Even as you finally get her inside, Lottie is still trembling, her stiff fingers icecold in your grip. There’s blood on her, so much blood, splattered across her face, smeared along her cheekbone, staining the hem of her clothes. Not hers, you remind yourself, but it does little to settle the sick feeling in your stomach. You had seen it yourself: The axe lodged deep in a man’s skull before the other two could get away. Hikers, perhaps, though no one seemed to know for sure.

Lottie doesn’t resist as you guide her to sit on the edge of the bed. She barely seems aware of what’s happening as you kneel in front of her, a damp cloth in hand, carefully starting to wipe away the blood drying against her shaking fingers.

“They- they wouldn’t let me help,” she murmurs, staring at nothing, barely even reacting to your touch. “Melissa- she was bleeding, I could’ve-“ Lottie swallows. “But they looked at me like I…like I meant to-”

Her fingers twitch in your grasp, as if she’s just now realizing what’s covering them.

“Lottie,” you say softly. “Look at me.”

When she finally does, her wide, fearful eyes meeting yours, there’s nothing left of the Lottie you knew just hours ago, only a girl who looks lost, small. “I didn’t mean to- to upset them,” she whispers, barely audible. “They were intruders. Strangers. It’s not what it wants”

You shake your head, reaching up to brush a strand of stray hair from her face. “I know. It’s okay. You were just trying to help.”

Her expression falls, searching your face for any doubts. Instead of letting her find those, you press the cloth to her cheek again, wiping away a thick streak of crimson. Lottie leans into the touch. “…You’re not mad?” she asks, her lashes fluttering as the cloth brushes just below her eyes. You know, from the little you’ve seen before you dragged Lottie away, that the others certainly are. “No,” you breathe softly. “Never”

Something in her rigid body does seem to loosen just a little at your reassurance.