Crew stops at the edge of the clearing and readjusts Lance’s weight. “Alright, I need you to stay back.”
Nodding, I move back a few paces, gravel crunching under my sneakers as I lift the sleeve of the hoodie to cover my nose as best I can. “What happens now?”
He doesn’t answer immediately, watching the haze and vents intently—things I don’t understand but instinctively trust him to. “We make sure this doesn’t get worse.”
I bob my head again, because nodding is something I can do without falling apart. One half of me is utterly horrified, the other weirdly mesmerized by how controlled he is, how deliberate every movement feels.
Competence,my brain offers unhelpfully,is incredibly attractive.
Please shut up,I beg it.Now is not to the time to?—
“Hey.” The deep baritone of Crew’s voice meets my ears, forcing me out of my head. “You’re doing great. I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but you are.”
For a terrifying second I think I might cry, but thankfully, I don’t, managing to inhale a much needed breath and offer him a soft smile. Crew’s mouth just barely twitches as moves past me, stepping closer to the edge of the pit. Maybe it’s self-preservation, but something tells me to look away, and I listen to it.
I don’t need to look to know what’s about to happen.
There’s a controlled exhale that follows, undoubtedly from Crew adjusting his grip one last time, and then a sound I’ll never be able to unhear. It’s not a thud or a splash, but something hollow and all too final as the body disappears into the pit. What’s more unnerving is that then there’s nothing.
No echo, no cinematic aftermath—just steam hissing softly, the earth itself closing over what we’ve given it.
My knees wobble in a way they never have before. I press a hand to my stomach and breathe through the sudden pang of nausea until the world steadies again. When I finally muster the strength to look up, Crew’s expression is unreadable.
“Is it…is it done?” I question because my brain isn’t fully processing what just happened.
He focuses on the pit for a moment longer. “The heat and acidity will take care of skin and musculature fast. Hours, maybe less.”
My throat tightens. “And the rest?”
He looks back at me then, honest and unflinching. “Bone takes longer.”
The words settle heavy in my chest, panic unfurling like a vengeful beast from the recesses of my mind. Red flags wave about as a reel of all the worst case scenarios play out in perfect succession. “W-we can’t just leave then,” I say quietly.
“No, we shouldn’t. We need to get out of here for now, though, and grab a few things, then we’ll come back. There’s an outpost cabin about a mile from here. It’s one of the older few.There’s no cell service or foot traffic this time of year, which will make it easy to go to and from undetected for the next few days.” He tips his chin behind me and starts back the way we came, moving like the decision has already been made.
“Days?”I almost choke on my own saliva, my eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. “We need to stay out here fordays?”
He bobs his head and glances at me from over his shoulder. “At the very least, two. These pits are fairly acidic and should get through the bone quickly.”
As if they were alive and in agreement, the pits hiss softly behind us. Ahead of us, the night stretches on, unfinished. I don’t know how many lines I crossed tonight, but something tells me I’m not done crossing them just yet.
CHAPTER
FOUR
CREW
The cabof my truck is too small.
In reality, it’s not. I’ve slept in it more times than I can count. But withherin it, wrapped in my hoodie, her knees tucked up as she stares out the passenger window like she’s afraid the dark might stare back—the space feelstiny.She hasn’t said a word since we got in. No jokes, no commentary, just a thick and coiled silence. Shock manifests differently in everyone. Some people talk too much, others shut down completely.
Alma is clearly the latter.
Which is why I keep my eyes on the road, why I focus on the mechanics of driving. How the engine hums steadily beneath us or how the tires eat up the asphalt as the headlights carve a narrow tunnel through the night… Not the way she looks in my hoodie, or the faint sound of her breathing, or the way her scent wafts up my nose.
I don’t notice any of that.
Because noticing it would be a grave mistake.
