“Hey, you’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that.”

Van’s voice is hoarse, edged with exhaustion, but still—still—there’s that familiar teasing lilt, like she’s trying to make this easier, like she’s trying to make you laugh, even now.

You don’t.

Instead, you kneel beside her, hands trembling as they hover near the makeshift bandages wrapped around her face. The firelight flickers, casting deep shadows across her skin, highlighting the blood that still lingers at her temple, dark and dried. Your stomach twists.

“Van, this isn’t funny.” Your voice shakes, just as much as your hands do.

She huffs a breath, a half-hearted smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “It’s a little funny.”

Your glare could probably set the whole goddamn forest on fire. “It’s not.”

Her smirk falters. Slowly, her fingers brush against your wrist, grounding you. “I’m okay,” she murmurs, quieter now. “I mean, yeah, my face might look like a shitty Halloween mask now, but I’m still here. Not dead yet.”

Your throat tightens. “You almost were.”

The words barely make it out. You blink rapidly, trying to keep it together, but your chest feels tight, your heart still racing with the phantom of what could have happened. Of what almost did.

Van must see it—the fear, the devastation, all the things you’re trying so hard to choke down—because the teasing fades from her face, replaced by something softer. She exhales, thumb grazing your knuckles.

“Hey,” she murmurs. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I thought—” Your voice breaks. You shake your head, sucking in a breath.

“I know.” Van’s voice is steady now, warm. “But you’re stuck with me, babe. Not even a pack of wolves could change that.”

Despite yourself, you let out a wet, shaky laugh.

And Van—bleeding, bruised, exhausted—smiles.