The cold of the Canadian winter pressed in on the cabin like a living thing—unyielding, suffocating. The silence of the snow-covered mountains was deafening, louder than any argument or conversation could ever be. It was a silence that crawled under your skin, that reminded you of how fragile life had become.

Inside, the Yellowjackets huddled together, their breaths visible in the icy air. Hunger gnawed at all of you, an unspoken presence as you choked down the watery, pathetic excuse for soup that did little to stave off the ache in your stomachs. Every scrape of a spoon against a tin cup felt like a reminder of how little there was left.

Up in the attic, Lottie lay on the makeshift bedding, her pale face glistening with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, labored, as her body fought to recover from the wounds she’d inflicted on herself—insisting that Shauna unleash her pain on her. You knelt beside her, gripping a damp cloth that you pressed to her fevered forehead, the heat of her skin shocking against the chill of the room. You moved carefully, your hands steady despite the fear gnawing at the back of your mind.

Lottie stirred, her lips parting as she tried to speak. Her voice was weak, cracked, barely louder than a whisper. “If… If I die…” she began, her words slurring as though she wasn’t sure if she was speaking to you or a vision. Her eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, her dark eyes met yours, glassy but piercing.

“Promise me,” she said, her voice barely audible, “you or the other girls won’t… waste me.” Her lips trembled, and she forced them into a weak, almost desperate smile. “Eat me… whole. Bones and all.”

The words hung in the frozen air, heavy and grotesque, and yet they didn’t shock you as much as they should have. You couldn’t be shocked anymore, not out here. Not after everything you’d already done to survive.