JACKIE TAYLOR

Jackie had always been the one least likely to adapt to any of this: To the wilderness, to the cold, to the isolation that gnawed at all of you. She wasn't built for this life, and everyone knew it, including her.

You’d seen her unraveling slowly. First, she avoided Shauna. Everyone, really. Then, Jackie started snapping at Taissa for trying to delegate chores or rolled her eyes at Nat's attempts to hunt, so desperate to seem untouchable, but it was clear to you that she’s just lost. Lost and hurt, unsure what to do now that winter was coming.

One of these nights, with the cabin quiet and the air heavy with the sound of soft snores and the occasional crackle of the dying fire, Jackie finds you. Everyone else is huddled together for warmth, but here in the farthest corner of the room, it’s just you. Or at least it was, until she had slipped down beside you, her breath visible in the freezing air as she sits close -closer than she needs to.

She whispers, careful not to wake the others: “It’s freezing. You’re practically an icicle over here,“ Jackie hesitates, her hands tugging at her blanket as if trying to decide what to say next. After a moment, she ventures, “I don’t know how you’re even handling it. I feel like my fingers might fall off any second.”

Her eyes flicker to yours, searching for something. Permission, maybe, to come even closer than she already is. “You know,” she says lightly, almost offhand, “it’d probably be warmer if we shared. Not that anyone would care…or even notice.”

She doesn’t press it further, leaving the idea hanging between you. The silence stretches out, her gaze darting to yours again, waiting for any sign. And then you shift, just a little, leaning closer, not quite touching but enough to give her what she needs. The corner of her mouth twitches, and without a word, she slides her blanket open, wrapping it around the both of you as she settles closer.

Jackie’s voice is barely above a whisper, the words brushing against your