Eric's POV
My chest was heaving with anger, a feeling so strong it made my head throb. Sofia's apology was a whisper in the wind, a tiny sound that couldn't possibly drown out the thunderous echo of my frustration. I didn't turn to face her, didn't want to see her tear-filled eyes. I just stared into the flames, watching them dance and spit, mirroring the rage boiling inside me.
How could she be so careless? I had told her to be quiet, a simple, fundamental rule of survival in this world. And what did she do? She knocked over a jar, a stupid, useless jar that wasn't even worth the risk. My mind replayed the scene in the supermarket, the sickening crash, the immediate twitching of those creatures' appendages, the frantic chase. We'd been so close to getting a decent haul of supplies. Instead, we got nothing and almost got ourselves killed.
I felt her standing behind me, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. The air was thick with it, heavier than the backpacks we'd just abandoned in our desperate flight. She was a liability, and it was a reality I was finding harder and harder to ignore.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm raging inside me. This was the first time her carelessness had put us in danger, and it is the most egregious. I felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. I was the one who had to protect us, the one who had to make the hard decisions. And right now, the only decision I could make was to put some distance between us. I couldn't trust her to watch my back, not after today.
I finally turned around, the firelight illuminating her tear-streaked face. The sight didn't soften me, it only hardened my resolve. I needed to make her understand the gravity of her mistake, to ensure it never happened again. But words felt hollow, inadequate. I couldn't find a way to articulate the terror I'd felt as those creatures chased us, the certainty that this was it, that this was how it all ended.
I just shook my head, a single, definitive motion. I walked past her, not meeting her gaze, and went to our makeshift bed. I lay down, my back to her, and pulled the thin blanket over me. The silence returned, more crushing than before. The crackling fire was the only sound, a constant, flickering reminder of my seething anger. I could feel her presence across the cave, a quiet, mournful ghost.
I was done talking. Done explaining. Done with the apologies that meant nothing. Tonight, there was only the cold, hard reality of our situation, and the chilling truth that we were only as strong as our weakest link.
The chill of the cave felt deeper than usual, seeping into the spaces between my anger and my exhaustion. The blanket offered little comfort, a thin barrier against both the cold stone beneath me and the cold silence behind me. Every crackle of the fire was a tiny, sharp punctuation mark in the story of our failure. I tried to close my mind to it all, to retreat into the fortress of sleep, but my thoughts were a relentless, circling horde.
I replayed the chase again, the metallic scent of rust and blood in the air, the grotesque skittering of those things on the cracked pavement. I remembered the sickening certainty that this was the end, a wave of terror so profound it had left me breathless. It wasn't just the fear of dying; it was the fear of dying because of a careless mistake. A stupid, avoidable, unforgivable mistake.
Behind me, I heard a soft rustle, a sniffle quickly stifled. She was still there, a monument to her own remorse, but it did nothing to soothe my rage. Her tears were a selfish indulgence. They were about her guilt, not about the fear she had put me through. I wanted to yell at her, to scream about the reality she didn't seem to grasp, but I knew it would be useless. She would just cry harder, apologize again, and nothing would change.
Hours passed. The fire dwindled to embers, and the cave grew colder. I felt the familiar ache of hunger in my gut, a constant companion in this world. The supplies we'd abandoned were likely scavenged by now, a bitter thought. I had to get up, had to check the perimeter, had to make sure the fire didn't go out completely. These were the things that kept us alive, the small, constant acts of vigilance that she seemed to take for granted.
I sat up, the motion a jolt of finality in the quiet room. Sofia sat hunched by the last of the firelight, her face hidden in her knees. I didn't say a word. I just went to the pile of scavenged wood, grabbed a few pieces, and stoked the fire. The flames leaped back to life, casting dancing shadows on the walls of our temporary home. She didn't look up, didn't acknowledge my presence. The silence was heavier than ever, a tangible, suffocating weight.
As I watched the fire, a new thought began to take hold, cold and sharp. It wasn't just about this one mistake. It was about a pattern, a series of near-misses and close calls. This wasn't a partnership like I thought it would have been, it was a burden. It felt like I was the only soldier, and she was the civilian I had to protect.
The truth was a bitter pill to swallow. We couldn't go on like this. The next time, there might not be a way to run. The next time, the creatures would be faster, the chase would be shorter, and our luck would finally run out. A hard decision had to be made, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was the one who had to make it.
I finally turned to look at her. Her small frame was a stark contrast to the vast, brutal world outside. She was a ghost of the person I used to know, the person who had once been my equal. The truth settled in me, a cold, hard stone.
"I can't do this anymore, Sofia," I said, my voice low and rough with disuse. The words felt like they were scraped from the bottom of a dry well. "Not like this. Not with you."