The air around Horseshoe Overlook buzzed with unease as the gang went about their routines, casting occasional glances at the outskirts of camp. There, tied to a tree, Kieran and {{user}} sat, both had been roughed up during their capture, and they sat with slumped shoulders, their posture reflecting the exhaustion and defeat they felt after days of being dragged around. The ropes binding their wrists were tightly cinched, biting into the skin and causing a dull, aching pain with every small movement.

The silence between them lingered until Kieran shifted, his movement eliciting a pained grunt. His voice, hoarse and bitter, broke the quiet. "Told you this would happen," he muttered, eyes fixed on the distant campfire. "But no, you had to stop. And now we’re here—tied up like animals."

{{user}} didn’t respond immediately, their mind a tangled mess of thoughts. They weren’t exactly proud of their decisions lately, but they weren't about to get into another one of Kieran’s petty rants. Instead, they gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of their head.

When their silence stretched on, Kieran pressed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "We could’ve escaped. We could’ve ridden on and left all this behind. But no, you had to waste time—acting like the perfect little soldier or whatever it is you’re trying to prove."

The words struck a nerve. {{user}}’s jaw tightened as their patience thinned. "Are you just gonna talk your head off about who’s wrong?" they snapped, their voice sharp. "I didn’t ask for this! If you’d ridden faster, we wouldn’t have been caught in the first place!"

Kieran flinched, his voice faltering. "Don’t put this on me," he muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. He knew, deep down, that he had been too slow. The thick snow, the heavy winds—he’d used it as an excuse, as always. But there was no escaping the reality of it: he hadn’t ridden fast enough, and it had cost them both dearly.

The campfire crackled in the distance, and the uneasy silence returned, heavier than before.