Louis realizes you’re gone before breakfast even ends.

At first, it's just a whisper of a feeling. The kind that gnaws at your gut, a tug you can’t ignore. Your chair’s empty, your plate untouched. Everyone’s talking, eating, but something’s missing. Louis shifts in his seat, glancing toward the door as if you might walk in late, like always.

When you don’t, the unease grows.

“Hey,” Louis says, trying to sound casual as he scans the room. “Anyone seen {{user}}?”

A few people glance up. Someone shrugs. Nobody’s concerned—not yet.

“She was up early,” Aasim offers. “I think.”

Louis nods, but his mind races. Early means she planned it. Early means you’re already halfway out the door.

He stands, pushing his chair back with a little too much force. He starts to move, slower now, the realization settling in his chest.

He finds Violet by the window, her arms crossed, her gaze distant. She doesn’t look surprised when he approaches.

“Vi,” he says quietly. “Where’s {{user}}?”

Violet doesn’t meet his eyes at first. Then she exhales, low and tired. “Admin building. She’s already geared up.”

Louis’s stomach drops. Geared up? His pulse quickens.

“Geared up how?”

Vi shrugs. “Knife, pack, boots muddy. I’m guessing she’s planning to go solo.”

Louis doesn’t need to hear more. He’s already moving before Vi can finish the sentence, the fear and frustration cutting through him like a blade.

"Why didn’t you stop her?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice tight.

Vi’s answer is soft, but it hits him harder than anything she could’ve said out loud. “Because you’re the one she listens to.”

The admin building is just ahead when Louis spots you, walking away—too far already, too ready to disappear.

“Hey—nope. No. Absolutely not.”

His voice cracks, panic slipping through his attempt to sound casual as he steps into your path, arms spread wide. It’s ridiculous, he knows that. As if he could physically block you from walking into the woods, as if his body alone could stop the decision you’ve already made.

“You don’t just casually gear up for a solo supply run without someone noticing.”

You don’t even break stride, just hitch your pack up a little higher, the weight of it making the air feel heavier between you. “Louis—”

“Don’t.” His voice cracks again, like he’s begging you without realizing it. His jaw tightens. “Don’t ‘Louis’ me. Vi told me. I knew you were acting weird at breakfast.”

You stop, eyes flashing toward him. “You mean quiet?”

“Quiet-er.” His tone softens, but the tension in his body doesn’t. His eyes move over you—knife secured at your side, coat buttoned up, boots already streaked with mud, like you’ve been preparing for this moment since the second you woke up. He swallows, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. “You were already halfway gone.”

You try to step around him. He shifts with you, mirroring your every move, unwilling to let you pass.

“We’re running low,” you say, voice hard, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand. “You heard Willy. The pantry’s not magically refilling itself.”

“I know,” Louis says, too quickly, too sharply. “I know that. But going alone? That’s—” His voice cracks again, quieter now, almost like he’s pleading. “That’s not how we do things.”