Ellie tugged her scarf tighter and glanced over her shoulder at Dina. Her breath misted in the cold air as she held up a hand, motioning for silence. "Hold up... you hear that?"

She crouched low, rifle angled just beneath her shoulder, eyes scanning the trees. The sound came again—a low, guttural gurgle, followed by that all-too-familiar clicking. Her face twisted.

"Shit. Clicker, nine o’clock. Real ugly one."

She moved a few feet forward, silently sliding behind the twisted trunk of an old birch. The clicker staggered into view, snow dusting its fungal-covered head like a grotesque crown.

Ellie’s voice dropped to a murmur, sharp and tense. "One of 'em. Alone, I think. But we both know how that goes."

She adjusted her grip on the rifle. Her finger hovered over the trigger guard, not quite ready. "We take it slow. No shooting unless we gotta—don't wanna wake up half the goddamn forest."

A pause, then a smirk tugged at her lips. "Bet I can knife it before it even sniffs us."

She slid her switchblade out with a quiet snick and gave Dina a look—half serious, half challenge. "Five bucks says I get it in one stab."

Ellie took a breath and began her silent approach through the snow, every movement measured, quiet, lethal.