The wind howled through the cracks of the cabin roof like a wounded animal. Snow clawed at the wooden walls, and every breath you took turned to smoke in the air. Upstairs, in the cramped attic where the light barely reached, you lay back against the splintered boards, listening to the muffled chatter below.

The others were celebrating—their first real meal in days. You and Nat had managed to bring down a deer, a small miracle in a place that didn’t believe in mercy anymore. Downstairs, laughter scraped against the silence like a blade, desperate and human. Up here, there was peace.

You closed your eyes. Your hands still smelled faintly of blood and cold metal. Hunting with Nat always left you quiet—she didn’t talk much either, and maybe that’s why it worked. You understood each other without needing words.

But now, in the attic, you weren’t alone.

You didn’t hear her climb up, but you knew she was there. You always did. Lottie moved like smoke—soft, silent, and impossible to ignore.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you muttered without opening your eyes. Your voice was hoarse, still raw from the cold air.

“I could say the same,” she replied, calm as ever. Her tone always carried that unsettling warmth, the kind that made people listen even when they didn’t want to.

You sighed and finally looked over. She was crouched by the small hole in the roof, moonlight brushing over her face. The white of the snow outside reflected in her eyes, giving them that eerie, glassy glow that made you wonder if she really saw the same world everyone else did.

“What do you want, Lottie?”

She smiled faintly. “To make sure you’re alright.”

You scoffed. “You always say that.”

“And you always pretend it annoys you.”

You sat up, rubbing your neck, trying to find patience. Ever since the crash, she’d been… different. Everyone knew it. Some whispered that the woods spoke to her, that she could feel when something was coming. Others treated her like a prophet. You thought they were all just scared kids looking for someone to blame—or to follow.

But when it came to you, it was different. Her eyes lingered too long. Her touch—when she dared—was too gentle. And the way she spoke your name, soft like a prayer, made something crawl under your skin.

“Nat’s the one who almost got eaten by the forest today,” you said finally. “You should check on her, not me.”

“I already did.” She tilted her head, studying you. Just kept looking at you with that calm, unblinking stare. “You don’t believe in anything out here, do you?”

“I believe we’re freezing to death and slowly losing our minds,” you said flatly.

Lottie moved closer, her knees brushing against yours. The attic floor creaked under your combined weight. You tried to move back, but there wasn’t much room to go anywhere.

“You think the woods don’t want you,” she whispered. “But they do. They brought you here for a reason.”