Page 17

Adrian

T he fire worked.

I hadn’t been sure it would. I was grateful the smoke was being sucked out of the top, though, because it meant we wouldn’t choke to death in our sleep. We’d have to take turns tending to the fire all night, but it was worth the work we’d put in to make it happen. I’d started to worry about our last heating packets. I was even more concerned about food but hadn’t brought the subject up yet, opting to talk to Troy about it separately.

I tossed another small branch onto the fire, feeling smug about how it worked.

Hell, I had spent most of the time sawing through the roof and tearing that damn sink out of the bathroom, convinced it was a long shot. But now, sitting inside the warmest space we had occupied in nearly two weeks, I was grateful.

The heat from the small flames seeped into the metal walls, dulling the bite of the cold that had plagued us every night since the crash. It wasn’t perfect—we still had to feed the fire and keep an eye on the smoke ventilation—but it was something.

And for the first time in days, Elena looked better.

She sat close to the fire, her body wrapped in one of the blankets, her ankle still elevated. But there was color in her cheeks again, a soft pink flush that hadn’t been there since we went down. She looked more relaxed as if she wasn’t constantly bracing against the cold, pain, or reality of our situation.

That alone made all of this worth it.

Troy and I worked quickly, hauling in all the firewood we had gathered. The wind outside was shifting, thick with moisture, and I had no doubt the storm rolling in would be bad. If we were lucky, the wreckage would hold up against it. If we weren’t…

I shoved the thought away and focused on the task at hand.

Something clicked in my brain as I carried in another bundle of wood.

“The water tank must still be intact,” I said suddenly, setting the logs down near the fire.

Troy frowned. “What?”

“The toilet still flushes,” I explained, adjusting my gloves. “And it refills. That means the tank hasn’t been breached.”

Troy stared at me, then laughed sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Holy shit. That’s actually a solid win.”

“Yeah.” I exhaled, feeling the tiniest weight lift from my chest. “If we need to, we can tap into it for drinking water.”

Troy nodded, visibly relieved—but then his expression shifted, and I knew what was coming next.

“Food’s still a problem.”

I sighed, already exhausted by the conversation we were about to have. “I know.”

“I saw a rabbit earlier,” he continued. “It was bouncing through the snow while I was grabbing firewood.”

I turned to look at him. “You did?”

Troy shrugged, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “It was fast as hell. I have no idea how we’d catch it.”

“Maybe we could build a trap,” I suggested.

Troy raised a brow. “You know how to do that?”

“Not a damn clue,” I admitted. “But it’s worth trying. We have to figure something out. We can only live on granola bars, crackers, and water for so long.”

There was a quiet hope in the trap. A plan, even if it was a shitty one, and out here, even shitty plans were better than nothing.

We kept bringing in the last of the firewood, working in silence until Troy broke it with something that made my stomach turn.

“We might have to eat Dean.”

I stopped mid-step outside the plane, blinking at him. I nearly dropped the wood I was carrying. “What?”

Troy didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. A muscle thrummed along his jaw, his eyes showcasing his seriousness.

I laughed, waiting for him to take it back, but he didn’t.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded, his expression dark.

A sick, twisting nausea curled in my stomach.

I snarled, stepping closer to him. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Troy held his ground. “Adrian, we have to consider it.”

“No, we don’t,” I snapped, the nausea growing at the idea of eating Dean. "For fuck sake, the man helped to teach me to ride a bike. To drive a stick shift. He bought me my first Lego set. There was no fucking way I was going to eat him. No. Never.

Troy exhaled sharply, frustration flickering in his eyes. “You think this food situation is magically gonna work itself out?”

I dropped the wood I was holding and clenched my fists. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll catch the rabbit. I’ll hunt if I have to. But I’m not eating him.”

Troy ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “I don’t want to, Adrian. But if it comes down to surviving or starving?—”

I hated that he had a point. I hated that he was thinking ahead. I hated that a part of me knew he wasn’t wrong.

But that didn’t mean I could accept it.

“And then what? Once he’s completely fucking gobbled up, and we’re still here? Then what, Troy? Are you going to eat me next? Elena?”

Troy winced at my words before speaking. “I-I don’t know.” He looked away into the distance.

“Are you giving up?” I demanded, breathing hard as I glared at him.

Troy’s eyes snapped to mine, sharp, but there was something else there, too. Something uncertain .

“I’m not giving up,” he said fiercely, but his voice had a waver to it.

And I didn’t like that.

Troy had always been the hopeful one.

He had gotten through a lot of bad shit growing up because of that stubborn hope—because he refused to believe things could stay bad forever.

And now? Now, he was losing it.

I hated it. I hated what this place was doing to us.

I turned away, grabbing the hand saw and hacking away at more wood, working through my frustration, through the sickening weight of that conversation.

Troy worked beside me, his silence just as heavy.

Snowflakes started to fall as the day faded to dusk, drifting lazily through the broken gaps in the wreckage.

By the time we finished, the wind was howling, and the skies had darkened to near black.

We sealed off the plane as best we could and settled inside, the warmth from the fire making it almost comfortable.

It was strange to feel the heat against my skin after so many nights of shivering through the cold.

I let out a slow breath, glancing at Elena. She looked better. She still wasn’t talking much, but the way she shifted in the warmth and no longer curled into herself made something inside me loosen.

She was okay, at least for now. And that offered me more relief than I wanted to admit.

I noticed the way Troy watched her, the slight curve of his lips when she breathed a sigh of contentment.

The way she smiled when he murmured something to her.

Something ugly coiled in my chest.

I looked away quickly, scolding myself for the ridiculous feeling creeping through me.

It was just the situation.

That’s all it was.

The isolation. The survival instincts. The constant closeness.

But deep down, I knew it wasn’t just that .

I had spent years ignoring her, pretending she didn’t exist. Now, after everything, after this, I couldn’t stop seeing her.

I let out a slow breath and turned my focus back to our pathetic excuse for dinner—a handful of crackers and water.

It wasn’t enough, but it was all we had.

Troy leaned against the wall, stretching his sore muscles, while Elena shifted against the blankets.

The wind howled outside, rattling the metal walls of the plane, but for now, we were safe.

Warm. Together. Alive.

I wasn’t sure how long we could hold on like this, though.

But I knew one thing for sure.

I would not let Troy lose hope.

And I would not let Elena suffer.

Even if it killed me, I'd figure out that trap the moment I could, and the storm was over. There was no fucking way I was going to eat Dean.