Chapter 5: Chapter 5
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The air in the forest was thick with the scent of damp pine needles and the faint metallic tang of blood—old, dried, but unmistakable. Jess crouched behind a fallen log, the bark rough and cold beneath her fingertips, her breath shallow and controlled. The pistol in her hand felt heavier than usual, the weight of it a steadying anchor in the chaos of her thoughts. She watched the tree line, her green eyes sharp and unblinking, searching for any movement that didn’t belong.
Dina was beside her, her rifle resting against the log, her fingers tapping lightly against the stock. The tension between them was palpable, a silent understanding that had formed in the span of a few hours.
Jess didn’t know Dina well enough to trust her, but she knew enough about survival to recognize when someone had her back. And Dina—well, Dina had already proven herself by not leaving Jess to bleed out in the dirt.
Jess exhaled slowly, her breath fogging in the cold air. "How many?"
Dina didn’t hesitate. "At least two. Maybe three."
Jess’s fingers tightened around her pistol. "That’s a lot for just the two of us."
Dina smirked, just a flicker of movement in the dim light. "You’re telling me. But we’ve got the high ground.
And we’ve got this." Dina tapped the rifle stock, her voice low and steady. "We can handle two. Three, we make it hurt."
Jess didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The plan was simple: wait, watch, and strike when they had the advantage. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. But it was the first time she’d done it with someone else she didn’t know. Someone she wasn’t sure she could trust.
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The gate loomed ahead, its heavy timber beams scarred with years of use and weather. The stable beside it was a low, sloping building with a sagging roof, its doors propped open to let in the late afternoon light. The air smelled of hay and horse sweat, the familiar scent grounding Jess as she stepped inside. The horses shifted in their stalls, their ears twitching at the sound of her footsteps.
Ellie was leaning against the far wall, a curry brush in one hand and a bucket of water at her feet, her bow propped against the rough wooden planks beside her. She didn’t look up when Jess entered, but the tension in her shoulders said she’d heard the door creak open.
Then Jess stepped into a patch of sunlight, and Ellie’s head snapped up.
For a second, they just stared at each other—the girl with the bow and the girl with the gun. Ellie’s dark curls were half-pulled back, a few loose strands sticking to her forehead with sweat. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle, and there was a smudge of dirt on her cheekbone. She looked like she’d been working hard, like she didn’t have time for whatever this was.
Then her eyes flicked to the pistol at Jess’s hip.
The brush hit the ground before Jess could react.
Ellie’s smirk didn’t just fade—it dissolved into something sharper, more focused, her dark eyes narrowing as they traced the pistol on Jess’s hip. Not fear. Not hostility. Something more unsettling: *recognition*.
“You’re the one who came in with Tommy,” Ellie said, her voice low and steady, like she was testing the weight of the words. She pushed off the wall, wiping her hands on her pants, leaving streaks of dirt and sweat. “The one who didn’t talk.”
Jess didn’t answer. She never did when she didn’t have to. But she didn’t look away either. Ellie’s gaze was too direct, too knowing, like she could see the bruises under Jess’s clothes or the way her fingers twitched toward the gun.
Ellie exhaled through her nose, a sound that was almost a laugh but not quite.
The smirk faded as her eyes caught the dried blood on Jess’s sleeve, the way it had seeped into the fabric like rust. She tilted her head, studying Jess with something close to curiosity. "You look like hell."
Jess didn't flinch. She knew what she looked like. She'd seen it in the cracked mirror of the cabin this morning—pale skin stretched too tight over sharp bones, dark circles under her eyes, the bruises on her jaw starting to yellow at the edges. She didn't bother denying it. "I feel worse."
Ellie picked up her bow, slinging it over her shoulder with practiced ease. "Tommy said you were tough. Didn't say you were pretty." Her tone was light, but there was something calculating in her gaze, like she was testing the weight of the words.
Jess didn't react. She was used to being underestimated. It was safer that way.
Less to explain. Less to regret.
Ellie tossed her curry brush into the bucket with a wet *thunk*, sending a spray of sudsy water across the stable floor. She wiped her hands on her thighs, leaving streaks of dirt and sweat behind, and stepped forward. The movement was casual, but Jess noticed the way her fingers brushed the hilt of a knife at her belt—just once, just to check.
"You're not from around here," Ellie said, her voice low and measured. "And you're not just passing through."
Jess didn't answer. She didn't need to. The way Ellie's eyes flicked to the pistol at her hip, then back to her face, said she already knew.
Ellie smirked. "You're good at that. The not-talking thing." She tilted her head, studying Jess like a problem to be solved.