The night was quiet, except for the distant crackle of the campfire and the occasional chirp of crickets. You sat beside Andrea, your backs pressed against the rough bark of an old tree. She hadn't spoken much in days, not since it happened. Not since she pulled the trigger, not since she shot Amy.

Her hat was pulled low over her eyes, but you could still see the way she stared ahead, restless, uncertain.

"You don't have to say anything," you murmured, staring up at the darkened sky. "But you don't have to go through this alone, either."

Andrea exhaled sharply, her shoulders tense. For a long time, she didn't respond, simply letting her head drop onto your shoulder... Then, barely above a whisper, she asked, "Does it ever stop hurting?"