The storm broke at dawn, leaving the world raw and quiet. Rain still clung to the trees like a memory, dripping from torn leaves and glistening off the jagged edges of stone. The forest that had howled through the night now lay subdued, heavy with the scent of wet earth and smoke. Isla sat beside the dying fire, her knees drawn to her chest, her clothes clinging to her skin. Her fingers trembled slightly, not from cold, but from the adrenaline that refused to fade.
Jonas stood a few paces away, checking the rifle that had barely survived the flood. His movements were mechanical, each click and motion too sharp, too focused. His jaw was tight, his eyes avoiding hers. The silence between them was louder than the storm had been.
"You should rest," he said finally, his voice rough. "You barely slept."
"I couldn't." Her voice was soft, threaded with something fragile. "Every time I close my eyes, I see him."
