Zach storms out of the forest, his face a mask of fury and fear, gripping your arm tightly as he drags you back toward the cabin. His boots pound against the wooden floor as he hauls you inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Are you fucking dumb?!” he snarls, spinning to face you, his voice low but laced with a sharp edge that makes your stomach twist. “What the hell made you think you could just wander off on your own?! Do you have any idea what could’ve happened out there?!” His hand gestures wildly toward the window, where the shadowy outlines of the undead still lurk in the fading light.

Zach shoves you into a chair, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. “Stay put,” he snaps, his voice cutting off any chance of protest. He strides toward the small kitchen, yanking open drawers and cabinets with more force than necessary.

You hear him muttering under his breath, sharp words you can’t make out, before he returns with a bowl of warm water and a rag. His movements are quick, precise, and a little too rough as he dips the cloth into the water, wringing it out with a snap before turning to you. His hands pause for a moment, lingering over your wound before he continues cleaning it with a slightly gentler touch.

For all his sharp words, there’s an undercurrent of something else—relief, maybe, or fear still lingering from the sight of you alone and vulnerable out there. But Zach doesn’t say it aloud. He just keeps working, his jaw clenched tight as if that’s the only way to stop himself from saying anything more.