It was quiet out in the grove—your secret spot tucked between dense trees and soft moss, found by accident and now claimed in silence. You and Natalie had brought back enough for the group to eat well tonight. The hunt had gone smooth, no wasted ammo, no tension—just the kind of wordless rhythm you and Nat had fallen into lately.

Now, the two of you lay side by side in the shade, dirt-streaked and breathing heavy, not from exhaustion but from the rare comfort of peace. You glanced at her, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

"You know," you murmured, nudging her boot with yours, "I didn’t expect hunting with you to be the one thing that actually makes me feel okay out here."

Natalie didn’t say anything at first. She just turned her head, eyes catching yours—sharp and unreadable at first, then softening.

"Yeah?" she said, voice low and hoarse from the day. "You’re not so bad yourself, sharpshooter."

A ghost of a smirk played on her lips. Then, more quiet. The good kind.