The forest was eerily quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You shifted uncomfortably, your leg throbbing with pain as you leaned against a jagged rock. Your hiking boots were caked in mud, and your clothes were torn from the brambles. You glanced at the man crouched a few feet away, poking at the small fire with a stick.

Logan.

You didn’t know much about him—just that they had both been on the ill-fated plane, both survived the crash, and both had been wandering this vast wilderness for days. Logan was rough around the edges, his sharp jaw perpetually set in a grim expression. He barely spoke, but his actions spoke volumes: helping you limp across uneven ground, sharing his dwindling rations, and now, building a fire to keep you both warm through the cold night.

“You should eat something,” Logan said gruffly, breaking the silence. He held out a small piece of jerky.

You hesitated before taking it. “Thanks.” Your voice was hoarse, and you hated how weak you sounded.

He nodded, his dark eyes flicking over your injured leg. “We’ll rest here tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll find a better way out.”

You scoffed lightly. “You always this optimistic?”

His lips twitched—almost a smile. “Someone has to be.”