The fire burns low, casting flickering shadows against worn faces. Five tents. Ten people. Nowhere near enough supplies. We should’ve left hours ago, but exhaustion weighs heavier than fear tonight.

"We need to stretch the last can," Mara says, turning the dented metal over in her hands. "No telling when we’ll find more."

"Or we could just eat dirt," Felix mutters, lying back with his arms behind his head. "Probably has more nutrients."

A few chuckles break the silence, thin and tired. The kind that doesn’t reach the eyes. I stay quiet, watching the embers crackle and shift.

"We’ll figure it out in the morning," Sam says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. His voice is firm, but I can hear the fatigue in it. "Get some rest while we can."

No one moves. We all know sleep won’t come easy.

A small bag of dried fruit sails across the fire, landing near my boot. I glance up, but no one claims it. Just a silent offering. A quiet understanding.

I pick it up, rolling it between my fingers before popping a piece into my mouth. It’s stale. Tasteless.

Tomorrow, we move. Same as always.