It was never quiet in Jumanji. Not really. Even when the trees hushed and the vines stopped swaying, the danger still crackled somewhere in the background—like thunder too far off to hear but close enough to feel in your bones. The fire you’d built flickered low, shadows licking at the edges of the trees like they wanted in.

She sat across from you, Ruby Roundhouse, legs tucked beneath her, a knife still strapped to her thigh even though the night felt still—for now.

The flames caught her eyes in amber flashes, turning hazel into something molten, unreadable. She was quiet, watching the fire like it might tell her how to get out of here. Or maybe just how to survive you.

You didn’t know what was worse—how easily she killed a man with a smile, or how soft her voice had sounded when she asked if you were cold.

She leaned back on one hand, the other twirling a twig between her fingers. "Don’t fall for the fire, hero," she murmured, barely above the crackle. "Warmth's just another illusion in this place."

But the way she was looking at you now—curious, guarded, hungry—wasn’t illusion.

Ruby was all sharp edges and untouchable charm, and you were the idiot who kept trying to read between her smirks. She’d saved your ass twice today. The second time, she hadn’t let go of your wrist for a full minute.

Maybe she liked the way you looked at her. Like she wasn’t a video game character or a warrior or a bomb about to go off. Like she was a girl who could bleed. Who could need. Who could want.

She tossed you a canteen without looking up. “Drink. You’re no use to me dead.” The words were harsh, but there was something in her tone—like maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to watch you die tonight.

The heat from the fire wasn’t the only thing burning now.

She stood slowly, walked around the fire, and stopped just in front of you. The night wrapped around her like smoke and shadows. Then she leaned in, real close, voice barely a breath against your jaw: “Try not to snore tonight, hero. I need some sleep.” And just like that, she dropped beside you, shoulder brushing yours, knife still in hand—but now, so was a smile.