Ellie shivered as she huddled near the small flame burning low in the old fireplace. The flames barely flickered, kept intentionally weak to make the light less visible from outside.

  The air inside the cabin was biting cold, and with only two emergency thermal blankets between the three of them, they had no choice but to crowd together for warmth.

  Joel was passed out, one blanket covering his body, while Ellie and James bunched together awkwardly under the second—a flimsy, crinkling sheet meant for one person, not two.

  They’d managed to grab most of their food and medical supplies before fleeing, but packing up their tents had been out of the question. One of the men they'd fought had escaped, and they had no idea how many more might come looking for them.

  Sticking around had been suicide.

  Luckily, they'd stumbled across this two-story cabin, hidden deep in the woods. Ellie knew it was stupid to hole up in such an obvious landmark, but the cold outside had been unforgiving, and they had no choice.

  Surprisingly, the house was still intact—no broken windows, minimal rot, thick layers of dust and cobwebs cloaking every surface.

  It felt... untouched. Forgotten by time.

  Before settling in, she and James had smashed a few old bottles and spread the broken glass across the doorways—a crude warning system in case anything, or anyone, tried to sneak up on them during the night.

  Ellie sighed, her breath misting in front of her face.

  Trying to sleep was hard enough without her mind racing a thousand miles an hour.

  Beside her, James snorted in his sleep, shifting under the blanket.

  Ellie turned her head and deadpanned at him.

  Well, she thought dryly, for normal people, at least.

  She found herself watching him for a moment—his face slack, peaceful in a way that almost looked innocent.

  Then her stomach twisted, and she turned away sharply, uncomfortable.

  That smile he’d worn earlier—the one while killing those men—still lingered in her mind like a bad aftertaste.

  It wasn’t that she was upset he had killed them. Far from it. She knew better than anyone that survival demanded hard choices.

  It was the joy she’d seen on his face that unsettled her.

  When Ellie had taken her first life, she’d nearly vomited right there—the image had clung to her for weeks, seeping into her nightmares, clawing at her whenever she tried to sleep.

  But James?

  She stole another glance at him.

  Sleeping soundly, like nothing weighed on him at all.

  She loved him like a brother, she really did. But deep down, she had known from the very first time she saw him smash an infected’s skull with a wide, thrilled grin—

  Something inside him was broken.

  Irreparably.

  Sure, everyone was broken in their own way nowadays.

  But James... James was different.

  He wasn’t stoic like Joel, bottling everything up.

  He wasn’t angry at the world, or cruel, or hollow.

  If anything, James loved life—even this ruined, brutal version of it.

  He cared when they had to kill animals for food, sometimes lingering over the bodies with genuine sadness.

  Which was exactly why it was always so jarring when that other side of him slipped through—

  That side that smiled while killing.

  That side that didn’t seem burdened by guilt.

  Ellie shivered again, pulling the thin blanket tighter around herself.

  Subconsciously, she realized—no matter how much she cared for James, part of her was afraid of what lurked beneath his easygoing exterior.

  Her eyes flicked sideways, landing on the pistol resting on the ground beside them.

  The pistol.

  She stared at it for a long moment.

  Where had James gotten it?

  One second he hadn’t had a weapon, and then she blinked and it was there, as if conjured from thin air.

  And that gun...

  It looked awfully familiar.

  Too familiar.

  Ellie’s mind raced.

  Hadn't that been the same pistol James was carrying when the Lanterns captured them?

  The one that had mysteriously vanished?

  She’d thought he had tossed it, or hidden it somewhere. Ellie had honestly forgot about it.

  But now... now she wasn’t so sure.

  Before she could finish untangling the thought, a soft gasp snapped her attention to the side.

  Joel was awake.

  A groggy grunt broke the silence. Joel’s face contorted with discomfort as he pushed himself upright, one hand pressed against his wounded shoulder.

  "Shit," he muttered under his breath, blinking against the flickering shadows cast by the fire.

  Ellie turned toward him, keeping her voice low. “You’re awake.”

  Joel didn’t respond right away, just breathed heavily for a few seconds, clearly in pain. Then his eyes scanned the room, his instincts kicking in even through the fog of injury. “Where are we?”

  “A cabin in the woods,” Ellie replied quietly, hugging the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Two-story. Found it after we bailed. We couldn’t grab the tents—one of them ran, and we didn’t wanna stick around to see who he’d bring back.”

  Joel’s jaw clenched. “One of ’em got away?”

  Ellie nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

  “Then they’ll come back for us,” Joel said bluntly, eyes narrowing as he looked around the room.

  Ellie didn’t respond at first. She looked down, the fire crackling softly in the silence between them. Finally, she asked, “How’re you feeling?”

  Joel exhaled sharply. “Been better.

  He shifted to get a better look at the surroundings, his eyes falling on the glitter of broken glass in the doorway. He gave a single approving nod, then began pushing himself to his feet.

  “What are you doing?” Ellie whispered, alarmed. “You’re hurt.”

  Joel grunted as he stood up, bracing himself against the wall. “I’ll live. They’re gonna come. Someone needs to be ready when they do.”

  Ellie opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a look—one she knew all too well. Stubborn. Final.

  “You get some rest,” Joel said, grabbing his revolver and making his way quietly down the stairs. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Ellie sat in silence as his footsteps faded below. She stared at the fire, heart racing despite the calm. Outside, the night was still.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But only for a little while, she could feel it in her gut. If those bandits had reinforcements, they wouldn’t wait for an opportunity like they did last time.

  They were coming.

  .-.-.-.-.-.-.

  CRACK!

  A sharp burst echoed through the cabin, waking Ellie with a jolt. Her hand shot out, fumbling for her rifle as her pulse spiked. Another shot rang out—closer this time—followed by a yell from outside.

  James was already moving. He’d rolled off the floor and snatched up the pistol by the fire in a fluid motion, eyes wide and focused.

  “Gunshots,” Ellie said, not needing to whisper anymore. Her voice was tight with urgency.

  “I heard,” James said quickly, pulling on his boots in seconds. “Let’s go!”

  The two bolted toward the stairs. The floor creaked beneath their weight as they ran through the upstairs hallway, the chill of the air forgotten in the rush of adrenaline. Ellie’s fingers clenched around the cold steel of her rifle as they reached the narrow corridor lined with dusty picture frames and peeling wallpaper.

  As they moved, James glanced toward a foggy window on the side wall. Something outside caught his eye—he froze.

  Ellie skidded to a halt behind him. “What—?”

  James didn’t speak. His eyes were locked on the sight outside. Five figures—men—emerged from the tree line, shadows dancing in the moonlight. They were close. Too close. One of them pulled something from a satchel—glass bottles. A rag was being stuffed into the necks.

  His eyes widened.

  “Molotovs!” he shouted, spinning. “Down—!”

  Before Ellie could even react, James shoved her hard. She stumbled backward, off-balance, just as the first bottle arced through the air. It shattered the glass and landed in the halfway with a woosh of fire. Another came flying in after it.

  Ellie let out a yell as she tumbled down the stairs, her rifle clattering from her grasp and bouncing against the wood. She landed hard at the bottom, her back slamming against the railing post. Smoke stung her eyes instantly.

  Upstairs, the second molotov exploded just feet from James. The sight made him jump back, tripping over something on the ground and flying backward through an open doorway. He crashed to the floor of what looked like a child’s bedroom—still decorated with faded posters of cartoon characters, stuffed animals long forgotten in the corners.

  He coughed violently as smoke flooded into the room, the air thick with burning dust and gasoline. Flames licked at the hallway just beyond the door. The fire cast long, jittery shadows across the walls, illuminating a tiny bed with pink sheets scorched from the blast. A dresser was already catching fire.

  James rolled to his feet, ignoring the pain in his side. He pressed his back against the scorched wall and took in quick, shallow breaths.

  The house was going up fast.

  And outside, more shadows were moving—closing in.

  He barely had time to react as a man opened a window and climbed through, somehow making it up to the second story.

  James didn’t waste a second, quickly raising his pistol and firing three shots into the bastard.

  Currency 103(+10)

  He breathed out, trying to calm his racing heart.

  Ellie! He thought in a panic, remembering her pained grunt as she fell down the stairs.

  He turned to try and get to her but was caught off guard by a man in the doorway, already rushing James in a full sprint, ready to tackle him.

  He brought up his gun to shoot the fucker but wasn’t fast enough, getting shoulder checked by the large man.

  James barely has time to grunt before he’s slammed to the floor, his breath forced from his lungs as his gun clattered on the ground. The weight of the man on top of him is crushing, but there’s no time to think. A glint of steel flashes in the dim, burning glow of the fire, and James instantly reacts—his right hand shoots up, catching the attacker’s wrist just as the knife plunges toward his throat.

  The man snarls, bearing down with all his strength, muscles straining as the blade inches closer. James grits his teeth, and brings his other hand up to help push the knife away from his throat, sweat beading on his forehead. His grip is firm, but the bastard is bigger, stronger, and older. The bandit brings his other hand on the knife and uses it to press the knife down harder, forcing it closer, closer—

  Think. Move.

  Time slows. The fire crackles. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of blood.

  Then, an idea.

  James suddenly lets his arm go slack. The shift in resistance throws the attacker off, his weight lurching forward with the unexpected momentum. In that split second, James twists his body, narrowly dodging the blade as it slices a sharp, burning line across his cheek.

  Ignoring the pain, he mentally calls his inventory, fingers closing around the hilt of his knife.

  In a blur, the blade appears in his grip. Before the raider can recover, James drives it into his throat.

  The man’s eyes widen in shock, a wet, choking gurgle escaping his lips as blood spills over James’ hand, dribbling down his wrist. He convulses, fingers twitching, before his body slackens completely. James shoves him off, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline-fueled breaths.

  Currency 113(+10).

  Pushing himself to his feet, James quickly scans the burning remains of the cabin. The fire flickers wildly, casting dancing shadows along the charred walls. He takes a step toward his gun on the ground—

  A scream of rage cuts through the air.

  James spins, knife raised. A second raider bursts through the window, eyes instantly locking onto the corpse at James’ feet. Grief twists his face into something feral, something murderous. He grips a machete tight in his fist.

  They stand there for a heartbeat, flames roaring around them, smoke curling in thick tendrils toward the ceiling as they stare at each other.

  Then they move.

  James rushes him as the man brings his machete to the ready.

  The man’s focus is on the knife in James’ left hand. James sees it. Uses it.

  He lunges forward, feigning an overhead swing. The raider flinches, pivoting to dodge—exactly what James wanted.

  At the last second, James fakes the swing, letting his arm overextend in an exaggerated miss. The raider takes the bait, roaring as he swings his machete in a deadly arc, aiming for the opening.

  But James is already ahead of him.

  With a feral grin, he ducks low, slipping beneath the horizontal swing. In the same motion, his left hand flicks, dismissing the knife back into his inventory.

  Then, with a flicker of motion—The blade reappears in his right hand.

  Before the raider can process what just happened, James is already driving the knife deep into his throat.

  The man chokes, a gurgling gasp escaping as James pushes all his weight into the stab. Blood gushes from the wound as he wrenches the blade sideways, dragging it through muscle and windpipe before ripping it free.

  The raider collapses, dead before he even hits the floor.

  Currency 123(+10).

  James watched the body collapse to the ground, his breath ragged, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins. A slow, satisfied grin curled across his face.

  Around him, the fire roared—angry, alive, devouring everything it touched. The heat licked at his skin as he forced himself upright, grabbing his pistol off the floor. He turned toward the door, ready to make his escape, but the hallway was already swallowed by flames. Smoke billowed through the gaps, and the doorway crackled with violent heat. The fire was spreading inside the room too, fast and merciless.

  If he stayed, he’d burn.

  James spun toward the window.

  It was his only chance, but he had no idea how many men were still outside.

  “Fuck it,” he muttered.

  He rushed to the window and peeked through the grime-smeared glass. Nothing. Just smoke and orange light spilling across the trees.

  He took a deep breath and vaulted through, landing on a narrow support beam clinging to the side of the cabin—probably the same way the raiders had climbed up. Without hesitation, he jumped again, landing in the snow with a soft thud. The heat from the housefire bathed the clearing in a flickering glow.

  He rose and scanned the area, ears straining.

  No more gunshots.

  No shouting.

  Just the crackle of burning wood.

  Where were Ellie and Joel?

  Had they made it out?

  Should he go back in and look for them? Or disappear into the woods and hope they’d already escaped?

  His mind raced, torn between decisions—

  Crack.

  A violent force slammed into his back, like getting hit by a sledgehammer. The breath was knocked clean out of him. He staggered, blinking, and looked down to see blood soaking through his shirt.

  Crack.

  Another shot rang out.

  His chest exploded in agony, blood spurting from the fresh wound and painting the snow in crimson.

  James turned slowly, vision tunneling—and saw him.

  The man who had wanted to rape Ellie.

  The one who escaped into the woods.

  He was no longer wearing that sick, smug grin.

  His face was twisted in rage, eyes locked on James like a predator savoring the moment.

  Darkness crept into the corners of James’ vision. His knees buckled.

  And the last thing he saw before the world faded was that bastard’s face.

  .-.-.-.-.-.-.

  Ten yards away, hidden in the dense brush, Joel held Ellie tightly, one hand clamped over her mouth as she thrashed in his grip.

  She was screaming beneath his hand, her muffled cries full of anguish and fury, tears streaking down her face.

  They had escaped the burning house and fled into the woods—but James hadn’t been with them. They circled back to search for him.

  And now they were too late.

  Joel’s stomach sank as he watched James crumple under the gunfire.

  He should’ve been used to this by now.

  But it never got easier.

  He felt Ellie trembling in his arms, pure rage burning in her eyes. She kicked and clawed at him, desperate to break free, to charge into the open, to avenge him.

  But Joel couldn’t let that happen.

  She’d be running straight to her death.

  Those men were still armed, and numerous. He spotted another ten circle around the house, crowding around the boy.

  He held her tighter, dragging her back into the darkness of the forest as quietly as he could. Her fury only intensified, but Joel didn’t loosen his grip.

  He had to get her out.

  Had to keep her alive.

  Even as his heart cracked again—just when he thought it might’ve begun to heal.

  James was gone.

  And all that mattered now was getting Ellie to the Fireflies.

  .-.-.-.-.-.

  “…Basta… …ive…”

  “…Wh…re do…?”

  “…Kill… th…kid…”

  James’s thoughts swam through a fog. It felt like his head was underwater, voices warped and distant.

  Then—clearer this time:

  “No. Take him back to the camp.”

  Darkness claimed him again.