“He killed him.” The words come out flat. No point dancing around it. “The reverend had a knife. Would’ve killed me if Julien hadn’t?—”
Amelia’s hand finds mine under the table. “Dakota.”
“I’m okay.” I squeeze her fingers, then release them to take a drink of water that tastes like rust from old pipes. “We got out. Found supplies. Made it here.”
“That’s the Wikipedia summary,” Sienna says. “What about the director’s cut?”
“That is the director’s cut.”
PG-13. Without the part where his fingers slid inside me by firelight. Or how I fell asleep against his body, safe for the first time in forever. Or how the cabin felt like home in a way no place ever has.
“Was he kind to you?” Amelia’s eyes are fixed on her barely-touched plate.
“Who, Julien?” I blink at her. “Yeah. He was… fine. He was fine.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drifts across the room to where he sits.
I follow.
Ramirez joined his table. Julian’s explaining something, hands moving as he sketches invisible diagrams in the air. Defense positions, probably. Or patrol routes.
As if sensing my attention, his head turns. Our eyes meet across the crowded room, and everything else fades—the chatter, the scraping chairs, even Sienna’s knowing smirk. Pain flashes across his features before he shutters it, and I look away first.
“I’m just glad you’re both okay,” Sienna says. “Cam was worried sick about his brother. Almost went after you himself,but Rosa stopped him.” She leans closer, voice dropping. “Honestly, she’s kind of terrifying. In a good way.”
“She is.” I laugh. “Julien says never to make her angry.”
“Sounds like you two got to know each other pretty well,” she says. There’s something in her tone I can’t quite place. Not suspicion exactly, but… curiosity?
“We had to work together to survive,” I say. “That’s all.”
She nods slowly.
My father stands, his chair scraping against the floor. “We should establish a proper command structure. Someone needs to be in charge.”
Rosa snorts from her spot at the end of the table. “Mijo already worked out the watch schedule with Ramirez. Unless you’re volunteering for the midnight shift?”
Dad’s face reddens. “I’m simply suggesting?—”
“We know what you’re suggesting,” Rosa says. “Same thing you always suggest. That you should be in charge.”
Julien clenches his jaw, but he stays silent, letting his grandmother fight this particular battle.
“Perhaps we should discuss this tomorrow,” my mother says, her diplomatic voice smoothing over the edges. “Everyone’s tired.”
“I am,” Amelia says. “Can we go back to the cabin?”
“Of course.” I’m on my feet instantly, gathering our plates. “Let me just clean up.”
“I can take those,” Sienna offers. “Go on, get her settled.”
I shoot her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
Our parents’ cabin sits three doors down from the main lodge. Two bedrooms, a shared bathroom, and that same rustic furniture every cabin has. Mom fusses with the wood stove while Dad checks the locks for the third time.
Amelia and I have the smaller bedroom, two narrow beds separated by a nightstand. She sinks onto hers with a soft sigh, already reaching for her medication.
She puts them into her mouth dry, a skill learned from years of practice. “Thank you for staying with me tonight. I know it can’t be fun babysitting your sister.”
