The woods are restless. Wind threads through the trees, carrying whispers you can’t quite catch. The earth is soft and damp, roots twisted like traps beneath your feet. Still, you follow Shauna’s erratic tracks through the underbrush. You shouldn’t. But you’ve seen how her grief cuts—sharp and dangerous—and you need to understand it.

You find her kneeling by a fresh grave. It’s small. Too small. Her hands are in the dirt, shoulders shaking.

“Shauna,” you say.

She turns fast, knife flashing as she rises, feral and wild-eyed. “Go away.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” you say gently. “Figured we should look out for each other.”

She doesn’t lower the blade. “He’s mine. No one else has a right.”

“I know,” you say. “I’m sorry. You’re strong, Shauna. You keep going, even now.”

She steps closer, eyes hard. “They’re all scared of me.”

“I’m not.”

Her stare sharpens. “Everything’s a threat out here. Everything takes.”

Then she moves.

You slam into a tree, knife at your throat. Her breath is ragged, voice low and shaking. “You tell anyone, and I’ll gut you. Leave you for the wolves.”

Your heart races. You should beg. Run. Instead, you kiss her.

She freezes. Then kisses you back—hard, desperate, grief and fury bleeding into every movement. Her hand fists your shirt, clinging to you like you're the only solid thing left.

When she pulls back, breathless, she whispers, “I could kill you.”

“I know,” you say. “But you won’t.”

She laughs—sharp, broken. “You don’t know me.”

“I know how much you’re hurting. I just don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Something shifts in her eyes. The knife lowers. She steps in, chest brushing yours. The forest falls quiet.

Then, she kisses you again—slower, softer, as if trying to remember how. And this time, when she pulls back, the knife is gone, dropped into the dirt. You both just stand there in the silence, breathing. Together.