Page 33

Adrian

T he hunger was unbearable.

Not just the gnawing emptiness in my stomach but the weakness in my limbs, the constant waves of dizziness, and the way my heart pounded erratically like it was struggling to keep me alive.

We had nothing left. Worst of all, Elena was slipping away quickly.

She lay between Troy and me, too pale, too still, her breaths coming too shallow.

She’d barely been awake the day before.

When she finally opened her eyes, the light in them was fading, and my stomach twisted violently when I saw the defeat on her face.

She looked to Troy first, her fingers weakly brushing his jaw, her lips parting as she whispered, “I think I’m dying.”

Troy froze.

His entire body tensed, his jaw clenching so tight I thought he might break his teeth.

“No,” he rasped, his voice shaking, his green eyes wet with unshed tears. “You’re not, baby. It’s just a rough patch.” He cupped her face, his fingers trembling, his breathing uneven.

But she gave him a small, sad smile and something in my heart cracked open .

“I’m grateful we got to be together,” she murmured.

A sharp, pained sound left Troy’s lips.

I could see it. The war inside him, the unbearable fear, the helplessness. I knew it well because it was overloading my body, too.

He kissed her softly, lingering, desperate to keep her here.

I leaned in, pressing my forehead against hers, my fingers tangling in her soft hair.

“I love you,” I whispered, the words pouring out of me softly. “I’ve always loved you.” Words I wished I’d have said sooner.

“I love you too,” Troy choked out to her. “Endlessly, little dancer.”

She smiled tiredly and whispered back to us, her voice barely audible. “I love you both so much, too.”

Then she was gone again, slipping into sleep, her body too weak to fight anymore.

I didn’t know if she’d wake up. The thought horrified me.

I exhaled shakily, pressing a final kiss to her temple before meeting Troy’s haunted gaze.

Neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to. We already knew what had to be done.

Outside, the cold hit me like a punch to the gut, but I kept pushing forward.

Troy was ahead of me, stomping through the snow-covered clearing, his gloved hands clenched into fists, his shoulders rigid with tension.

I followed, silent, my body aching with exhaustion and hunger.

The traps were still empty.

Fuck.

Nothing.

Just death pressing in from all sides.

Troy’s breath hitched, his chest heaving.

He fell to his knees and screamed, his voice desperate and angry. It carried through the thick trees; a fierce cry of rage and pain made my stomach churn.

It echoed back at us, empty and hollow, like the trees were mocking us.

Troy’s breathing was ragged, his fists still clenched.

I let out a bitter, hollow laugh, my vision blurring from exhaustion and hunger.

“Maybe we should just end it.”

Troy whipped around, his eyes wild.

“What?”

I ran a gloved hand down my face, my voice flat and emotionless.

“I mean it, Troy. What’s the point? What’s the difference? We’re just prolonging the suffering. We’re going to starve to death out here. It’s going to fucking hurt. Why go through it when we can end it now?”

Troy didn’t hesitate.

He shoved me hard. I stumbled back, the cold biting at me, but I barely felt it.

“Don’t you say that shit, Adrian. I don’t fucking need you giving up on me,” Troy roared.

“I’m not, man,” I said gently. “I just don’t want to suffer in my final days. I don’t want Elena to suffer. Fuck, man. She might already be gone.” My voice cracked on the words, and a tear tumbled down my cheek.

His eyes blazed with fury, his chest rising and falling with sharp, steady breaths.

“I’m not giving up.”

I stared at him, my breath shaking, my body numb with the hopelessness that stretched endlessly before us.

Slowly, Troy turned away from me.

I knew where he was going before he even spoke.

And I followed.

Neither of us said a word.

We stopped at the spot where we had buried Dean.

Troy stood there for a long moment, staring down at the untouched snow, his expression tight, unreadable.

I knew what he was thinking, though. It was the same thing I was thinking.

I exhaled, my body rigid as I spoke.

“This is insane, Troy?—”

“This is survival,” he whispered.

He knelt, shoving his hands into the snow, digging deep.

I stood there, frozen, my chest tight with nausea. After what felt like an eternity, I knelt beside him. Troy was right. This was survival.

I started digging, too.

The snow was packed down, but it wasn’t difficult to push away.

Then, there he was.

Our old friend.

His body was perfectly preserved, the frozen wilderness acting as a freezer, keeping him intact.

I staggered back, my throat clenching and my stomach twisting violently.

Troy didn’t move.

He just sat there, staring down at our dead friend, his breathing uneven.

Finally, he removed his hat, his jaw trembling.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.” His voice was thick with grief, his fingers tightening into the fabric of his hat as he squeezed his eyes shut.

So softly that I barely heard him, he begged, “God, please forgive me.”

Tears burned down my face, hot against my frozen skin, as Troy lowered his hat over Dean’s face, covering his expression and giving him what little dignity we had left to offer.

Troy pulled out his knife.

My body locked up, my stomach heaving, but I didn’t stop him.

I couldn’t. If we didn’t do this, we would die too. Troy was right. This was survival.

Troy’s hands shook violently, but he pressed the knife against Dean’s frozen flesh and started .

The first cut was the worst.

The sound of the blade slicing through frozen skin and muscle, the way the frozen body barely bled, the horrifying reality of what we were doing.

I turned away and vomited into the snow. It was more of a dry heave since I had no food in my system.

Troy gagged but kept going, his breath coming in sharp gasps, sending little puffs of clouds around him.

After a few moments, I wiped my mouth, forced myself to swallow down the bile, and reached into my jacket for my knife.

Troy didn’t stop me.

We worked in silence, alternating between cutting and throwing up, our stomachs twisting with hunger and revulsion in equal measure.

When it was done, we wrapped the meat in cloth, leaving the rest buried.

Neither of us looked at each other. Neither of us spoke.

We knew what we had done. We knew we had no choice.

Because if we didn’t do this, we were next.