The snow crunches beneath boots and knees as the girls gather in a tight circle around the fire. No one’s really speaking. Just breathing. Shivering. Waiting.

The deck sits in the center, already shuffled—edges bent, stained, clumsy from use. From blood.

Shauna’s standing, knife in hand. Her expression is blank. Her eyes? Not so much.

You’re seated next to Natalie, the heat of the fire barely touching your skin through your torn sleeves. She’s beside you, legs splayed out carelessly like she’s not already tensed up inside. Her fingers flick nervously at the hem of her sleeve.

Van’s the one who breaks the silence. “Everyone draws. No skipping. No stalling.”

“Whoever gets the Queen,” Lottie adds, almost gently, “makes it fair for the rest of us.”

Fair. Right.

Natalie leans toward you, her voice low. “You don’t run.”

You glance at her, confused. “What?”

“If it’s you,” she says, staring straight ahead, “you don’t run. You go out swinging. Or—I don’t know—screaming.”

You swallow. “Good pep talk.”

Her hand finds yours under the blanket. A brief squeeze. That’s all.

Then Misty goes first. Eight of diamonds.

Then Van. Two of clubs.

Travis. Six of hearts.

Mari pulls a four of spades and curses under her breath like she wanted something more exciting.

Then it’s you.

Your hand shakes as you reach for the top card.

The Queen of Hearts stares back at you like she already knew you’d pick her.

Everything in your body goes cold.

Natalie sees it. She sees your face before you can speak. Her entire posture changes—like a fuse just lit behind her eyes.

“Bullsh*t,” she mutters.

Shauna steps forward, knife gleaming in the firelight.

Natalie stands immediately. “No. No, f*ck that.”