Shauna hadn’t spoken to Lottie in three days.
Not a word. Not a glance. Not even the barest grunt of acknowledgment when Lottie passed her a strip of dried meat or gestured for her to take a turn tending the fire.
It was as if what happened in that hut—the heat, the stillness, the way Lottie’s fingers had moved through her hair like she’d been born knowing exactly how Shauna needed to be touched—had been scrubbed clean from her memory. At least, that’s how Shauna acted.
Lottie didn’t press.
She never did.
She hadn’t even mentioned it again. No cryptic invitations. No dreamy smiles. No smug, knowing looks like Shauna half-expected. Lottie simply let her be.
Which, somehow, made it worse.
Shauna caught herself glancing over at her constantly—at Lottie’s calm hands arranging herbs by the fire, her quiet way of checking in with the others without asking anything directly. At the way no one quite questioned her anymore, even when they hated how much they believed in her.
Even when Shauna hated how much a part of her had wanted to believe, just for that one night.
Now the sky was bleeding from gray to black, and dinner was squirrel again, but at least it was food.
The camp was gathered around the fire, shoulders hunched against the cold. The faint smell of smoke and char clung to everything. Natalie had scored a few plump squirrels in the early morning and Shauna had spent most of the afternoon skinning and preparing them with the kind of tired, methodical movements that spoke more of habit than hope.
They ate in near silence at first, tearing into meat with their fingers, chewing slowly like it took too much energy to talk.
Then Misty said something about a dream she’d had where a raccoon tried to marry her, and that cracked open the quiet.
The group warmed with conversation, if not actual warmth. Soft laughter, the occasional groan, people leaning closer toward the flames. The kind of fragile calm they’d all learned to cherish like dry firewood.
Lottie sat near the edge of the group, her usual position—close enough to hear everything, far enough to remain slightly apart. She spoke quietly when she did, voice drifting into the firelight.
“I think the squirrels were a sign,” she said softly. “Winter will be over soon. The wilderness is responding to us.”
Mari snorted immediately, almost reflexive. “Yeah, it responded by giving us the bare minimum. Praise be.”
A few people chuckled under their breath, but Shauna didn’t.
She looked up instead, jaw tightening. One day Mari believed in Lottie and the next she didn’t. It was like she just went with whatever would allow her to stir the pot more. It didn’t help that the other’s all fed into it at times like this too. Lottie was treated like the pope when they were starving, but the moment they had food in their stomachs they treated her like she was crazy. It was exhausting. Shauna may not believe in it all, but at least she didn’t flip flop between the two options.
Shauna couldn’t decide what pissed her off more– that Mari was the one spouting off shit or that she knew Lottie would not defend herself.
“Jesus, Mari,” she snapped. “Do you have to be a bitch all the time?”
Mari’s eyes widened slightly, more surprised than offended. “What the hell, Shauna? Since when do you care? You’re always the first one rolling your eyes when she starts her whole whisper-to-the-trees thing.”
Shauna didn’t flinch. “I can think it’s weird and still think you’re being an asshole. It’s not mutually exclusive.”
Mari rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath, but she went quiet.
Slowly, the conversation resumed, hesitant at first and then trickling back into a steady rhythm.
But Shauna wasn’t really listening anymore.
She could feel eyes on her.
She looked across the fire.
Lottie was watching her.
Not intensely. Not with expectation or satisfaction. Just… watching. Like she’d heard every word and understood the ones Shauna hadn’t said.
Shauna held her gaze for a moment.
Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.
Once.
Lottie’s lips twitched. A hesitant, barely-there smile curved the corner of her mouth.
It wasn’t smug.
It was grateful.
And warm.
Shauna looked away first, staring into the fire, unsure what the ache in her chest was trying to tell her.
It started as a thrum beneath her skin.
Barely there at first, just an itch—like static, like restlessness, like the way your body feels right before a storm rolls in. Shauna tried to ignore it. She told herself it was just the cold, or the hunger, or the sheer weight of existing like this: feral, raw, animal.
But the feeling didn’t go away.
It grew.
Like her nerves were stretched too thin. Like everything was too loud, too fast, too much. Her breath came too shallow. Her skin felt too tight. The fire burned too hot and not enough all at once.
And worst of all, she remembered.
Her body remembered.
That night in Lottie’s hut—her voice low and steady, her touch soft, the silence between them held like breath in cupped hands. The way Shauna’s muscles had finally let go. How the world had slipped sideways until all that was left was Lottie’s voice guiding her gently down, down, down.
She hadn’t wanted to need that.
But now? Now, it felt like something inside her was pulling at the edges, trying to tear free just to get back to that place.
She didn’t know how to ask.
So instead, she snapped at Misty that morning when she got too close. Rolled her eyes at Nat when she suggested they clean the snares together. Snarled something sharp and ugly at Travis when he asked if she was okay.
She hadn’t slept in two nights.
By the time the next ritual came around—a quiet offering by the shrine of stacked bones and stones—Shauna felt like a live wire, crackling under her skin. She didn’t plan to stay after. But when the others began to scatter, their breath fogging in the night air, she lingered.
Nat noticed first.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, flicking from Shauna to Lottie and back. Travis’s glance was shorter, more restrained, but no less suspicious.
Shauna clenched her jaw, keeping her expression neutral. She could feel the scrutiny on her, could feel her own traitorous body aching for something she didn’t want to name. Her pride twisted sharp and bitter in her gut.
When the last of the others turned back toward the camp, the woods fell quiet again.
Lottie didn’t say anything right away. She was kneeling in front of the altar, fingers carefully realigning the circle of stones. Her presence was calm, but not passive. Never passive. The air always felt… different around her. Thicker. Charged.
Shauna stood at the edge of the clearing, arms folded tightly, spine locked straight.
She hated how she was shaking.
Lottie glanced over her shoulder, her voice soft. “You stayed.”
Shauna shrugged, her voice clipped. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to sprout antlers and start speaking in tongues.”
Lottie didn’t rise to the bait. “Maybe.”
Shauna exhaled sharply. “I don’t know why you always do this. Like you're tuned into some grand spiritual radio station and the rest of us are just supposed to nod along like idiots.”
Still no reaction.
Shauna pushed harder. “Or is it a control thing? You like it when everyone stares at you like you’ve got some divine hotline? Must be nice. Queen of the bones.”
Lottie turned toward her slowly. The movement was unhurried. Graceful. Her gaze was calm, unreadable.
“Are you done?” she asked quietly.
Shauna scowled, jaw twitching. “Excuse me?”
Lottie stood fully now. Taller. Still and certain like a tree in a storm.
“Stop talking.”
The words hit like a strike of cold water across the face. It wasn’t quite a true command, but it was close.
Shauna blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed.
Lottie took a step forward, voice lower now, edged with something unmistakable.
“You keep coming at me like I’m the one forcing this on you. Like I dragged you into my hut and tied you down and made you submit. But you stayed that night.”
Shauna’s shoulders tensed, shame creeping up her neck like frostbite.
Lottie took another step. “And now you’re here again. Looking like you’re about to crawl out of your own skin. Snapping at everyone else because you don’t know what to do with it.”
“I didn’t ask you for anything,” Shauna spat, but it was a weak thing, hollow and brittle.
“No,” Lottie said. “But your body is screaming it.”
Silence. Thick. Dense.
Shauna’s hands were clenched now, fists shaking at her sides.
Lottie tilted her head, looking ethereal as her dark hair brushed to the side. Shauna’s mouth felt dry. “Is that what you want? You want me to be mean? Is that the only way you’ll let yourself have it?”
Shauna flinched, every word cutting closer than she wanted them to.
“Do you want me to make you do this? Is that what you need?”
Shauna couldn’t look at her. Her throat worked, her jaw clenched.
Then, slowly—like the weight of it was dragging her down—she nodded.
Once.
Lottie’s eyes softened, though her voice stayed steady. “Shauna.”
Shauna’s breath hitched.
Lottie took one final step, close enough now that her voice didn’t have to rise above a whisper.
“Do you really want this?”
Shauna didn’t speak.
She hunched in slightly, like something shameful curled up in her chest. Her breath was coming fast and shallow again, eyes fixed on the snow at her feet. She looked like she wanted to run.
Or collapse.
But her lips parted.
And after a long, aching pause, she whispered, “Yes.”
It was colder than the last time despite Lottie’s claims that winter would be over soon.
The wind scraped through the trees like a warning, and the makeshift curtain over Lottie's doorway rustled against the frame like it was trying to run away.
Shauna stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, jaw locked tight like she was holding her whole body together through sheer force of will. Her eyes were sharp, glittering with defiance.
Lottie watched her from across the hut, near the door but not in front of it– leaving space for Shauna to flee if she needed to. Her eyes tracked Shauna’s movements, trailing up her body with an unreadable calmness.
This time, there were no soft words. No whispered coaxing or breathing exercises.
Only silence.
And the heat pulsing low in Shauna’s gut, that unbearable thrum—the need she’d tried so hard to ignore clawing up her spine like it had teeth.
She didn’t say what she wanted. What she needed.
She wouldn’t.
But Lottie saw it anyway.
Her gaze sharpened.
“Kneel.”
The word cracked like thunder.
Shauna’s whole body jerked. Her knees almost buckled from the weight of it, her instincts crashing against her pride like waves on a cliff. Her jaw clenched. She didn’t move, held together by the nails digging into her palm.
Lottie stepped closer.
Her voice dropped low, cool as ice.
“I said kneel.”
The command rang through Shauna’s bones like a struck bell– stronger this time, reverberating deep in her chest in the aching hollow that had opened the moment she first gave in.
Shauna’s knees hit the floor like they’d been waiting.
Lottie’s breath shuddered once — quiet, controlled. She stepped closer, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on the girl in front of her.
Shauna looked up.
Her chin lifted in that way that was still trying to be proud, even from the floor.
“Fuck you,” Shauna spat, even as her knees trembled beneath her.
Lottie didn’t flinch.
She stepped into her space– too close– one hand darting out to grip Shauna’s jaw tight, forcing her chin up. Her fingers were cold and firm.
“What are you trying to prove?” she murmured. “Still pretending you’re in control? That you don’t want this?”
Shauna’s lips tightened. Her hands fisted in her lap.
Lottie tilted her head.
“Look at you. So angry. So ready to bite, even now. But this is where you come when it’s too much, isn’t it? Not to your hut. Not to the others.”
She reached forward, brushing a lock of hair back from Shauna’s cheek.
“You came to me.”
Shauna’s breath hitched.
“Fuck you,” Shauna hissed again. Unable to make herself say more.
“You want to fight me?” Lottie said, voice sharp now, teeth bared in a cold smile. “Fine.”
Then the slap came.
Fast. Open-palmed. Just enough to sting, to shock, to make Shauna’s breath catch in her throat.
Her eyes widened, her whole body going rigid.
Another slap—sharper this time—cracked across the other cheek.
Shauna made a noise like a growl, hands curling into fists. “You think this is going to work? This was a stupid idea.” Shauna moved to rise, her pride screaming in protest of the assault, but Lottie gripped her shoulder tight, pushing her down.
“It’s not about what I think,” Lottie hissed into her ear. “It’s about what you need. You came here for this. You want to suffer for it first? Fine. But you’ll stay down.”
The command slammed through her. The weight of the order pressed down on her spine like gravity had teeth, dragging her back to her knees with a slow, involuntary drop. Her breath stuttered in her chest. Her hands curled into fists against the floor.
Her whole body trembled with the effort of not running, not screaming, not giving in. She stayed down, on her knees in front of the taller girl, staring up at Lottie with hate and heat tangled in her eyes.
Lottie let go of her shoulder, slow and deliberate. Her expression shifted, the cold cruelty fading back into something more patient. Calculated.
She circled once, watching Shauna like a wolf circling a wounded thing.
“You kneel so beautifully,” Lottie said, her voice softer now, dragging like honey. “Even when you don’t want to. Even when it kills you to give it up.”
She let her fingers trail lightly along Shauna’s jaw
Shauna growled, low and angry. “You think this is gonna fix me? Make me obedient?”
Another slap.
Her skin burned. Her chest heaved.
Lottie stepped behind her and tangled a hand in her hair, yanking her head back hard enough to expose her throat. Shauna gasped, eyes wide and wild.
Lottie’s grip tightened in her hair. “You’re not here because you want to be obedient. You’re here because you’re desperate. Because you need this more than air and you’re too fucking proud to admit it.”
“Fuck you,” Shauna spat, but her voice was fraying. Thin.
“Is that all you know how to say? You don’t even know how to ask for help,” Lottie hissed, crouching in front of her now. “So you’d rather be dragged into it, kicking and screaming. All so you can still pretend you don’t want this. That you don’t need this.”
Shauna’s lips trembled. Her body was shaking again, her knees pressed to the cold floor, her hands useless at her sides.
“You like when I take it from you.”
Shauna’s eyes fluttered, lashes trembling. Her body had started to lean forward, just slightly, like gravity was shifting — like she didn’t even know she was doing it.
“You act like you’re above all this,” Lottie whispered. “But I’ve seen you like this. Bent. Shaking. Needing. And you’re not weak for it.”
Her hand slid to the back of Shauna’s neck, holding gently — grounding.
“You’re stronger than all of them,” she said. “And no one sees it but me.”
Shauna’s breath broke, like something had snapped.
She was still kneeling, but her spine had curved in on itself now — her shoulders drawn in, her arms hanging loose at her sides.
Her shoulders sagged. Her spine loosened. Her gaze went unfocused, pupils blown wide, eyes glassy and struggling to follow Lottie’s movement.
The air in the hut shifted.
Shauna dropped into subspace like a stone.
And Lottie caught her.
Lottie guided her the rest of the way down, carefully, like she was something fragile and sacred all at once. She moved without hurry, lowering herself until she was sitting with her legs crossed and gently pulled Shauna into her lap. Shauna didn’t resist. She sagged against her like something hollowed out, her eyes half-lidded, her breath warm and shaky against her thigh.
Lottie stroked her hair, fingers light and repetitive.
“There you are,” she whispered. “Good girl.”
Shauna didn’t respond—but her jaw trembled.
“You’re perfect like this,” she murmured. “So strong. So good.”
Shauna let out a soft, unsteady sound — not quite a sob, not quite a sigh.
“You did so well,” Lottie murmured. “You held it all in, like you always do. Always carrying more than you should.”
Her fingers traced the edge of Shauna’s cheek, the place where the red marks still lingered.
“You think no one sees it. What you do. How much you give.”
Shauna made a small, wounded sound deep in her throat.
“You break down the kills. Skin them. Butcher them. Every time we eat, it’s because you got your hands dirty.”
Lottie’s voice didn’t waver, but it was softer now.
“You do it without asking for help. Without complaint. You do it because no one else will. Because they can’t.”
“I see you,” Lottie whispered. “Even when no one else does.”
Shauna’s body tensed briefly—then cracked.
The first sob was quiet.
The second wasn’t.
Tears streamed down her cheeks in silent rivers, her whole body shuddering as something inside her finally gave out.
Lottie didn’t say anything else. She just held her.
She rocked her slowly, letting the tremors pass through her like a wave breaking on shore, her hand still moving gently through Shauna’s hair.
“You’re strong,” she whispered. “Stronger than anyone here. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”
Shauna wept, deep and ugly, her face buried in the folds of Lottie’s coat.
Lottie kept rocking.
And for a moment, the weight of the world outside the hut — the cold, the hunger, all of it– disappeared.
There was only this.
Only them.