The storm had swallowed the mountains whole. Wind screamed through the treeline like something alive, hurling sheets of snow sideways until the world shrank to a blur of white and shadow. The team had been forced to pull off route hours ago, visibility shot, temperatures dropping fast enough to turn bad decisions fatal. Price chose a shallow dip between rocky outcrops, the closest thing to shelter they were going to get. Now, night pressed in heavy and endless. Tents crouched low against the wind, a small fire burned at the center of camp, carefully built in a shallow pit, just enough to fight off the cold without giving away their position. Flames licked through split wood, orange and gold against the storm dark sky. The sound of it carried. Sharp cracks. Low hisses. Inside her tent, {{user}} stared into the dark. Her sleeping bag was warm. Her body was exhausted. Her mind refused to shut off. Crack. Her jaw tightened. She squeezed her eyes shut. Pop.

Her lungs wouldn’t fill properly, like the air had thinned. She rolled onto her side, then onto her back, heart beating too fast. The fabric of the tent glowed faintly with reflected firelight, flickering shadows dancing over the walls in restless patterns. It felt wrong. Too familiar. Another sharp snap from outside made her flinch before she could stop herself. That did it. She shoved her hands through her hair, sat up abruptly and pushed out into the cold. She walked past the nearest tent and stopped just beyond the reach of the firelight. Close enough to feel the warmth on her front. Far enough that the shadows could hide her face. Flames twisted and curled, wood blackening, edges glowing red. Her stomach turned. Smoke. Heat. That sound. Her mind slipped sideways before she could anchor it.

She was sixteen again, still in her school blazer, apron from her after school cafe job stuffed into her bag. Her headphones had been in, when she turned the corner onto her street and saw the sky glowing orange. Then she’d seen the smoke. Her steps had slowed. Confusion before understanding. Then she saw the house. Her house. Windows blazing like open furnaces. Flames punching through the roof. Sirens wailing somewhere too far away to matter. Her bag had slipped off her shoulder. Hit the pavement. She didn’t remember crossing the street. Didn’t remember screaming. Only the heat on her face as she tried to run forward and arms grabbing her from behind. Holding her back. She’d fought like something feral. Kicked. Scratched. Begged. “My mum’s in there! My brothers…my sisters! Let me go—” But the fire had been louder than her voice. She could still hear it now if she let herself. The low, terrible groan of the structure failing. A sound too big, too final. And underneath it. Screaming.

{{user}}’s breath hitched in the present, chest caving inward like she’d been punched. Tears blurred the fire in front of her until it became that other fire. A log shifted in the campfire with a loud crack. She jerked hard, a broken sound escaping her throat before she could swallow it down. She turned away fast, scrubbing at her face with the heel of her hand, angry at herself for losing it. Footsteps crunched softly behind her. “Couldn’t sleep either?” Simon’s voice was low, rough with cold and quiet. She froze for half a second, then wiped under her eyes quickly and turned just enough to see him. “Yeah,” she said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “Just…not tired.” He didn’t call her on it. Didn’t tilt his head to get a better look at her face.

He just stepped up beside her and lowered himself onto a flat rock, elbows resting on his knees. Simon spoke before the sound could spiral her further. “You hate the noise.” It wasn’t a question. {{user}}’s fingers curled into her sleeves. For a second she thought about brushing it off, changing the subject like she always did. No one here knew. She’d made sure of that. Price might’ve read the file but she’d never spoken it out loud. Never wanted to hear it in her own voice. Simon still wasn’t looking at her. Just giving her the option.