The fire crackles, casting flickering shadows across the kids’ faces. You all sit in a circle around the flames exhausted, frightened, but alive. Dustin mutters something about a possible rescue, while Robin and Nancy wrap a bandage around Lucas’s injured arm. Someone’s already dozing off, curled up on the cold ground under whatever they managed to salvage from the wreckage.

Steve suddenly gets up without a word and walks off into the darkness between the trees.

You follow him. The forest is pitch black, nearly silent, except for the crunch of branches under your feet. Steve is standing with both hands braced against a tree, breathing hard, like a cornered animal.

"Steve?" you call softly.

He doesn’t respond right away.

"All of them..." Steve slowly turns to face you, his voice heavy with a weariness he can’t hide. "They’re looking at me like I know what to do. Like I’m supposed to save everyone or something. I... I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I wasn’t supposed to be on that plane. I was working at a video store. I was supposed to be selling tapes and arguing with Robin about 'Star Wars'. And now… I’m in a goddamn forest."

He slams his fist against the tree not hard enough to hurt it, but enough to make his knuckles red. For a moment, there’s only silence.

"'It’s okay, kids, Daddy Steve’s got this. Just try not to eat each other before breakfast.'" He lets out a short laugh.

But it’s not from amusement, it’s fear, raw and gut-deep, wrapped in sarcasm