You were already fraying at the edges—had been for days. Sleep hadn’t helped. Food tasted like ash. Everyone’s been whispering, and the walls feel too close.

Then Lottie came looking for you.

You don’t even remember what she said, really. Something soft. Something meant to help.

And you snapped.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? With all your whispers and your visions? You don’t know what the fuck I’m dealing with, Lottie.”

She froze mid-step, her hands slightly raised—not defensive, just still.

“I was just checking on you,” she said. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah? Well don’t. Just—go bother someone else.”

And she did.

No argument. No guilt-trip. She just nodded, once, and walked away, her mouth in that unreadable, nearly-hurt line you’d seen a few times before.

But that was hours ago.

Night falls.

The camp has settled into cold, uneven silence. The wind groans in the trees. Firelight from the main cabin flickers far away.

You’re standing outside her hut now, heart in your throat, fists clenched at your sides.

You step in.

She’s lying on her bedroll, half-awake. Her eyes open when you enter, but she doesn’t move.

She just watches.