The cold bites sharper than it should, but Tashi barely seems to notice. She’s slumped against the rough wood that adorned the outside of the cabin, arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her breath comes out in shaky clouds that disappear quickly into the night. You step quietly onto the porch with a blanket in your hand, the creak under your boots too loud in the silence. She’s so still, almost ghostlike.

The moon is thin, a pale crescent hanging low in the sky, and the stars feel distant, uncaring. The wind rattles the branches, a mournful sound that echoes the chaos inside you both. Your hands slightly shake as you throw the blanket around her shoulders, you know she’d deny if you asked. You kneel beside her, but she doesn’t look at you at, instead she stares into the darkness as if hoping the night will swallow her whole.

You remember how she was before all this, before the crash, before the wilderness swallowed you whole. She was fearless, the star athlete with everything going for her, the one everyone looked up to. You both were close once too, closer than anyone else. There was something unspoken between you, a quiet understanding that maybe, just maybe, it could’ve been more.

But time and trauma twisted that, turning friendship fragile, then brittle. Now, here she is, changed but still the same. The fire in her eyes is dimmed by doubt, by the weight of everything you’ve both survived.

You feel a pang of something. Guilt, maybe, or regret, because you know a part of her blame still lingers, and you wonder if you can ever be the person she once believed you to be. But the cold, the night, and the way she’s crumbling in front of you make all that fade. All that matters is that she’s here. That you’re here.

Slowly, she shifts, finally turning her head toward you. Her eyes glisten, a mixture of exhaustion and something you recognize. Pain, raw and real.

“The wilderness chose me,” she says quietly, voice thick with something between bitterness and sorrow. “Like I’m supposed to be the queen of some cruel game.”

You knew she’d blame herself forever for the ritual that happened earlier. She had tried, that wasn’t a doubt. But the rest held her back and she had to witness Javi drown from trying to help her.

“I don’t know how we got here,” she continues, “or how any of this makes sense anymore. But I hate what it’s doing to us—to me.”

Her hands tremble in your lap, fingers clenching the blanket like a lifeline. “I’m not the girl I was before. And I’m terrified the rest will never be either.”

You reach out, your hand finding hers, warm and steady. She leans into your touch, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“I don’t know how we got here,” she admits, eyes staring into the darkness, “but I’m scared. Scared we’re losing ourselves.”