Shauna’s sitting on a fallen log, her pocketknife flipping open and shut in her hands, the blade catching in the firelight. She doesn’t look up when you approach—just keeps moving, the click snick of the knife filling the tense silence between you.

You should leave her alone. You know that.

But you don’t.

“Hey,” you say, soft but steady.

Shauna finally glances up, her brown eyes sharp, assessing. “Hey.”

She looks different lately—colder, like something inside her is hardening. It’s been happening in pieces, slow enough that no one’s really noticed. But you have.

You sit down next to her, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of the fire on your skin. For a while, neither of you say anything. You just watch her hands—steady, precise—as she turns the blade over and over.

“You keep doing that, you’re gonna cut yourself,” you murmur.

Shauna smirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I want to.”

The words settle between you, heavy and sharp. You swallow, resisting the urge to reach for her.

“You don’t,” you say, because you have to believe that.

She studies you for a long moment before huffing out a breath, snapping the knife shut. “Why are you here?”

Because you’re worried about her. Because she’s scaring you. Because she looks more like a ghost than a girl these days, and you don’t know how to bring her back.

Instead, you shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Shauna hums like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, watching the fire. “Do you think we’re ever getting out of here?”

You don’t know how to answer that.

So you just watch the flames with her, hoping she doesn’t see the doubt in your eyes.