Art doesn’t think your relationship has been this strained since the crash.

When he wouldn’t adapt to the wilderness, when you had to force him to try to survive. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this mad either. Not when you lost a match because Tai didn’t pass you the soccer ball, not when Travis and Natalie were spending their hunting time hooking up. No, this was worse.

The others were changing. Whispering about signs in the woods, omens in the snow, screams in the howls of the wind. Some nights, around the fire, their faces flickered between something human and something wrong.

Nothing has been the same since Jackie. Art hasn’t. You witnessed him slowly begin to lose himself in Lottie’s visions, begin to believe that the wilderness was the reason you all were still alive. Art didn’t fight it the way he might have when the plane first crashed, if he was back home. He wanted it to be true. He needed it to be true.

Because if there was no spirits, no rules, then the truth was unbearable: They were all animals, hunting and eating each other for nothing.

It all makes sense in his head, everything Lottie predicts comes to. He doesn’t understand why you won’t just submit to it. He doesn’t know why you’re holding them all back. Not just you. Tai, Natalie, and Shauna didn’t entertain the thought either.

You just needed to see the way, he thought. You needed encouragement, maybe then you could see things the way him and the rest do. Your nightmares have stopped after Lottie started tracing that symbol on your palm, after all. Why couldn’t you just trust them? Trust him?

It’s what he tried to tell you earlier that night. He told you about Lottie’s signs. Told you that the storm outside was ”fated. See? She knew it was meant to be.”

But you snapped, told him that weather doesn’t give a fuck about fate, Art. You stormed upstairs right after, muttering something about them all being fucking insane.

Hours later, Art had finally made his way to the attic to sleep beside you even though you’d probably slap him if you were awake. The storm outside howled against the cabin walls, shaking the loose boards so hard it rattled your teeth. Art lay beside you when he felt a shiver, sharp and violent, from your body curled just inches from his.

His eyes softened. You were turned away from him, your thin blanket clutched uselessly around your shoulders, the cold still bleeding through. Another shudder wracked you.

Before he could think too hard about it—before he could remind himself that things were complicated now—Art moved. His arms circled your waist to bring you back to him with a mumbled “S’okay.” He tucked your blanket around you before covering you with his own.

You sighed, a tiny sound, and relaxed against him. Your shivers slowly died down as he held you close.