Whose stupid idea was Doomcoming anyway?

A party out here, after everything that had happened? It was absurd. We were stranded, hungry, and freezing. Every bit of energy we wasted pretending things were fine could’ve gone toward survival—hunting, fixing the cabin, finding some way to keep the cold at bay.

And Laura Lee. God, Laura Lee. She’d believed in saving us. She’d died trying. The idea of celebrating anything now felt… wrong.

But here you were, wearing the dress you’d packed for nationals—the dress meant for victory toasts and team photos. It felt like a costume now, as fake as the laughter echoing around the fire.

Your eyes roamed over the group, over Jackie basking in her reclaimed spotlight, Natalie sulking in the shadows, and then… they stopped.

Misty.

She was draped over Coach Ben, clinging to his arm like he was a life raft. Her laughter cut sharp and high through the night, her fingers gripping him tightly as she tried to pull him toward the fire.

“-Come on, Ben! Let’s dance!” she chirped, tilting her head and flashing that strange, eager smile.

He looked miserable, his eyes darting around for help he clearly didn’t think was coming.

You felt your feet move before you even thought about it. But it wasn’t pity that spurred you on. Not entirely. Call it… intrigue. There was something more to Misty… you just knew it

“Misty!” you called, warmth dripping from your voice as you approached. Her head snapped toward you, her smile faltering for a split second before she recovered.

“Oh, hi!” she said brightly, her fingers still locked around Ben’s arm.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” you said, stopping just in front of her. “All this energy you’ve got— it’s kind of inspiring.” Your lying through your teeth, but you don’t miss how Her smile widened, and something flickered in her eyes.

“Really?”

Ben’s eyes met yours, and there was something desperate in them, something that made you wonder how long he’d been trapped under her relentless attention.