The arrow had come out of nowhere.

One moment, Melissa was crouched by the edge of the treeline, checking the snare line that Natalie had half-forgotten about. The next, she was on the ground, pain blooming like wildfire across her upper arm. She didn’t scream, not because she was brave, but because the breath got knocked clean out of her lungs.

A crossbow. From strangers.

There were two of them, older. They hadn’t said anything. Just raised the weapon and let it fly.

It wasn’t personal. Just survival. Melissa understood that, even as she bled.

The rest of the group had scattered into defense mode. Natalie had screamed something about "Get back!" while Van had already grabbed the axe. Misty lunged for her med kit like a stagehand on cue. But Melissa didn’t register much of it. Because the first face she saw, the one that dropped to the ground beside her and grabbed her hand, was hers.

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you stayed with Melissa through the chaos. Refused to leave her side when Misty started muttering about infection and sterilization. Even when Lottie came to “bless the wound” and everyone else rolled their eyes, You never let go of her hand.

Now, hours later, it was just the two of them. The others were asleep or pretending to be. The fire was low. Melissa lay on a makeshift cot of pelts and moss, her arm wrapped tightly and pinned to her chest with a strip of cloth. She was sweating, whether from pain or fever, she couldn’t tell.

You sat cross-legged beside her, knees touching as you seemed to be making something.

Melissa: “You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Melissa murmured, her voice a rasp as she turns her head to look up at you, Her hat half falling off of her head.