Chapter Text
The sun hung higher now, light filtering through the trees in long slants. Afternoon had crept in quiet while neither of them had said much. The hooves of their horses thudded dully against the soft trail, muffled by pine needles and damp earth.
Eira adjusted her grip on the reins, eyes fixed ahead.
“We should head back,” she said, a little too sharp. Then, after a beat: “I’ve had enough fresh air for one day.”
She tried for a dry smile, something joking—but it didn’t quite land. It curled brittle at the edges.
Joel didn’t call her on it. Just gave a small nod and turned his horse with a tug of the reins.
“Alright.”
They rode on in silence. The forest closed behind them, step by step.
Joel glanced over.
Something had shifted.
He’d felt it the second she came back from the woods—her posture tight, her voice smaller.
Had he said something wrong? Done something?
He hadn’t done anything but what anyone decent would. He’d seen the bison peeling off the ridge toward the trees. When Eira hadn’t come back, he’d gone looking.
Found her frozen in front of the bull, breath held, one wrong move away from being trampled.
He hadn’t thought. He’d just moved. Pulled her back. Shielded her.
Now she wouldn’t look at him.
Joel let out a slow breath. The reins creaked in his gloved hands.
He didn’t regret it. Would do it again. But something in her had shut down after, and he hated not knowing why.
Why did it matter?
They barely knew each other. A few conversations, a ride, some coffee. Nothing lasting. Not in a world like this.
And yet... it sat with him.
The way her laughter had drained out, the silence that settled between them. He couldn’t stop seeing the look on her face—right before she’d put the wall back up.
They crested a ridge. The valley opened below—familiar now. The place where they’d started.
Joel slowed his horse, falling into line with her.
He didn’t look at her at first. Just kept his voice low.
“You good?”
Eira didn’t glance his way. Adjusted her reins instead.
“Yeah,” she said lightly. Too lightly. “Guess I just got a little flustered back there.”
Joel waited.
“Bigass bison and all,” she added, with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Maybe I’m not as ready for the outside as I thought.”
She nudged Bran forward with her heel.
Joel didn’t press. Just kept pace beside her, quiet as the wind.
The walls of Jackson came into view—unchanged, solid.
They rode in silence. Not tense, exactly. Just... careful. Like something unspoken had taken up the space between them, and neither of them wanted to poke it.
Eira focused on Bran’s gait. The creak of the saddle. The ache in her legs. Anything but Joel’s voice echoing in her mind—You’ll get there.
Joel stole one last glance at her.
She didn’t meet it.
So he let it go.
The gates creaked open at their approach, mechanical and strange in the quiet. A pair of guards nodded as they passed. One waved them through.
Tommy stood just inside, arms crossed, squinting toward them. His smile was casual, but his eyes did their usual scan—counting heads, checking for wounds, reading the space between.
“Welcome back,” he said. “How’d it go?”
Eira didn’t slow. “Fine.” Not cold, not rude. Just clipped. Quick.
Tommy looked at Joel, but didn’t ask.
Joel dismounted with a grunt. “Ran smooth.”
Eira kept riding, headed for the stable. But after a few paces, she reined Bran in and turned halfway in the saddle.
Her eyes met Joel’s.
“Thanks for today,” she said. Not soft—but steady. Like she meant it. Like she didn’t know what else to say.
Then she turned back and rode off, quick and deliberate.
Joel stood still a moment longer, watching her disappear behind the stable.
Then he let out a breath and turned toward Tommy.
“She okay?” Tommy asked.
Joel shook his head. “Hell if I know.”
And that was all there was.
That night, she lay awake, coat still on, blanket pulled up like armor. One earbud was in, the other hanging loose. The MP3 was warm in her hand.
She wasn’t really listening.
The playlist kept going, but her thumb hovered over the skip button. She made it through maybe four songs—maybe five—before the next one started. That acoustic intro she knew by heart.
She hit skip before the first line even hit.
Too close.
The next song played. She didn’t register the words. Just sat there, letting it run while her thoughts spun in circles. God, she felt stupid.
Joel hadn’t owed her anything. He could’ve handed her the batteries and left it at that. But he didn’t. He brought the thermos. He asked about the music. He sat there and listened like it meant something.
And what did she do?
Walked into the woods. Came back cold. Shut him out like he’d crossed some line—when all he did was something kind. Brave, even.
That was the worst part. He didn’t do anything wrong.
And still, she pulled away.
Her forehead dropped to her knees. She knew what it was. The way he stepped in front of that bison—it wasn’t just instinct. It felt like something else. Familiar. The way her dad used to do. That quiet kind of safety you don’t question till it’s gone.
And it had scared the hell out of her.
Because for a second, it felt safe. And safe was dangerous.
She’d lived this before. One wrong step. One mistake. One too-late realization—and someone else paid the price.
Gail could say all she wanted—it’s not your fault, it’s not on you—but guilt doesn’t care about logic. It just sticks. Heavy.
And maybe that’s why the walls had gone up so fast she hadn’t even realized she was doing it. Because getting close meant risk. Letting someone see her meant maybe they’d stay. And if they stayed, they could die. And if they died…
She wouldn’t survive it again.
So she kept her distance. Made jokes. Kept the scar under her coat and her feelings even deeper.
It was easier that way.
Eira glanced down at the MP3. The playlist was still running. Some track she didn’t remember the name of played softly in her ear.
Her eyes burned.
It started slow. A breath caught.
Then the tears came—quiet and steady, slipping down her cheeks like crack in a dam.
She didn’t make a sound.
Just sat there, blanket around her shoulders, the MP3 still humming something old and gentle in her ear. A song her father probably loved. One he might’ve played while cleaning tools or making dinner.
She cried for him. For her mother. For everything they lost. For everything she’d carried since. All the guilt, all the questions, all the goddamn dreams that kept her frozen in place.
But she also cried for the future.
For the thing Joel had talked about with such quiet certainty—you’ll get there. A family, chosen or otherwise. A life that felt like hers.
She didn’t believe it.
Not really.
Not when for once someone got close, her first instinct was to run. To push them away. To lock the door and throw the key into the woods.
It wasn’t just about losing people.
It was the fear that she’d be the reason it happened again.
So she stayed distant. Sharpened her edges. Made sure no one leaned in far enough to see the soft parts still trying to heal.
Joel had seen one of those parts today.
And it terrified her.
That night, lying awake with her coat still on and the earbuds tucked in but silent, she made a decision.
She wouldn’t let that kind of fear creep in again.
Not like today.
Not when someone stepped close and it felt like the world might split in two.
It wasn’t just about her. It was about them, too—anyone who might try to care. Anyone who might stand in front of her like Joel had. Because what if she froze again? What if she moved wrong? What if she was the reason someone didn’t walk away next time?
She couldn’t risk it.
She wouldn’t.
No more letting people close. No more deep, meaningful anything. Surface was safer. Distance was control.
If Joel saw her wall go up today, that was good. Let him keep his distance.
It wasn’t bitterness. It wasn’t even anger.
It was protection.
For him. For herself.
For anyone really.
Maybe because she was jinxed.
So she decided.
No more almosts. No more what-ifs. No more hope that could turn into grief.
Just the ride. Just the moment. Just enough to keep moving.
Nothing more.