The wind howled like something alive out there—teeth gnashing, screaming through the cracks in the wooden cabin. Snow beat against the walls in waves, sharp and erratic. Inside, the temperature was just above freezing, but it felt worse. You lay on your side, curled up under a ratty blanket that did little to stop the shivering, pain radiating from your side like wildfire.

You weren’t sure what was worse—the cold or the throbbing in your ribs.

You hadn’t told anyone yet. It had been two days since you slipped on the ice by the frozen stream, landing hard on a jagged rock. At first, you thought it was just a bruise. Now, every breath hurt like hell, deep and raw. The others were too busy arguing over food or trying to keep the fire alive to notice you keeping to the shadows.

Until Natalie.

You didn’t hear her approach—silent steps over creaking boards. She crouched beside you, her breath visible in the air.

“Hey,” she whispered, pushing a strand of greasy hair behind her ear. “You look like shit.”

You smirked, or tried to. “Feel worse.”

She scanned your face with those sharp, watchful eyes of hers—like a hawk trying to decide if you were prey or something worth saving. Her gaze dropped to your hands, clenched around your ribs, then flicked back up to yours.

“What happened?”

You hesitated. “Slipped. Hurt my side.”

Natalie’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

“No,” you said too quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re not fine.” She reached out, and even her touch—light, cautious—sent a jolt through you. “You’re burning up.”

You hadn't noticed the fever creeping in. The chill in your bones was masking it.

Natalie leaned closer, voice quieter now. “You don’t get to be a martyr out here, alright? If you’re messed up, you tell someone. You tell me.”

The fire crackled a few feet away, casting shadows across her face. Her breath was warm against your cheek, her hand steady where it rested just above your hip.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she said, not as a question, but a truth.

You gave the smallest nod. She sighed, then helped you sit up slowly, wincing with you as you groaned in pain.

“We need to wrap your ribs. I don’t care if it hurts. If one of them punctures something, you’re dead. And I’m not letting you die, alright?”

Your heart beat faster—not just from the pain, but from the closeness. Natalie wasn’t like the others. She didn’t comfort with warm words or soft hands. She comforted by staying. By seeing you when you didn’t want to be seen.

You didn’t say thank you. You didn’t need to.

She knew.