The wilderness had changed us all—brought us to our edges, stripped us bare, and forced us to survive. We had become something else, something primal. The children of the wild, as if we had been marked by it, trapped in a world that took everything from us and gave back little but scars.

We did what we had to do. Some of us carried those scars more clearly than others, while others buried them in strange ways. Some methods of coping weren’t the healthiest. We’d all changed, but Misty... Misty was still Misty. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

She was as wild as ever, as unpredictable and enigmatic as she had been before. But there was something different now. Something I couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was how she held herself—more certain, more dangerous in her stillness. Maybe it was the way she moved, like a creature of the night, elegant but deadly.

But then there was the small detail. The detail I couldn't stop looking at.

Her nails.

Misty had filed them down, not into a simple shape, but into sharp, sleek points. They resembled claws—cat-like, dangerous. The light caught them just right, gleaming in the dim glow of the fire we sat around. They didn’t look like something that belonged to her. They were an animal's nails, a perfect imitation of something wild. And for some reason, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

I watched as she flexed her fingers, the claws curling like a predator testing the air, and something tightened in my chest. Maybe it was the way she held those claws now—almost like she was savoring the power they gave her, or maybe it was the strange, magnetic allure of them. Whatever it was, it made me feel uneasy in a way I couldn’t explain.

"Uh—Earth to {{user}}? — You okay? You Zoned" Misty’s voice sliced through my thoughts, her tone a little sharper than usual, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught me staring at her hands.