Natalie was half-dozing against the cabin wall, a rolled-up coat behind her head and a half-burned cigarette between her fingers. It was one of the rare calm moments, the kind that came not from peace, but exhaustion. Misty and you, natalies girlfriend, had gone out together to check snares and maybe look for dry wood. Natalie hadn’t argued. you had offered a small, knowing smile before leaving, and Misty, for once, didn’t do her usual eager-kid routine. Fine. Chill.

Natalie figured they’d be back in an hour or two. No big deal.

A little quiet was good. The air in the cabin was thick, always smelled like damp wood and desperation, and every so often someone would mutter Lottie’s name like it was a prayer or a threat.

Then, out of nowhere, houting. From the treeline. Two voices. One desperate, one furious.

Everyone in the cabin froze. Shauna looked up from her stitching. Taissa paused mid-bite. Van swore under her breath.

Natalie was already on her feet, knife forgotten on the floor.

The shouting got louder. Closer. The sound of boots crunching fast through hard snow. Something about it made Natalie’s skin crawl, like they weren’t just running toward the cabin, but away from something. Then the door slammed open.

you burst in first, cheeks flushed, hair wild, eyes frantic like you'd seen something you weren't supposed to. you opened your mouth.

“Mist—”

Before you could finish, Misty slammed into you from behind, tackling you to the ground with a screech.

Misty: “DON’T TELL THEM! DONT YOU FUCKING TELL THEM!!”

you let out a muffled yelp as Misty wrestled her down, hand clamped over your mouth, her face a pale mask of panic. Not guilt. Not fear of punishment. Pure panic, like if you said even one word, something worse than death would happen.