He turned as if that was the end of the discussion.
For a moment, she thought about staying put. Staying safe. Quiet. Away from him.
But then she remembered the guys. The way they laughed. The way they looked at her.
Her fingers tightened around the first aid box. "Wait."
He paused mid-step.
"I'm coming with you," she said, getting up quickly—maybe too quickly. Her legs protested, but she brushed it off. "I don't want to take any chances."
He didn't say anything, just nodded shortly and kept walking, knowing she would follow.
And she did.
He didn't even pause. He kept walking ahead, not bothering to look back.
She really should've just stayed at the cabin and let him hunt by himself. The idea of waiting around, feeling exposed if those guys came back…
Her leg hurt with every step. She kept getting snagged by branches. He moved through the woods like it was part of him. Quiet. Deadly. Untouchable.
But her? She felt like a whole marching band.
Snap. Crunch. Rustle.
The forest looked totally different at dusk—dark, quiet, and full of hidden secrets in every shadow. He moved effortlessly between the trees, like he had every path memorized. She was scrambling to keep up, trying not to trip over the tangled roots and the branches that seemed to whisper her name.
He glanced back at her, his eyes shining even in the fading light. "Step where I step."
"I'm not trained," she whispered, feeling out of her depth.
"Obviously," he shot back, a smirk playing on his lips before he turned and continued navigating the growing darkness.
She couldn't believe his arrogance. It made her want to smack him, but instead, she bit her tongue and followed along, making sure her boots pressed into his tracks.
They trudged along in mostly silence, the only sound being the occasional rustle of something hiding in the bushes. The air felt heavy with the smell of damp earth and pine, and the sky above blended into soft shades of green and grey.
After a while, he suddenly stopped and crouched down low. He motioned for her to do the same. Heart racing, she dropped beside him, feeling a rush of adrenaline.
That's when she spotted it.
A deer. Slim and graceful, it was gently bending down to drink from the stream. Her heart tightened at how beautiful and innocent it looked, a quiet moment in the middle of everything else.
But then he raised his rifle, and the mood shifted.
Bam!
The forest erupted with the gunshot.
The deer lay still, lifeless, its ears still twitching.
He turned his head slowly, his voice a whisper of steel. He lowered the rifle as if nothing had happened. Calm, cold, and controlled, he said, "Out here, it's do this or starve."
She gasped, feeling her stomach drop and her lips part. "You don't have to—"
She stood there, frozen, hardly breathing.
He said, "Come."
When they got there, the deer looked completely still, almost like it had just settled down to take a nap and never woke up.
He knelt by the body, pulled a knife free, and, without hesitation, he cut the throat. The sound made bile rise in her throat. Flesh. Blood. Muscle. Ripped apart under steady hands. She feels nauseous.
He was completely focused, just going about his job without overthinking or wasting any movements, his hands moving with confidence. He tackled everything methodically, cutting, skinning, cleaning, and separating, as if it were just another everyday task. There was no hint of cruelty in his actions, just a clear sense of purpose.
She looked at him in shock. "You're so mean," she said quietly. "How can you even do this?"
He glanced at her, totally unbothered. "Because I have to."
"No, you chose to. You don't even care," she whispered, filled with dread.
He looked up and locked eyes with her. "I care enough not to waste what we have. You came with me to stay safe. You want shelter and food, but you don't really want to get what it takes to make that happen."
"That's not cool," she replied.
He held her gaze, intense and steady. "Nope, it's not. But out here, life isn't fair, and nature doesn't care if you think I'm harsh."
She bit her cheek, feeling a mix of anger and something else she couldn't quite name. His words weren't mean—they were just… real. Too real.
Glancing down at the deer again, she noticed how beautiful it looked, even in death.
"I didn't grow up like this," she said quietly, recalling something from her past.
"I figured that's why you need to pick things up quickly." He said quietly.
A few minutes later, he stood up and tied the meat inside a dark canvas sack. Blood still stained his hands.
He made three bags. He was holding two, while the last one was meant for her.
His voice was flat and firm. "Carry it."
He wasn't trying to boss her around; he just wanted her to face the facts and learn to make it in the forest.
Her eyes went wide. "What?"
"Carry. It."
She shook her head. "But it's—"
"Heavy?" His tone became sharper. "Exactly. Maybe then you'll grasp what it really takes to survive."
She wanted to scream, to fight, to throw the bag right back at him. But instead, she bent down and picked it up, her arms shaking from the weight. The metallic smell clung to her, making it hard to breathe.
He turned and started walking ahead, never bothering to check if she could keep up. She stumbled along in the shadows, knowing she didn't have much choice. If she wanted to make it through this, she had to do whatever he said. They walked in silence, but it felt different this time—she wasn't just trailing behind some random guy. She was tagging along with someone from a whole other world. And somehow, she was part of it now.
They kept moving quietly, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves under their feet and the occasional rustling of animals hiding nearby. There was something about his movements that made it seem like the forest was his domain. He was the predator here, and everything else was just passing through.
By the time they got back to the cabin, it was completely dark. The forest around them buzzed with distant howls, but the guy in front seemed totally at home, shoulders back and walking like nothing from today had bothered him.