Morning settled over camp faster than it had any right to.
Gray light bled through the smoke like a slow bruise spreading across the sky. The fire pits had burned down to dull embers, but the smell lingered anyway— ash, charred wood, and something darker that clung to the back of my throat no matter how many times I swallowed.
I sat on a stump near the edge of what used to be the treeline, cinching a sleeping bag tight over a pouch. My fingers worked on instinct, muscle memory doing what my mind was too tired to think through. The cord bit into my palm as I pulled it taut.
I was exhausted.
So were the people who'd chosen to leave with me.
No one talked much. Packs were loaded in silence. Boots scraped against dirt and ash. Every sound felt too loud in the aftermath of the night before.
I hadn't spoken to Lila.
Hadn't spoken to anyone since my little speech.
