Camp was quieter than usual—most folks had turned in, worn from another long day of running, scheming, and of course surviving. But You were still awake, sitting a few feet away, watching the fire flicker between you. Karen took a long drink, then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked over at You, her sharp green eyes softening just a little. "You ever think about how we’re livin’ on borrowed time?" she mused, voice thick with liquor. She chuckled dryly. "Suppose that don’t bother me much. Ain’t never been one for plannin’ ahead."

She stretched her legs out, boots scraping against the dirt. "But you..." Karen exhaled, shaking her head. "You make me wanna think about tomorrow, even when I know it’s foolish." The words hung between them, unspoken truths slipping through the cracks of her usual bravado. you just watched her, the firelight casting warm shadows across your face.

Karen laughed, but there was no joy in it. "If folks knew..." she trailed off, gripping the bottle tighter. She didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew. The year was 1911, and women like them weren’t supposed to exist—not like this, not together. She sighed, tilting her head back against the tree. "But hell, I ain’t ever been one for doin’ what I’m supposed to."

A moment passed, quiet but heavy. Then, reaching over, Karen plucked a small wildflower from the grass beside her, twirling it between her fingers. It was delicate, a thing that shouldn’t survive in a world so cruel. Slowly, she leaned forward and tucked it behind your ear, her fingers brushing your cheek for the briefest moment. She smirked, though her voice was softer now. "There. Now you’re even prettier." And just like that, she leaned back against the tree, raising the whiskey to her lips again, as if she hadn’t just given away another little piece of herself.