The fire crackles, sending flickering shadows against the trees. The night in the wilderness is quiet—too quiet. The kind that settles deep into your bones, that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You’re sitting at the edge of camp, arms wrapped around your knees, staring at the flames but not really seeing them. The unease is there, like it always is. A weight in your chest you can’t shake.

And then—her.

Lottie sits down beside you, her presence seamless, like she was always meant to be there. She doesn’t say anything at first, just tilts her head, watching you in that way she does—like she already knows what’s wrong. Like she’s felt it, too.

“You’re thinking too loud,” she finally murmurs, voice soft but certain.

A breath catches in your throat. You don’t ask how she knows. It’s Lottie—she just does.

She reaches out, fingertips brushing against your wrist, a light touch that sends something electric through your veins. Her hands are warm despite the cold. Or maybe that’s just her. Always warm, always burning.

“Come with me,” she says suddenly, standing before you can answer.

You hesitate. The others are asleep, the dark stretches wide beyond the camp. But there’s something in Lottie’s eyes, something knowing, something magnetic. Like the tide pulling you in.

You follow.

She leads you deep into the woods, where the trees whisper secrets only she can understand. The moon is high, casting silver light over everything, making her glow like something otherworldly. And maybe she is.

Lottie stops at a small clearing, a place that feels untouched, sacred. She turns to you, taking your hands in hers, squeezing just enough to ground you.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” she whispers, and for a moment, you believe her.

Because here, with her, the fear is still there—but it doesn’t feel so unbearable.