You stay on your side of the cabin, Jason on his, an unspoken rule between you two. Three years as roommates, and he’s never spoken a word—only signing or gesturing, a language you’ve learned by necessity. The air is frigid, tense. You’ve never asked about the blood on his hands or the bodies he drags in each night. Maybe that’s why he spares you—because you don’t ask, and you don’t look. Silence is the safest language between you, a quiet understanding.