Outside, the wind claws at the boards, but inside Lottie’s hut a small fire burns low—just enough to paint everything in amber. You sit near it, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the way the flames shift. Your stomach aches from another day of not eating much, but you can’t bring yourself to care. The silence feels safer than speaking.

You don’t hear her come in until the door creaks.

“Hey,” Lottie says softly. Her voice breaks the stillness without shattering it. She closes the curtain behind her, moving closer until the firelight catches in her hair. “You haven’t eaten today.”

You keep your eyes on the flames. “Not hungry.”

She lowers herself beside you, the floorboards creaking under her weight. For a moment she just watches the fire too, hands folded in her lap. Then, gently: “You don’t have to pretend it’s fine.”

You swallow hard. “It’s not pretending. It’s just… easier this way.”

Lottie nods like she understands. She leans forward, elbows on her knees. “When everything starts to go dark,” she murmurs, “I know that feeling. Like you could vanish and no one would notice.” She glances at you then, eyes soft and steady. “But I would notice.”

The words hit deeper in the quiet. The only sound is the crackle of the fire and the wind outside.

“Why?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

She exhales, slow and even. “Because you matter. Because I see you trying to disappear, and I won’t let you.”

Your throat tightens. “You can’t fix it.”

“I’m not trying to,” she says. “I just want to sit here with you until you remember you’re not alone.”

You nod once, staring at the flickering orange light. She doesn’t push or fill the silence; she just stays close enough that her shoulder brushes yours. The small, grounding contact keeps you tethered.

After a while she reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a bit of dried fruit wrapped in cloth. She offers it wordlessly.

“Just a bite,” she says quietly. “For me.”

You take it, chew slowly. The taste is faint and sweet, and for the first time in days, something in you unclenches.

Lottie leans back, gaze fixed on the flames. “You don’t have to talk,” she murmurs. “You can just… sit here. Let the world be quiet for a while.”

And that’s what you do. The two of you stay like that—side by side in the glow of the fire—until your eyelids grow heavy.