding.

“When I was little,” she starts, her voice low, almost contemplative, as if she’s digging up a memory long buried, “there was this time I told my mom not to get in the car. I don’t even remember why. I just knew. I knew it was wrong. But she didn’t listen. She never listened to me.” Lottie’s eyes flicker briefly to the ground, as if the memory is still painful, still raw after all these years. “She got in anyway. And there was an accident.”

Shauna feels a sharp twist in her gut, her pulse quickening as Lottie’s words seep into her own skin. For a moment, she thinks she might say something, ask Lottie more about it, but the way Lottie looks at her, vulnerable but unflinching, makes Shauna hold her tongue.

“I tried to tell her, but she didn’t listen,” Lottie continues, her voice trembling just slightly as if she’s pulling herself back from something deeper. “And after that, I couldn’t stop thinking about how many times I could’ve warned her—how many times I saw things coming, but I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t make anyone listen. So… I stopped denying it. I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t real anymore.” Her voice grows stronger now, more certain, like she’s fighting to hold on to her own conviction. “It’s not something you can just deny.”

Lottie looks at her now, her gaze sharp, like she’s seeing Shauna in a way no one else has. “It’s like that with everything here, Shauna. It’s been happening to me my whole life. The sooner you let yourself see it, the easier it gets. Not easy— it’s never been easy for me—but easier. I can’t run from it. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe it’s the only thing that can really save us.”

The silence between them stretches again, and Shauna is afraid. She’s afraid of what Lottie’s saying, of what it means for everything that’s happened, for everything she’s yet to face. 

Lottie shifts slightly, pulling Shauna from her spiraling thoughts. “I know it’s hard,” she says gently, a hint of softness in her voice. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too.”

Shauna looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time in what feels like forever, she doesn’t feel completely alone.

“What do you think about Jackie?” She asks, the words heavy, almost too heavy for the air around them.

It’s not that she hasn’t thought about Jackie—it’s not even that she’s unsure of her feelings anymore. She’s been thinking about Jackie constantly, her presence, the way she feels when she’s close, when they’re touching. Still, the question spills out, raw, unguarded. And it’s a question she’s afraid to ask herself because she doesn’t think she can handle the answer.

Lottie’s gaze is steady, piercing. She takes a moment to consider the question, like she’s weighing Shauna’s intention, reading between the lines of what’s being asked. 

Shauna feels the weight of it. Every time she’s tried to look at Jackie, she’s seen the guilt—the endless stream of it, haunting her. Maybe it’s a guilt she created in her own mind, maybe it’s a guilt Jackie’s carried all along. Shauna doesn’t know, but Lottie, with her uncanny way of seeing things, might.

And almost as if Lottie can read her mind, she says, “I think you hold her to some feeling of guilt, Shauna,” There’s no malice in her tone, no judgment. Just a quiet observation. “You’ve made this… version of her in your mind, this version where everything she does, everything she says, comes from a place of regret, of all the things she’s remorseful for.” Lottie’s eyes meet hers now, steady and clear, as though she can see right through Shauna, and it’s almost too much. “But,” she continues, her voice low, almost tender, “I feel like you’re not seeing her. Just… through her, if you get what I mean.”

Shauna’s breath catches in her throat, and she takes an involuntary step back, almost as though Lottie’s words have struck her physically. The space between them suddenly feels enormous, like the world around them is closing in. 

Her heart starts to pound harder in her chest, and her mind races, trying to catch up with what Lottie just said. The image of Jackie, that guilt-ridden shadow she’s carried around, is so ingrained in Shauna that she hasn’t been able to see past it. Hasn’t been able to see Jackie as she is now, as a person, as a friend—or even as someone more than that.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, the words leaving her almost too quickly. 

She feels defensive, suddenly unsure, the familiar walls inside her rising without her permission. But Lottie’s eyes don’t waver. She’s not pushing Shauna, not trying to break her. She’s just watching, waiting for Shauna to realize it herself.

“Do you remember what you said to me the other day?” Lottie asks, her voice quiet, but insistent. “That Jackie was there for you. That she was with you, in some way, when you needed her the most? Do you remember that?”

Shauna’s throat tightens. She remembers. She remembers every moment of that conversation, every raw feeling she poured into it. She remembers the way her heart had twisted with want when she spoke those words, because Jackie was all around her in those moments—alive in her memories, alive in the wilderness, the place where everything feels alive and nothing is what it seems.

But it wasn’t just that. It was the way she could still feel Jackie. The way that, even after everything, it felt like Jackie was there, like her being was the thing keeping Shauna tethered. 

“I don’t know,” Shauna admits, her voice small, unsure. She feels naked under Lottie’s steady stare. “Maybe I am just… holding her to all of that. But I don’t know what else to do. It’s like every part of me is waiting for her to be… sorry, for her to apologize, for everything she didn’t say, for everything she didn’t do. But I can’t stop thinking about how she’s still here with me, in this way I don’t understand. I don’t know if I can forgive her for that. For… being gone. For not saying what I needed her to say before she—before she—” Shauna breaks off, the words too much to finish.

Lottie’s eyes soften, her expression almost pitying, but not in the way Shauna expects. It’s more like understanding. 

“You need to let go of that,” Lottie says, her voice soft now, almost coaxing. “You can’t keep living in that space from before— where you needed her to say those things, to be something you needed her to be. You have to let her be who she is now.”

Shauna feels a wave of emotion wash over her. It’s the same kind of overwhelming feeling she gets when she’s close to breaking down, when the weight of everything she’s been carrying finally becomes too much.

She feels it now, in the pit of her stomach, crawling up her throat. She doesn’t know how to respond, or even if she can respond. She’s been holding onto so much—guilt, anger, regret—and now, all of a sudden, it feels like it might be slipping through her fingers.

“I don’t know, Lottie,” Shauna whispers, barely audible. “I don’t know if I can just let go of her like that.”

Lottie doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, looking at Shauna with that quiet understanding. And for a fleeting moment, Shauna wonders if she’s right. If, by holding onto this image of Jackie, by seeing her only through the lens of guilt and loss, she’s been missing the opportunity to actually see her—the Jackie who’s here, now, in front of her, the one who… the one who will love her no matter what.

Lottie watches Shauna for a long moment, her eyes still warm but also hinting at a playfulness Shauna hasn’t quite figured out yet. The tension between them softens just a little, and Lottie leans back against the rough bark of a nearby tree, folding her arms across her chest with a small smile. 

The kind of smile that says she knows something Shauna doesn’t, like she’s letting her in on some secret that’s been buried in the ground, waiting to be unearthed.

“I mean,” Lottie starts, her voice casual but with an edge of teasing, “if you really want to, I guess I can’t stop you. But I do hope you’re not thinking that’s going to help you in the long run. Guilt isn’t exactly the best foundation for friendship, you know?”

Shauna raises an eyebrow, suddenly aware of how effortlessly Lottie has switched gears from serious to light-hearted. “Well, not everything I do is meant to help me,” Shauna shoots back, her tone dry but with a flicker of something lighter beneath the surface. “It’s just a habit.”

Lottie chuckles, the sound ringing out like it belongs in the forest itself, blending with the wind and the distant rustling of leaves.

“Oh, don’t I know it. I’ve had my own bad habits.” She steps a little closer, her posture more relaxed now. “But, seriously, Shauna, I get it. Guilt is easy. But… I think you’re stronger than that.” She gives a small wink, leaning in just a touch, her voice lowering to a playful whisper. “But you can always just tell me if you need me to be your therapist. I’ve got plenty of unsolicited advice to give.”

Shauna laughs, the sound surprising even her. It’s brief, but it feels like something she hasn’t done in a while—like a breath of air she didn’t know she was holding. 

She lets it linger for a second before she leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “Unsolicited advice? That sounds dangerous,” she says with a smirk. “I might just end up more confused than I already am.”

“Oh, I’m not that dangerous,” Lottie says, lifting her hands up in mock surrender, a playful grin on her face. “I only give advice when I think it’s needed. And trust me, I’ve been keeping a close eye on you. I know what’s best for you, even if you don’t.”

Shauna shakes her head, the smile tugging at her lips even more now. “I think you are the one who needs therapy, not me.” She pauses, her gaze softening as something more vulnerable slips into her words. “I don’t even know what I’m doing, if I’m being honest.”

Lottie’s expression falters for just a second, the mask of teasing slipping as she meets Shauna’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re a mess,” she says softly, her voice quieter now, not as playful. “Even I think you’re the kind of person who can handle it. But I mean,” she adds, a teasing edge creeping back into her voice, “if you want me to really help with this mess of yours, therapy is still on the table.”

Shauna can’t help but snort, the sound light and full of a kind of relief she didn’t realize she needed. “I’ll pass on that, thanks,” she says, shaking her head but unable to fight the grin spreading across her face. “

She watches Lottie with a smile that feels a little more genuine, a little less burdened. Lottie’s ability to balance the heaviness with humor is something Shauna finds both comforting and strange. Lottie, in her way, offers something—something that makes Shauna feel like maybe she can still laugh about all of it, even if it doesn’t always make sense.

“Alright, fine. I’ll try to keep it together,” she sighs, crossing her arms. “But no promises. This place tends to fuck with all of us.”

Lottie chuckles again, her tone light and teasing, but there’s something softer, warmer in the way she says, “Yeah, well, we’re all screwed, aren’t we?”

As Shauna begins to relax a little, the moment stretches out, Lottie’s voice breaking through the silence. “You know, I’ve been really wanting to get drunk lately,” she admits, her tone lighter than before, and Shauna looks at her, intrigued by the sudden shift. “I miss when we’d go to parties. You remember those?”

Shauna raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, yeah. I remember. You and your excellent choice making skills,” she teases. “What, you miss falling around after too many shots?”

Lottie laughs, the sound light and genuine, like it’s been a while since she’s really laughed. “Hey, those were the best nights!” She shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a trace of something more underneath the jest. “It just feels like it’s been forever since I’ve felt that way.”

Shauna nods in agreement, understanding exactly what she means. It had been far too long since they could just lose themselves in something as simple as drunken laughter, music thumping through their veins, the kind of feeling that temporarily numbed all the mess of the world around them. 

“First you should stop getting everyone else high,” Shauna says, the words slipping out before she can stop herself. 

Lottie looks at her, her expression full of mock offense, but there’s a playful gleam in her eyes. “Are you accusing me of being a bad influence, Shauna?” she says, voice laced with sarcasm. “I’m just trying to help, okay? I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Shauna snorts, leaning back against a large rock. “Please, you don’t need my approval.”

Lottie tilts her head, eyes narrowing slightly as though considering something. “Yeah, well, maybe. But here’s the thing,” she starts, her voice shifting just a little. “I’m not really sure I can do that anymore. Not with the meds I’ve been on.”

Shauna blinks, processing her words. “Wait, what?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing. “What meds? Since when?”

Lottie hesitates, looking down for a moment, before her eyes meet hers once more, a little quieter than before. “Since I’ve been… having a harder time with everything,” she admits, her voice a little more guarded now. “The anxiety’s been getting worse, and… I’ve been on medication for it. Been seeing someone about it.” She pauses, a soft breath escaping her lips as she adds, almost as an afterthought, “I was advised against doing anything that could mess with it. The whole drinking, smoking, any of that. So, yeah. No getting high for me anymore.”

Shauna’s surprised, more than she lets on. She had always thought of Lottie as this free spirit, someone who wasn’t easily tethered to anything. But now, hearing this, a quiet realization settles in. Lottie, despite her outward confidence, was still carrying something. 

For a moment, Shauna is quiet. She tries to picture Lottie, the same girl who had always been so open about everything, sitting with her anxiety, dealing with something that she had kept mostly to herself. It makes Shauna feel like she’s seen a side of Lottie that she hadn’t fully understood until now.

“I didn’t know,” she says softly, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. She doesn’t know what to say. It’s the first time she’s seen Lottie this vulnerable. And it’s a little disorienting, honestly.

Lottie smiles, but it’s not as playful as before. “Yeah. It’s… weird. But I’m trying to figure it out. I guess we all are.” She shrugs, trying to play it off. “I’m just trying to be responsible or whatever. Maybe I’ll find a way to work with it. But it’s not something I want to go around talking about.”

Shauna looks at her, unsure of how to respond to that, but there’s something in her chest that shifts. Maybe it’s the realization that they weren’t so different after all, despite their stark differences in behavior. 

“Well, if you need someone to talk to about it…” Shauna starts, but her voice falters, unsure of how much Lottie might want to share. She’s not used to offering her own support so freely, but in this moment, it feels right. “I mean, I’m here.”

Lottie’s expression softens, the playful edge melting away into something warmer. “Thanks, Shauna,” she says quietly, her voice genuine in a way that surprises Shauna. “I might take you up on that. But… I mean, just one more drink wouldn’t hurt, right?” 

Shauna laughs softly. “Maybe one,” she agrees, her smile real this time. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Lottie.”

Lottie grins, her usual teasing energy returning. “Oh no, what will I do now?”

Shauna shifts slightly, the soft rustle of sand filling the air as she contemplates her next words. They’ve both been through so much, but the idea of a party, even here, feels like something they might be able to control.

“Actually,” she begins, her voice steady, “Me and Jackie found something.” She looks at Lottie, who raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

“What do you mean?” Lottie asks, tilting her head slightly, her face a mixture of intrigue and cautious hope.

“There’s this cabin,” Shauna says, her words almost sounding surreal to her own ears. “We came across when we were out there. It’s old, you can tell. It’s pretty small, and there’s a hole in the roof, so it’s not like we can live there or anything.” She pauses for a moment, her fingers absently picking at the frayed edges of her sleeve. “But it had all these bottles in it. Like, a ton of them.”

Lottie stares at her, her eyes lighting up with interest. “Bottles?” she echoes, a grin spreading across her face, her voice shifting to a more excited tone. “What kind of bottles are we talking about?”

Shauna laughs softly, surprised by how easily the thought of it all brings a little relief. “Well, I mean, there were a lot of different kinds,” she says. “Mostly whiskey. It was like someone had been there to get drunk and then just left.”

Lottie’s grin widens, and she lets out a soft whistle. “Sounds like a goldmine.” There’s a teasing lilt in her voice. 

“I was thinking,” Shauna continues, her voice a little quieter now as she begins to entertain the thought more fully, “maybe we could use it for a party. I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid.” She pauses, her gaze drifting to the forest in front of them, the shadows from the trees stretching long into the evening light. 

Lottie looks at her for a long moment, her expression softening. She seems to consider the weight of what Shauna is suggesting—what it would mean for them all to just be, for a little while. 

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she says quietly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Honestly, I think it’s a good idea. Like, shit, we’ve earned it.”

Shauna nods, a quiet sense of relief flooding through her. She’d expected Lottie to shoot the idea down, but instead, there’s a shared understanding between them. 

“Yeah,” Shauna says, her voice more resolute now. “It doesn’t have to be some big blowout. Just a few of us, getting together, having a drink.”

Lottie’s eyes glint in the fading light, and she laughs softly. “I’ll help you make it happen,” she says, her voice full of purpose now. Her grin widens, that same mischievous spark returning to her eyes. “If you’re serious, I’m totally in.”

Shauna feels a sense of ease settle in her chest, something she hasn’t felt in a while. Maybe it’s the way Lottie responds to her ideas, the way she so easily embraces the thought of a break, of something small and fleeting but still full of life. 

“Thanks, Lottie,” Shauna says, her voice soft. 

As the conversation fades, the idea of a night in that cabin begins to take shape in her mind. The thought of laughing with the others, of pretending for a few hours that they aren’t stranded in the woods, of feeling the warmth of alcohol in their bones, seems almost like a distant dream.