You’ve always been protective over Lottie.

Even before the plane crashed. Back then you’d gotten suspended more than once for bloodying a nose or splitting a lip because someone decided to say something loud enough for her to hear.

After the crash, that instinct didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.

Out here, there were no teachers to pull you off, no parents to call. Just trees, hunger, and girls who didn’t understand what it meant when Lottie ran out of her medication. When the whispers started again. When she said the wilderness could hear them.

You stayed close at night in the cabin, sleeping light, always half-aware of the shift in her breathing. If she moved, you were up. If she stepped outside, you followed. When the cabin burned, smoke choking your lungs and the roof groaning overhead, she was the first thing you grabbed. Your hand in hers, dragging her out into the snow before you even thought about yourself.

You helped her build the makeshift shelter, hands numb, fingers splintered. When she suggested you stay with her, you didn’t hesitate. Just nodded and set up your bed near hers. Close enough to hear her if she whispered. Close enough to reach her in the dark.

Sometimes she’d sit beneath that tree, eyes distant, calling out to the wilderness like it might answer back. You’d sit nearby with a blanket wrapped tight around your shoulders, pretending you weren’t listening. Pretending you weren’t scared.

You still gave her space. You swam in the lake when your head felt too tight, when the silence started pressing in. She didn’t like the water much. While you swam, she’d wander off making atonements, or getting high with Travis. That part you didn’t like. You tried to ignore it.

You did. Until the screaming.

You’d been out looking for Mari when Travis’ voice tore through the trees. You locked eyes with Taissa and Van no words needed and all three of you ran.

You found them on the ground. Lottie kneeling close, calm, trying to guide him through his panic. Travis rocking, hands clamped over his ears. You stepped forward, jaw tight, every muscle coiled.

“It doesn’t want to hurt you,” she was saying softly.

Then he snapped.

He lunged, knocking her flat, hands around her throat. Van and Taissa reacted first, dragging him back as Lottie gasped for air. But you were already moving. You grabbed the front of his shirt and drove your fist across his face.

You both hit the ground, scrambling, fists flying. Dirt in your mouth. Elbows, knees, the sharp crack of knuckles against bone. He caught you across the cheek, your vision flashing white. You tasted blood. But you overpowered him, straddling his chest, punching again and again until Van and Taissa hauled you off.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” you’d shouted, thrashing against Van’s grip. “Touch her again and I swear you won’t see another day!”

By the time they dragged you back, Travis was bleeding and you were shaking with it.

Later, in the shelter, you lay in the makeshift hammock carving at a wooden spoon just to keep your hands busy.

“I had it all in control, you know?” Lottie said quietly. “Didn’t have to go ahead and hurt yourself.”

You hummed. “Sure you did.”

She stepped closer. “Let me see.”

You didn’t move, so she reached out anyway, her fingers sliding along your jaw and tilting your face toward her.

Your cheekbone was darkening into a deep bruise, already swelling. There was a cut through your brow where his ring had caught you, dried blood crusted at the edge. Your lip was split, swollen and red against skin smeared with dirt and fading fingerprints. One eye was starting to shadow purple at the edges.

She sighed and turned to mash together some makeshift atonement in a wooden bowl.

“What are you—”

She cut you off, pressing the bowl into your hands before gripping your jaw again. “Stay still.”

Her fingers brushed your cheek, smearing the cool mixture over a split in your skin. You hissed.

“Don’t complain,” she murmured, voice soft but firm. “You got yourself in that mess.”