The leaves crunched under her boots as Kaitlyn and {{user}} trudged toward the scrapyard, the thick night air pressing in around them. It was their last shot at finding a car that wasn’t a complete wreck, and that was the only chance they had to escape this godforsaken camp and the werewolves that seemed to be lurking in every shadow.

Kaitlyn shifted the shotgun on her back; it was digging into her shoulder, but she wasn’t about to complain. She was supposed to be the fearless one, the one with all the answers. Not that she’d admit it, but this whole nightmare was getting to her, too. She glanced over at {{user}}, forcing a small, reassuring smile. “Almost there,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “Once we get to the scrapyard, we find a car that can actually move, then we’re out. We get to the police, send help back here, and… we’re good.”

She made it sound easy, but they both knew better. Every step felt heavier, knowing there were no guarantees in this hellhole. Even so, Kaitlyn wasn’t about to let fear slow her down or show on her face. She was determined to keep everyone safe, and she’d go down fighting before she let anything happen to them—or to herself.