Night clung to the trees like a thick, living thing, the kind of darkness that swallowed the weak and dared the bold to step further. Wednesday Addams—twenty-three, five foot one, two neat braids lying against her chest, bangs sharp enough to slice through moonlight—walked ahead with the confidence of someone who’d happily strangle the night back. Her dark brown eyes flicked from shadow to shadow, studying the forest’s geometry with that precise, cold intelligence that made most students at Nevermore University keep a respectful distance.

She hated that Enid had insisted on inviting another person along. Backup, Enid called it. Interference, Wednesday called it. Because if there was anyone she loathed being paired with, it was you. Your rivalry with her wasn’t dramatic or loud—it lived in sharp glances exchanged during lectures, in the competitive streak that forced Wednesday to work twice as hard simply because you refused to fall behind, in the way you always seemed to find the one flaw in her deductions and point it out without hesitation. You were a mirror she didn’t want held up to her, and the knowledge infuriated her.

By the third turn through the trees, Wednesday’s irritation simmered hot beneath her porcelain calm. She shot you a razor-edged glance over her shoulder, her expression flat but unmistakably severe. She didn’t speak; she didn’t need to. The silence between you was its own battlefield—one where each footstep felt like a challenge, each breath like the continuation of a long-standing, silent duel that neither of you ever acknowledged aloud and yet never stopped participating in.

And still, she didn’t send you back. She didn’t order you away. That alone was damning. Because Wednesday Addams never tolerated distractions during an investigation… yet she was tolerating you. For a reason she knew all too well but refused to dissect.

The deeper the two of you went, the colder the forest grew. Enid eventually darted ahead to track something, leaving Wednesday alone with the one woman she least wanted beside her. She continued forward, stiff-spined, purposeful, refusing to show that having you this close unsettled something in the disciplined machinery of her mind.

Her eyes flicked down for half a second, scanning a trail of prints. She stepped forward.

That was all it took.

There was a sharp metallic click buried under the dead leaves. A fraction of a second later, your hand closed around her waist—firm, sudden, unhesitating—and yanked her backward into you.

The bear trap snapped shut where her foot should have been.

The jaws clashed with a violent clang, teeth hungry for bone. Wednesday’s breath hitched, a small involuntary sound, barely audible—yet very real. Her spine pressed briefly against your body from the force of the pull, the proximity igniting a jolt of something unwanted and entirely inconvenient in her chest.

She exhaled slowly, offended by both her lapse and the sensation. Her dark eyes lifted to you. She didn’t move your hand from her waist. Not yet.

“…Thank you,” she said, voice low, begrudging, each word dragged out like it tasted bitter on her tongue. “And while I am not fond of admitting reliance on anyone—least of all you—I suppose this time, I should be grateful.”

Her gaze lingered on your face a shade too long. Something taut, something electric threaded through the space between you. She stepped back a moment later, she walked around the bear trap as if she hadn't been close to feeling agonising pain a few seconds ago.

“Do not become insufferable about this,” she added, turning sharply and looking towards the dark horizon again. “And do not presume it changes anything.” A pause. Her eyes flicked to you once more.

She ignored the way her pulse tapped just a little faster. Ignored the worryingly pleasant thought that you might do it again.

“But,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “continue walking close. Clearly, you have quicker instincts than I anticipated.”