Page 36

Adrian

W e had been eating for a week. It had saved Elena. The color had returned to her cheeks. Her voice was stronger. She wasn’t as frail and wasn’t fading before our eyes anymore.

But the food was running out.

Troy and I had spent every night whispering, calculating, trying to figure out what came next. If we didn’t do something in the next few days, we’d be right back where we started.

And worse—Elena was starting to question it. She wasn’t stupid. She knew something was off. And today, she finally stopped dancing around it.

She asked for the truth.

Troy and I sat near the fire; hands outstretched toward the weak heat, our bodies exhausted from hunger, stress, and the weight of survival.

Elena sat nearby, her blue eyes sharp and too knowing.

She studied us, watching how we avoided looking at her and how our answers had gotten shorter and more clipped every time she asked about the food.

“Tell me the truth,” she said softly.

The words hit hard, cutting through the quiet like a blade. Troy and I shared a look, neither of us speaking. What was there to say?

We both knew what needed to be said. We both knew it would destroy her.

Troy swallowed hard, dragging a hand down his face. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled shakily and said it.

“It’s Dean.”

Elena froze. Her entire body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. Her wide eyes darted between us, searching for a lie, a joke, for any sign that what she’d just heard wasn’t real.

But we didn’t speak.

We just sat there. And she knew. She knew.

She scrambled to her feet, barefoot, shaking, barely steady on her feet, and ran.

The door slammed open, the icy wind rushing in, swallowing her scream as she sprinted into the snow, her weak ankle buckling beneath her as she went.

“Elena!” Troy was already moving, grabbing his boots, his face twisted in pure panic.

I yanked mine on and took off after them, my heart pounding violently.

She was sobbing, tripping as she pushed herself further into the cold, her arms wrapping around her trembling body, her breath coming in ragged, gasping cries.

Troy caught her first, arms locking tightly around her waist, pulling her against him as she fought him with everything she had.

“Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing in his hold.

Her voice was hoarse, her sobs gut-wrenching.

I reached them, grabbing her wrists, trying to steady her as her body convulsed in horror and grief.

“Elena, stop!” I pleaded, my voice cracking.

She kept fighting, her screams breaking something inside of me.

"I didn't want this! Why couldn't you just let me die? Why? I didn't... I didn't want this! Let me die. I want to die. Please..."

I’d never seen her like this. Not when we crashed. Not when she thought she was dying.

Not even when she was on the brink of giving up.

This—this was breaking her in a way nothing else had.

I looked at Troy, frantic and helpless. “What do we do?”

Troy just held her tighter, his face streaked with tears, his entire body shaking.

“We get her inside,” he choked out.

It took everything we had to get her back into the wreckage.

She fought us, screamed at us, tried to push us away.

We held her against us, whispering reassurances, trying to anchor her to reality, trying to stop her from slipping away entirely.

She wouldn’t stop crying. Wouldn’t stop shaking, gasping, and breaking apart in front of us.

Troy looked at me, his face pale, his expression grim.

Then, silently, he reached into his coat, pulled out the small pill bottle, and twisted the cap open with trembling hands.

“Elena,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm and commanding. “Take this.”

She refused, pressing her lips together, her entire body trembling violently.

Troy cupped her face, his thumb brushing away her hot, endless tears.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing the pill to her lips. “I’m so sorry.”

I watched him force it between her lips, tilting her head back, rubbing her throat gently but insistently until she swallowed.

Her sobs slowed after several long minutes. Her body went limp. And she finally—finally—fell asleep.

Troy held her, rocking her gently, his silent tears dripping into her hair.

I pressed my forehead against hers, my hands gripping hers tightly, my body too drained to do anything but break silently beside her.

Then, after a long, shuddering breath, Troy whispered, “I have to go.”

We sat by the fire long after Elena had fallen into a fitful sleep, both of us staring at the flames, knowing this was it.

Troy broke the silence first. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

I hated it. I hated that this was the end. Hated that I knew, in my gut, that he wasn’t coming back.

“One more day,” I whispered.

Troy shook his head. “No more days.”

I swallowed hard. He was right. It was now or never. This was the end, and we either lay down and gave in or continued fighting.

That night, we talked like it was the last time we ever would.

Because it probably was.

We laughed about childhood, stupid things we did, and all the moments that seemed so small and insignificant back then but now felt like the only things that mattered.

I smirked. “Remember when Dad caught you sneaking out to meet Lexy Roberts?”

Troy snorted. “Yeah. Lost my virginity to her. She was a crazy bitch.”

I laughed. “I know. Because I lost mine to her, too.”

Troy choked, his eyes wide. “You serious?”

I grinned. “Dead serious. Back of her BMW in the Shop-N-Go parking lot.”

Troy shook his head, laughing softly before his expression turned serious again. Silence descended for a long time.

“I want to marry her,” he said finally.

My stomach twisted. “Elena?”

Troy nodded, resolute, confident, unshaken.

“She belongs to both of us,” he murmured. “And I want to make it official.”

I swallowed, staring into the flames. I wanted that, too. But first—we had to survive this.

Troy stood, pulling the pill bottle from his pocket and holding it out to me, his hand shaking violently.

“If I’m not back in a week,” he whispered, “split these with Elena and end it.”

I took them with numb fingers, my throat too tight to speak. Instead, I opened the bottle, poured several into my palm, and handed them to him.

“If it gets too bad,” I murmured, voice breaking, “take them. Come with me.”

Troy’s breath hitched, eyes glassy, raw, and full of things I didn’t want to name. We hugged, holding on like we would never see each other again.

Chances were, we wouldn’t.

When we climbed into bed, Elena between us, her body warm and soft and ours, I knew?—

This was the last time.