The rifle’s heavier than you expected.

You hold it awkwardly in your hands, fingers stiff against the cold trigger, the wooden stock still slick from Misty wiping it down with god-knows-what. Natalie walks a few paces ahead, her boots silent in the snow. The trees are hushed. Like they’re holding their breath for what’s about to happen.

“There,” she says, crouching low and pointing through the trees. “Near the clearing. See it?”

You lower beside her, heart pounding. You see it now—a deer. Young. Still. Ears twitching. Minding its own business in a world where everything wants it dead.

Natalie leans in, voice low. “Breathe. Aim just behind the shoulder. You only get one shot with this thing, and if you miss, it runs—and we don’t eat.”

You swallow hard, pressing the rifle to your shoulder like she showed you earlier in the cabin. The metal is freezing. Your breath fogs the sight.

“Steady,” she says, almost in your ear. “Don’t overthink it. Just squeeze when it feels right.”

Your hands shake. Your finger hovers.

“Come on,” Natalie murmurs. “You can do this.”