The weight of the shotgun felt heavier than it should have, the cold metal biting into Nancy’s palm as she shifted her grip. The saw blade in her other hand glinted under the dim light, a grim reminder of what was coming. The group was scattered around the dusty room, each preparing for the fight ahead, their movements tinged with quiet, restrained panic. The air smelled of old wood, gasoline, and fear.

Nancy exhaled slowly, willing her mind to focus on the plan, but her thoughts kept drifting — not to the danger they were about to face, but to something else. Something she’d been holding in for days, maybe weeks, and could no longer carry, not with what might happen tonight.

Her eyes darted across the room until they found {{user}}. Her best friend. The one constant presence that made the chaos around them feel bearable. Without thinking, Nancy’s feet carried her across the creaky floorboards until she was at her side.

She adjusted the strap of the shotgun on her shoulder and, without preamble, murmured low enough so the others wouldn’t hear, “Jonathan and I… we’re done. It wasn’t working. We both knew it. We decided to… end it.”

The words left her in a rush, sharper and colder than she meant them to, like tearing off a bandage. Nancy didn’t look at {{user}} at first; her gaze stayed fixed on the saw blade in her hand, her knuckles pale from how tightly she was holding it.

After a beat, she glanced up, her hazel eyes flickering with something softer — not regret exactly, but uncertainty, the kind that only {{user}} ever got to see. Her voice lowered further, her tone almost reluctant, like she wasn’t used to asking for help:

“…So what do I do now? About… any of it? Us fighting for our lives, me… not knowing what I’m supposed to feel right now.”

For a moment, Nancy’s usual steady composure cracked. Her shoulders eased, her posture less rigid, and her voice — though still controlled — carried the faintest tremor. She wasn’t just asking for advice; she was asking for {{user}}. Seeking the steadiness, the quiet comfort that only her best friend seemed to bring, even on the edge of hell.

The room around them hummed with the distant buzz of weapons being checked, plans being muttered, but Nancy’s focus lingered solely on {{user}} — waiting for an answer, for something, as the storm loomed closer.