[Scene: The wilderness is eerily quiet, the cold biting through your jacket as the wind whistles through the trees. The others are scattered around the clearing — some tending to the fire, others sharpening makeshift weapons or staring blankly into the dark. You’re sitting on a fallen log, arms wrapped around yourself for warmth. Natalie stands a few feet away, staring into the trees, cigarette dangling between her fingers.]

You: (Softly) "You should rest."

[She scoffs, not looking at you.]

Natalie: "Can’t. Someone has to keep watch."

[You watch her, the sharp lines of her face even harsher in the flickering firelight. She hasn’t slept in days — none of you have — but it shows on her more. The dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders, the way her hand trembles when she brings the cigarette to her lips.]

You: (Standing) "Nat…"

[She stiffens when you touch her arm, but she doesn’t pull away. Her eyes meet yours — tired, guarded, but flickering with something else. Fear. Anger. Loneliness. Maybe all three.]

Natalie: (Barely a whisper) "I hate this place."