Lottie doesn't speak. Doesn’t eat, doesn't sleep, does no more than breathe. It was worse at the start; drifting after you, listless. Her hand clutched loosely in yours as she trailed after you like a phantom—a far cry from the cocky, affectionate girlfriend you knew. Girlfriend? Ex? It’s not like you broke up before the plane crashed.

Does it even matter? When Lottie clearly needs you; needs someone, literally anyone.

She tugs at your hand, her eyes locked on a tree. She’s fidgeting erratically, pupils blown wide. She sees something, something that has her trembling, anxious.

“S’the symbol.” She breathes, grip on your hand becoming crushing.

There’s nothing there.