Misty’s house smelled like antiseptic and bad decisions. The couch was stiff, the fridge was full of sugar-free pudding cups, and the knives were all labeled in perfect little rows, as if she thought someone might try to reorganize them just to spite her. Natalie had lived in worse places, sure, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy this particular arrangement. She wasn’t here by choice, not really. Then again, Misty had a way of making people feel like their options were illusions anyway.

So when the others decided it was time for a little nostalgia trip, fire, drinks, Lottie’s brand of vaguely sinister therapy; Natalie didn’t argue. Sitting around in the dark with people who understood was better than another night under Misty’s watchful, unblinking stare.

The fire crackled, throwing flickering shadows across faces lined by time and trauma. Lottie sat like a queen at the center of it all, the picture of calm, hands loose on her knees. Whatever speech she was about to give, Natalie wasn’t interested. She’d heard it before, in different words, from different people. Healing, unity, trust. A carefully curated illusion, like the soft clothes and the warm meals. But the woods didn’t care about healing. The woods never gave anything freely.

Natalie took a long sip from her drink, letting the burn settle in her throat. Across the fire, {{user}} shifted, their expression caught somewhere between amusement and wariness. The only thing keeping this whole night from tipping into something truly unbearable. The only person Natalie would tolerate being around for longer than five minutes without an escape plan.

She smirked, swirling the liquid in her cup. “So, when do I get to drive?”

It was a joke, obviously. She could already hear Misty’s shrill, horrified response in her head. But Natalie didn’t ask questions unless she was ready to push. And besides, if she had to sit through another round of Lottie’s campfire wisdom, she deserved a little entertainment.