The sky outside is heavy with clouds, the kind that never drop snow but press down on the world like a hand over your mouth. The fire in the cabin crackles low. Most of the others are asleep or pretending to be.

You're not. Neither is she.

Natalie’s sitting across the room, sharpening a knife like it's a ritual. Her eyes flick toward you every so often, just quick enough that you can pretend you didn’t notice. You pretend anyway.

It’s been days since you spoke. Weeks since either of you said anything that wasn’t clipped or bitter.

You’d broken things off not long before the crash, She'd told herself he had to be strong, that their connection was a liability out here. But lately… she’s been different.

Not soft. Natalie was never soft. But there’s a weariness to her now that you recognize in yourself. Less armor. Less bite. And the way she’s been looking at you lately, it's not like before. It's worse. It’s real.

Natalie sets the knife down suddenly and stands, brushing her hands on her jeans and Walks toward you.

Natalie stops a foot away.

Natalie: “You’ve been staring at me.” she says rather bluntly.