EPISODE ONE
❝ THE CRASH ❞
TRIGGER WARNINGS || Language,, Gore,, Violence,, Death ,, Crude ,, NOT EDITED

________________________________

The sky was a canvas of stillness—soft, cloud-wrapped silence stretching into infinity. The plane cut through the calm like a needle through fabric, its engines murmuring a steady, hypnotic drone. Inside, the air was warm, recycled, thick with the quiet rustle of seatbelts, the occasional metallic clink of trays locking, the muffled shuffle of footsteps.

Then came the first sound: a sharp, unnatural pop beneath the floor, like a bone snapping in the dark.

A second later, the aircraft lurched.

It wasn't dramatic at first—just a dip, a tremble. But the kind that sets off a primal instinct in the gut. The overhead lights blinked once, twice—then steadied. The engine noise shifted. No longer the consistent hum, but a stuttering, uneven growl—like something choking on itself. A low, vibrating whump echoed through the belly of the plane.

The nose dipped harder.

A deep, grinding SCREEEECH rose from under the cabin floor, metal gnashing against metal. The fuselage shuddered violently, and the plane began to yaw, rolling sideways in slow, horrible spirals. Overhead compartments burst open. Bags thudded into seats. Oxygen masks shot from the ceiling like ghostly limbs, swinging madly on tangled cords.

Outside the windows: clouds tearing away like ripped silk, revealing a sea of pine and dark green below.

Alarms screamed. A shrill, mechanical wail flooded the cabin.

And then—it fell. Not drifted. Not descended.

Fell.

The wind shrieked against the hull, screaming louder than anything inside. The engines howled, a mechanical death cry swallowed by the roar of air slamming against every surface. The plane split the sky like a bullet, spiraling, burning. Flames licked the side of the fuselage. Metal peeled away midair, exposing the skeleton of the aircraft to the open sky.

The forest loomed.

The first impact was deafening.

The left wing clipped a pine tree and tore free with a screeching CRACK, flinging flaming debris into the canopy. The body of the plane slammed into the treetops, carving a catastrophic path. Trees snapped like matchsticks. Branches punched through windows. The sound was pure chaos—screeching metal, bursting glass, the monstrous THUD of bodies colliding with walls and ceilings.

The nose struck the forest floor.

The fuselage crumpled inward like a crushed can, sliding violently through soil and roots. Screams—inhuman, high-pitched, choked off in an instant. Fire bloomed from the engine, engulfing the middle section in orange light. Smoke rose, thick and black, curling into the trees like the forest exhaling.

Then came silence.

Not peace—silence. A dead, breathless pause. No birdsong. No breeze. Just the soft, grotesque hiss of leaking fuel and the distant crackle of fire chewing through the remnants of the plane.

Twisted metal hung from broken trunks. A single shoe lay in the mud, still smoking. The air reeked of blood, ash, and melted plastic.

The forest watched, still and hungry.

Smoke clawed its way through the torn seams of the cabin, thick and stinking of chemicals and burning plastic. The flicker of flames cast an eerie, flickering glow over the wreckage. Rows of seats were crushed like paper. Bodies slumped, lifeless. Shattered glass glittered like diamonds in the dark.

But somewhere beneath it all, a high-heeled boot kicked.

Hard.

From between two mangled seats, Hwang "Yiseo" Yiseo shoved debris off her chest with a sharp grunt, her once-luxurious fur-lined coat blackened and smoking at the edges. Her sunglasses were gone, but her signature gloss still shimmered faintly on her lips, even if there was blood crusted on her temple.

"Ugh," she croaked, her voice raspy and unimpressed. "This is so not first class."

She coughed hard, waving away smoke with one manicured hand, then dragged herself upright. Her ribs screamed. Everything screamed. But she was alive. Alive, pissed, and already plotting how she'd sue the airline into oblivion.

Around her: chaos. The side of the plane was ripped wide open like a sardine can, revealing a blackened stretch of forest and an unholy amount of wreckage. Somewhere behind her, flames popped and hissed, eating away at the walls. The heat pulsed against her back.

"Nope. Not getting roasted like a damn rotisserie chicken."

She yanked a piece of twisted tray table off her leg with a hiss, then braced herself against a seat and stood. Wobbly. Dizzy. Blood dripped from her hairline, but she didn't look down. She didn't need to see how bad it was.

Instead, she spotted a gap in the jagged fuselage—a hole just big enough to crawl through.

With a muttered, "God, please don't mess up my face," she dropped to her hands and knees, crawling across scorched carpet and broken plastic. Her palms stung. Her thigh throbbed. She didn't stop. She crawled past a dead man still clutching a phone. Past a smashed beverage cart. The metal around the exit was hot—too hot.

She hesitated. Then ripped off her fur coat, balled it up, and shoved it into the searing edge like a buffer.

And through she went.

The outside air hit her like ice—smoke and pine and blood all rolled into one awful breath. She tumbled out of the wreckage, landing hard in damp soil. Branches clawed at her arms. But she was out.

She rolled to her back, gasping, staring at the treetops, the smoke curling above her.

"Yiseo," she muttered to herself, "you will survive this. You've done Fashion Week in six-inch heels and a stomach virus. You can survive this."

Somewhere behind her, the wreck groaned—another explosion waiting to happen.

She sat up slowly, dirt smeared across her cheek, her boots ruined, her voice hoarse.

But her eyes sparkled.

"Let's go, bitch," she whispered to herself. "You're the main character now."

Smoke still hung heavy in the air, clinging to every leaf and tree like a curse. The forest buzzed with unnatural silence—no birds, no wind, just the distant crackling of fire and the metallic groan of twisted wreckage shifting under its own weight. The crash site was a graveyard of metal and ash.

Yiseo sat in the dirt, legs splayed awkwardly, clutching her ankle, her face pale beneath the smeared makeup and soot. Her breathing was shallow. Her lips trembled, though she bit them to stop. The shaking in her hands betrayed her.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not heavy. Not fast. Just the sound of someone moving carefully—crunching through underbrush, breath uneven, fear obvious. From behind a half-toppled pine, a woman emerged.

It was Loralie Jackson.

She wasn't in scrubs—just jeans and a now-filthy sweater, a canvas jacket hanging crooked off one shoulder. Her face was scratched, her hands scraped raw. There was blood on her temple—not hers. She didn't even realize it was there.

Her eyes were wide. Haunted.

She scanned the wreckage like she wasn't sure if it was real.

Then she saw Yiseo.

"Oh my god," Loralie whispered, stumbling forward, half-tripping over a piece of torn fuselage. "Are you—are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Yiseo blinked up at her. "Do I look okay?"

Loralie dropped to her knees beside her. "Okay, okay, sorry—stupid question," she muttered, more to herself than anything. "You're alive, that's all that matters. I thought—God, I thought no one was."

She reached out with trembling fingers and gently touched Yiseo's arm. "Can I check your ankle? Just—just make sure nothing's broken?"

Yiseo nodded stiffly, lips pressed tight, teeth clenched. "It's bad. I heard a pop. Not the fun kind."

Loralie winced but nodded. "Alright. Let me see."

Her hands were shaking, but she forced them to steady as she began examining the injury. Yiseo winced, but didn't scream.

Around them, the forest was starting to echo with new sounds—groans, coughing, distant shouts. Survivors, maybe. Or worse.

Loralie looked up toward the smoldering remains of the plane, her face pale with horror.

"We should move," she whispered. "Away from the wreck. In case it blows."

Yiseo nodded, suddenly more serious. "Right. Yeah. Good call. Love that."

Loralie glanced around, terror flashing in her eyes as she saw bits of debris and unmoving figures. "There were kids on board," she said softly. "And a woman... she was holding her baby..."

Her voice broke.

Yiseo swallowed hard. "We'll find them. We'll—figure it out. We have to."

Loralie looked back at her, eyes glassy but determined. "We survived."

Yiseo smirked faintly, lips trembling. "Unfortunately for everyone else, I survived."

Loralie offered a soft, shaky laugh.

Then she helped Yiseo to her feet, looping one arm around her to support her weight. The two of them, terrified, ash-stained, and wide-eyed, hobbled away from the crash site—alone in a vast forest that suddenly felt impossibly, monstrously alive.

Darkness.

Milaya Campbell's eyes opened slowly, the world around her nothing but shadows and chaos. Everything was tilted, broken. Her ears rang so loudly it felt like her brain was vibrating inside her skull. Something warm was sliding down her neck—blood. Smoke clung to the back of her throat like claws. She coughed, sharp and sudden, and the pain hit all at once.

She was in the wreck.

Still strapped into what was left of her seat, now crooked and half-submerged in the twisted body of the plane. The cabin around her was gutted—ripped open like an animal. Seats were scattered and torn, some crushed, some upside down. Blackened walls. A shattered window dripping with rain and ash. Somewhere far off, fire hissed, low and hungry.

She gagged on the stench—burnt metal, jet fuel, blood. The kind of smell that didn't wash out. Ever.

Milaya fumbled with the buckle, her fingers numb and shaking. She fell to the floor with a painful thud, knees smashing into broken plastic and sharp metal. Her vision swam. She steadied herself on all fours, sucking down air as panic clawed up her spine.

The silence was unbearable.

Not total silence—there were the groans of the wreckage, the occasional pop of fire—but the kind of quiet that meant people weren't screaming anymore.

They were either gone... or already dead.

She started crawling through the aisle, coughing, eyes scanning every shadow for movement, for a sign of someone alive.

And then—a noise.

A soft, breathy whimper.

Milaya froze.

Someone was alive.

She dragged herself toward the sound, ducking beneath a jagged piece of ceiling and stepping over an overturned drink cart. Her heart pounded. The ringing in her ears dulled. She could hear it more clearly now—shaky breathing, strained and close. A whimper, a gasp of pain.

She turned a corner of twisted seats and stopped cold.

A woman was lying on the floor, partially buried under a collapsed panel. Her long hair was soaked with sweat and soot. She was curled around herself, trembling, one hand clenched tightly over her stomach. The other lay limply beside her, scraped and bloodied.

Milaya rushed forward, sliding on her knees beside her.

"Hey—hey, can you hear me?" she asked, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. She didn't recognize her—just another passenger, another stranger. But her face was twisted in pain, her lips trembling.

The woman's eyelids fluttered open. Her face was ghost-pale. She nodded, barely.

Milaya didn't notice the bump beneath the woman's jacket until she reached to check her side—and froze.

The woman wasn't just hurt.

She was pregnant.

Very.

Milaya's stomach dropped.

"Oh my God..." she breathed.

The woman's voice was paper-thin. "I—I can't move... the baby... I don't know if..."

"Don't talk," Milaya said quickly, pulse racing. She looked around frantically, eyes wild. They were deep in the wreckage, and the smoke was getting thicker. The walls were too close, the air too hot.

"We have to get out of here. I'll help you. I'm going to get you out, okay? Just—just don't move too much."

She grabbed the panel pinning the woman and pulled. It didn't budge.

She braced herself, teeth gritted, and yanked harder.

Metal screeched. The plane groaned. The fire popped somewhere deeper.

"Come on," Milaya whispered to herself. "Come on—"

With one final heave, the panel shifted.

Milaya ducked under it and helped the woman up, throwing her arm around her shoulders. She was heavy—limp, weak—but they moved.

One step. Another.

Smoke thickened. The wreck whined behind them like a dying animal.

And then—daylight.

The forest opened in a jagged wound where the fuselage had split. Milaya dragged the woman through the opening, both of them collapsing into the wet, ash-dusted grass.

Milaya coughed until her chest burned, then looked at the woman beside her. She was barely conscious.

Milaya didn't know her name, didn't know how far along she was. Didn't know if help would come. But she knew this much; she was going to keep everyone alive. No matter what.

The smoke curled up from the mangled wreckage behind them, staining the forest sky in dull grays and browns. The smell of fire and fuel still lingered, though the worst of the blaze had choked itself out in the damp underbrush. Trees surrounded them like towering shadows, silent and cold, indifferent to the ruin in their midst.

And in a clearing just outside the crash, the survivors gathered.

No one spoke at first.

Tommy Benson stood with his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling with shallow, shaken breaths. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, blood dried on his brow. He kept glancing back toward the wreckage like he could somehow will others out of it alive.

Katya Sokolov sat against a mossy boulder, her arm wrapped around her stomach protectively. Her face was pale, tight with pain, and she flinched whenever the wind shifted and carried a groan from the ruined plane. Her other hand was clutching the jacket Milaya had thrown over her shoulders.

Milaya sat next to her, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them. Her eyes were wide, red-rimmed. She'd stopped shaking, but only barely. Her fingers were raw, stained with blood that wasn't all her own.

Orion Presley leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. One eye was swelling shut, and he hadn't said a word since limping out of the wreck. But his gaze stayed on the others—on Katya, on Milaya, on Loralie. Watching. Silent. Like a dog guarding its pack.

Loralie Jackson moved between them all like a ghost—checking injuries, offering water from a cracked bottle she'd found in the wreckage, murmuring soft reassurances even though her own hands trembled. The blood on her sweater was dark now, dried. Her braid was half undone. She hadn't cried, not yet, but her eyes looked dangerously full.

Tyler Fox sat on a fallen tree trunk a few feet away, elbows on his knees, staring into the dirt. He had a gash on his jaw and a thousand-yard stare, but when Loralie brushed past, he reached out and touched her wrist—just briefly, grounding himself in someone else's presence.

And then there was Yiseo.

Hwang "Yiseo" Yiseo sat perched on a chunk of burnt fuselage like it was a ruined throne. Her coat was gone. Her makeup was smudged. One boot was broken at the heel, her ankle hastily wrapped in gauze, but she still held her chin high. Still looked around with narrowed eyes like this was a stage and the curtains hadn't quite fallen yet.

"Are we..." she started, then stopped. Cleared her throat. "Are we the only ones?"

No one answered.

Only the distant creak of metal. The snap of a twig in the forest.

The silence was too loud.

Loralie finally sat down beside Yiseo, exhaling a breath that rattled in her chest. "We'll figure it out," she said softly, though her voice was hollow.

Tommy looked up at the trees, hands still shaking slightly. "No one's coming soon. That signal light barely flickered. We're too deep out."

"We need to ration," Orion muttered from the tree. "Supplies. Water. What's left."

Milaya pulled her knees tighter. "And we need to bury the dead."

That quieted everyone again. Yiseo's mouth twisted, but she said nothing this time. Katya whimpered softly, one hand still on her belly. Loralie moved to her again, comforting, mothering. The forest loomed around them, vast and uncaring.

But they were alive, terrified - hurting, but alive.

Ash clung to their clothes and skin as the survivors combed through the wreckage, silent but driven. The plane's body loomed behind them—crushed and twisted, its insides exposed like a carcass in the woods. The forest watched with an indifferent stillness, tall trees casting long shadows as the light began to fade.

Tommy hauled a scorched suitcase from under a half-collapsed row of seats. The zipper was melted, so he tore it open with his bare hands. Inside—t-shirts, a half-empty bottle of water, and a flashlight. It flickered weakly when he clicked it on. He nodded, tucked it under his arm, and moved to the growing pile of supplies they'd started building in the clearing.

Nearby, Tyler knelt by an overturned luggage cart, his fingers stained with ash. "Protein bars," he muttered, tossing them into a satchel. "Thank god someone packed like a paranoid prepper." He opened another suitcase and raised a brow. "Swim trunks. Real useful."

Yiseo let out an exaggerated sigh from where she sat on a fallen tree trunk, her ankle still wrapped, her face drawn but still somehow sharp. "All I've found is someone's crusty makeup bag and a pile of charger cords. Like I'm gonna charge my phone in a burning hellscape."

Orion was rifling through a large blue duffel, standing with one hand on a tree for balance. "Matches. Crackers. A toothbrush still in plastic." He held it up. "Clean teeth for the end of the world."

Milaya crouched near a half-buried suitcase, smoke streaks still on her cheeks. She unzipped it slowly and peered inside. "Band-aids, tampons, a travel blanket," she said quietly. "And—oh, god—chocolate."

"Don't even think about hoarding it," Tyler warned, half-teasing.

Milaya cracked a smile, faint and tired. "No promises."

Loralie moved gently between the wreckage and the clearing, carrying what she could. Her arms were full of salvaged bottles—half-full waters, sports drinks, anything not shattered. She set them down with care, then moved back toward the ruin like she couldn't stop moving or else she'd break.

Katya sat nearby, legs outstretched, one hand on her belly. Her eyes tracked the others, wide and distant. She hadn't spoken much, only flinched at every groan from the wreck behind them. She looked pale, but the rise and fall of her chest—and the small kicks beneath her hand—meant she was still hanging on.

Milaya approached with a small sealed juice box. "It's warm, but it's something," she offered gently.

Katya took it with a whisper of thanks.

The pile in the center of their makeshift camp grew slowly—battered essentials from a broken world. There was no laughter. No small talk. Just the quiet ritual of searching and salvaging. Of trying to survive.

As dusk began to bleed into the trees, they gathered again around the supplies. Wind stirred the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called once—and then nothing.

The survivors gathered in a loose circle around the wreckage, the fading light casting long shadows over them. There was no fire to offer warmth or comfort, just the cold, the wreckage, and the grim reality of the situation. The forest around them felt suffocating in its silence, like the world itself was holding its breath.

Tommy stood in the center of the group, his posture tense, but his voice firm as he looked at each of them. There was no time for small talk, no time for hesitations. They needed to know who they were now—who was still here, alive.

"Alright," Tommy said, his voice cutting through the stillness. "We've got a lot of shit to figure out. But before we do, we need to know who's still standing. No titles, no explanations. Just your name. First name only."

He glanced around at the others. "We need to be able to rely on each other. And it starts with knowing who the hell we're relying on."

There was a slight shift in the group as everyone took a moment, eyes flicking around uncomfortably. The silence stretched for just a second too long before someone spoke.

"Tommy," he said simply, his jaw set. He nodded to the group, then stood back, waiting.

"I'm Katya," came the next voice, soft but steady. Her hand rested gently over her stomach as she spoke, though she didn't make eye contact with anyone.

Orion shifted on his feet, then spoke, his voice low but clear. "Orion."

Tyler was next, his voice carrying a bit more edge as he spoke. "Tyler."

Loralie followed quickly, her voice a gentle contrast. "Loralie."

Milaya's voice was steady, her eyes scanning the circle as she spoke her name. "Milaya."

Yiseo stood with her arms crossed, leaning slightly on one leg. "Yiseo."

The circle was quiet for a moment as the last few names settled in the air. They stood, surrounded by broken metal and ruined memories, but at least they had names. They had each other, for now.

Tommy exhaled slowly, looking around at them all. "That's all we've got for now. Just each other."

The moment lingered for a second before Tommy nodded to himself. "Alright. We'll figure this out. But we need to stick together. No more arguments, no more distractions. We survive as a group."

The forest around them felt as if it had swallowed their words, but there was no denying the gravity of the moment. Everyone in the circle was feeling it—the weight of the crash, the uncertainty of what was next—but they were still there, still alive.

The survivors stood in the clearing, the tension between Orion and Tyler thick in the air. The dark forest around them seemed to swallow the sounds of their argument, but there was no mistaking the strain building between them.

Tyler paced restlessly, kicking at the dirt beneath his boots, frustration bubbling over. "We've been sitting here all damn day, doing nothing. At this rate, we'll freeze to death before anyone finds us."

Orion, standing a few paces away, folded his arms, his eyes narrowed as he watched Tyler. "And what do you suggest we do? Just wander off into the unknown without any plan? We don't even know where we are. Moving now would be insane."

Tyler snapped back, his voice rising. "So we just sit here and wait? What's your plan, then? Wait until we're out of food, out of water, and out of time? You think that'll work?"

"I'm not saying we sit here forever," Orion retorted, his voice tense. "I'm saying we need to think first. We need to assess everything—where we are, what we have, what's around us. You can't just charge ahead and hope it works out."

Tyler's jaw clenched. "You think too much. We need action, not some stupid analysis. We don't have the luxury of sitting here while the world waits for us to get our shit together."

"Oh, and you've got everything figured out, huh?" Orion's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "You think running off into the woods is going to save us? You don't even know what's out there."

Tyler stepped closer, his eyes flashing with impatience. "What's out there? Who knows? But it's better than being stuck in this damn wreckage hoping someone's going to come save us. I'm not waiting around to die."

"Fine. You go ahead and be the hero, then," Orion said, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "But don't drag the rest of us into your reckless plans."

Loralie, who had been quietly sitting nearby, stood up, trying to step in. "Please, both of you, stop. This isn't helping."

But neither Tyler nor Orion was paying much attention to her.

Tyler turned toward Orion, his voice harsh. "You think I'm just acting like some 'hero' here? I'm trying to survive, not wait around and get picked off one by one. We can't just stay stuck here."

Orion scoffed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "And what do you think staying here means? Huddling together like helpless animals? Maybe you're okay with that, but I'm not. I'd rather know what I'm dealing with before I make any rash moves."

"Yeah? Well, while you're standing here doing nothing, I'll be the one actually trying to get us out of this," Tyler spat back, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

There was a tense silence between them, both of them breathing heavily, frustration radiating off of them like heat. The group of survivors stood back, watching the confrontation unfold, each of them feeling the weight of the simmering anger that had been growing since the crash.

Tommy, who had been standing off to the side, finally stepped forward. His voice was quiet but firm, cutting through the tense air. "Enough."

Tyler and Orion both stopped, turning to face Tommy. There was a brief moment where neither of them spoke, and the tension seemed to pulse around them like a live wire.

"We don't have time for this," Tommy continued, his gaze steady but commanding. "We're in a shitty situation, and the last thing we need is you two tearing each other apart. We've got enough to worry about. You want to fight, do it somewhere else. But right now, we need to stick together."

Tyler's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, but he didn't argue. He turned away, muttering under his breath as he moved to stand by the edge of the clearing.

Orion didn't say anything either, but the tightness in his posture didn't ease. He remained standing, his arms crossed over his chest, still seething but unwilling to escalate things further.

Loralie, who had been watching quietly, sighed softly, her hand resting on her knee. "We just need to figure this out," she said gently. "There's no use in fighting. Not now."

Tommy looked around at the group, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "We move forward when we're all on the same page. Until then, we stay here and keep our heads. Got it?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the others, though no one seemed eager to test the fragile peace that had been established. Tommy glanced at Tyler and Orion one last time before stepping back, his shoulders relaxed but his eyes alert.

For now, the fight was over, but everyone knew the tension between Tyler and Orion wasn't gone. It was just waiting for the next moment to flare up again.

The survivors began walking, moving through the dense forest as the sky overhead slowly shifted from a dull gray to a bruised purple. The air was growing colder, the shadows deepening with every step they took. The wreckage was now far behind them, just a distant memory in the midst of the overwhelming wilderness. They had no real direction, but the need to find shelter, food, or any sign of life was enough to keep them moving forward.

The ground beneath their feet was uneven, littered with fallen branches and rocks, but they kept pushing through, occasionally stopping to check for tracks or any sign that they weren't alone. The silence around them was oppressive, broken only by the rustling of leaves or the distant chirping of unseen animals.

Loralie walked beside Tommy, her gaze flicking nervously between the others, especially Orion and Tyler, who were still not quite speaking to each other. Katya, a few paces ahead, walked slowly, her steps careful, her hand subconsciously resting on her stomach, though she hadn't told anyone yet about her pregnancy.

Milaya walked a little ahead of Loralie, her mind racing as she tried to think of ways to help everyone. Yiseo kept to herself, arms crossed, not saying much.

As the group moved cautiously through the forest, the trees growing denser and the light from the fading sun slipping away, a soft crackle of twigs underfoot broke the silence. Everyone instinctively tensed, glancing around, but the noise didn't seem to come from any immediate danger. Instead, the sound grew clearer, a steady rhythm of steps.

Then, out from the shadows of the trees appeared Danny, his face grim and worn, but his eyes wide with disbelief as they landed on the group. His clothes were torn, his face streaked with dirt, but there was no mistaking the faint recognition in his gaze as he looked from one survivor to the next.

And there, behind him, emerging just a few steps later from the dimming forest, was Avalon.

The group froze for a moment. Avalon hadn't been among them when they had first gathered. They had no idea she'd survived the crash. And the sight of her, stepping out from the shadows with Danny at her side, added another layer of confusion to an already tense situation.

Avalon didn't seem to share their surprise. She looked unfazed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she surveyed the survivors. There was a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips, but it wasn't one of comfort. It was as if she found the entire thing amusing, in an offbeat way.

"Didn't think you'd be so hard to find," Avalon said, her voice carrying a strange calm as her eyes scanned the group. She didn't sound relieved—just matter-of-fact. "Nice to see some familiar faces."

The others, though still processing the unexpected meeting, didn't immediately respond to Avalon's words. Instead, their attention shifted between her and Danny, trying to piece together what had happened and how they could've missed the fact that Avalon was out here with him.

Danny blinked, clearly still trying to grasp the situation, before his gaze landed on Katya. His face faltered slightly, eyes widening in recognition, but instead of greeting her, he hesitated, unsure.

Katya stood frozen, her chest tightening as memories from the past—ones she had buried for so long—rose to the surface. She didn't speak right away, her eyes flicking toward Danny, a mixture of guilt and disbelief flashing across her face.

Danny took a cautious step forward, a barely audible sigh escaping him. "Katya...?" His voice was almost a whisper, thick with the weight of confusion and old feelings.

Katya didn't respond immediately, her throat tight, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach. She couldn't bring herself to speak to him—not after all this time. The history between them was complicated, filled with unspoken words and unfinished business. She wasn't ready for this, not now. Not in the middle of a crash site.

Avalon watched the two of them closely, her posture still nonchalant, though her eyes held a touch of curiosity. "Seems like there's a lot of unresolved drama here," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for the group to hear.

Loralie, noticing the tension, stepped forward, her tone soft yet firm. "We need to focus on surviving right now," she said, her voice cutting through the charged silence. "All of you are safe, but there's no time for anything else."

Danny glanced at Loralie, nodding quickly as though he was just realizing the situation. "Yeah... yeah, I get it," he muttered, still a bit out of sorts. "I've been out here for hours, trying to make sense of it all. Didn't know who else made it out."

Avalon glanced up, her gaze briefly meeting Loralie's before she shrugged. "Would've been nice to know I wasn't the only one stumbling around in the woods," she remarked, her tone dry, but a little less harsh than before.

"We don't even know if anyone is looking for us yet," Tommy added from where he stood, his voice hard, the urgency of the situation back on his mind. "We need to get moving. The longer we sit here, the worse things are going to get."

"Agreed," Orion chimed in, still standing apart from the others, his arms crossed tightly, clearly not willing to take his eyes off the new arrivals.

The group fell into a brief silence, the reality of the situation settling in. They had found more survivors, but what now? The forest around them felt more like a trap with every passing moment, the shadows lengthening as darkness settled in, and the weight of the unknown pressing down harder on their shoulders.

Katya, still standing quietly, didn't say a word to Danny. She didn't need to. There was too much between them—too much time, too much silence, and far too many questions.

Danny, sensing the tension but unsure of how to navigate it, took another step back and sighed, exasperated. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he muttered. "Just... trying to survive. Same as you."

Avalon looked between him and the group, then at Katya again, before stepping back slightly, crossing her arms as if waiting for something. "Right," she said quietly, with a knowing look. "So, what's the plan then, survivors?"

Tommy turned to face the group, his expression hardening, the focus now clear. "First, we find shelter," he said, his voice firm. "Then, we figure out how to get out of here."

Everyone nodded, their faces grim. They were together for now, but the past wasn't done with them yet. They could feel the weight of it, and the discomfort between Danny and Katya remained a heavy presence among them.

As the night crept in, the survivors set off again, deeper into the forest, the darkness wrapping around them like a shroud. What lay ahead wasn't clear, but at least they weren't alone anymore.

Night had fully settled over the forest, the group huddled beneath a makeshift canopy of branches and torn airplane fabric. A weak fire crackled in the center of their small camp, barely enough to chase the cold from their bones. Shadows danced across their tired faces, and the only sounds were the distant hum of insects and the occasional snap of twigs in the dark.

Tommy sat near the edge of the fire, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His eyes were locked on the flames, but his mind was miles away—back at the wreckage, back at the plane.

Milaya sat across from him, wrapped in a torn jacket she'd pulled from someone's suitcase earlier. She looked exhausted, but her gaze was alert, watching Tommy carefully. Tyler leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes flicking between them.

Finally, Tommy broke the silence. "We need to go back."

Milaya blinked. "To the plane?"

Tyler made a noise of disbelief under his breath. "Seriously?"

Tommy didn't look at them. "There was a control panel in the cockpit... maybe a radio. If it's not completely busted, we might be able to call for help. At least try to reach someone."

Tyler pushed off the tree, pacing a little. "And if it's not? If it's just fried metal and wires? We're walking back into a death trap for nothing."

Tommy looked up at him then, eyes steady. "We won't know unless we try. That wreckage might be the only way out of here. We're stuck in the middle of nowhere, Ty. You really think someone's gonna just stumble on us in the woods?"

Milaya's voice was quieter, more thoughtful. "We did leave a lot behind... not just the radio. Supplies. Water. Maybe even something we didn't notice before."

Tyler shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's not about the risk. It's about wasting time. What if we get there and it's useless? That's a whole day gone. We should be moving forward."

Tommy's jaw tightened. "And forward to where, exactly?"

Tyler didn't answer.

Milaya sighed, glancing between them. "I think we should go. Not all of us—just a few. Me, you," she nodded to Tommy, then glanced at Tyler. "And you, if you're willing."

Tommy looked at her with a grateful nod. "We head out early. Just the three of us. If there's even a chance we can get a signal out..."

"It's worth it," Milaya finished for him.

Tyler looked away, jaw clenched, then gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. One shot. We go in, we check, we get out."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, the firelight flickering over their faces. Beyond the edge of the camp, the woods loomed black and endless, and somewhere back in that darkness, the twisted remains of the plane waited in silence.

The fire cracked softly as the group settled into uneasy silence, the woods around them dense and pressing. Katya sat a little apart from the others, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes fixed on the flickering flames. Her expression was tight, jaw clenched, thoughts clearly somewhere far off—maybe days back, maybe years.

Yiseo, sprawled nearby, broke the quiet with a flippant tone. "You've been staring into that fire like it's gonna solve our problems. Might wanna try sleeping instead."

Katya didn't even look at her. "Maybe I don't need advice from someone who thinks eyeliner and attitude make them bulletproof."

Yiseo arched a brow. "Wow. Didn't realize you were the designated mood police."

Katya finally turned, her eyes sharp. "No, I'm just tired. Tired of everyone acting like this is some game. Like we're not stranded in the middle of nowhere with barely enough to get through the night."

Yiseo blinked, the sass in her expression faltering just a little.

Katya stood, voice rising with heat. "So unless you've got something useful to say—or a damn radio stuffed in your jacket—shut up."

The camp went quiet.

Yiseo didn't reply, just looked away, lips pressing into a thin line.

Katya exhaled hard through her nose, brushing a hand through her hair before walking a few steps away into the shadows, needing space, needing to breathe. The weight of everything—the crash, Danny, the baby—was pressing in, and she wasn't sure how much more she could take.

The silence after Katya's outburst lingered like smoke in the air—thick, uncomfortable. Yiseo sat stiffly, still staring at the fire, her jaw tight and eyes sharp, but she didn't speak. The sting of Katya's words hadn't gone unnoticed.

Then, from the other side of the fire, a dry, amused sound cut through the tension. Avalon.

A quiet chuckle at first—then a full laugh.

Yiseo's head snapped toward her, expression darkening. "Something funny?"

Avalon shrugged, legs stretched out as she leaned back on her hands, looking entirely unbothered. "Just didn't think you were the one who'd get verbally smacked tonight. Guess there's a first for everything."

Yiseo's eyes narrowed. "Careful, Avalon."

"Or what?" Avalon asked sweetly, flashing a lazy smile. "You'll scowl me into submission?"

The air between them tightened, like a cord pulled taut. A few of the others glanced over, sensing it—another flare of tension brewing just beneath the surface. Tommy shifted slightly, watching from the side, ready to intervene if it escalated.

Yiseo stood slowly, brushing imaginary dirt off her pants. "You've got a mouth on you."

Avalon didn't flinch. "And you've got a complex."

The two locked eyes, firelight dancing between them—one with coiled energy, the other with practiced nonchalance. A powder keg waiting for a spark.

Loralie broke the tension gently from beside the fire. "Okay... maybe we take the night off from fighting? Just a wild idea."

No one spoke for a long beat. Then Yiseo sat back down without a word, eyes still burning.

Avalon looked away with a grin like nothing had happened. But the air around the fire stayed heavy, and no one laughed again.

The fire had burned low, casting dim, restless shadows across tired faces. Tommy leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glancing between Milaya and Tyler as he spoke in a low, serious tone.

"We head back to the plane at first light. The radio's our best shot—maybe the only shot—at calling for help."

Before either of them could respond, Orion's voice cut in from the edge of the group, sharper than the cold night air.

"Or... we don't."

Everyone turned.

Orion stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, but there was something stubborn—almost defiant—in his eyes.

Tommy frowned. "What?"

"I said we don't go back," Orion repeated, stepping closer. "Before the crash, I checked our location. GPS on my phone. We weren't far from a town. Small one—looked like it had roads, maybe even power."

Tyler squinted up at him. "And you're just now mentioning this?"

"I didn't think it'd matter if we were already being rescued," Orion snapped. "But now? Yeah. It matters."

Milaya sat up straighter, curiosity flickering across her face. "How far?"

"Couple miles, maybe three. West," Orion replied. "If we keep moving, we could hit it in a day—less if we don't stop."

Tommy's jaw worked, gears clearly turning behind his eyes. "You're sure?"

Orion nodded once. "As sure as I can be without a map."

A heavy pause stretched through the camp.

Tyler let out a short breath. "That's a hell of a risk."

"So is wasting time digging through a wreck hoping for a miracle," Orion shot back.

The fire popped, sending a brief spark into the dark.

Tommy stared at the flames in silence, then looked up at Orion. "We talk to the others in the morning. Let everyone weigh in."

Orion gave a small, humorless smile. "Fine. But if you ask me, moving forward's better than crawling back."

No one said anything more after that. But the group was no longer just tired.

Now, they were divided.

As the fire dimmed into glowing embers and the group slowly settled into a strained quiet, Danny sat a little apart from the others, his knees drawn up, fingers restlessly tapping against his leg. His eyes weren't on the fire, though. They were on Katya.

She was seated across the circle, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her gaze fixed on the darkness beyond the treeline. Her jaw was set, and she hadn't looked at him once since they found each other in the woods.

Danny's eyes lingered on her, soft and searching—haunted, even. Like he wanted to say something. Like he had too much to say. But every time his mouth parted to try, the words just evaporated into the cold air.

Katya didn't need to look to know he was watching. She could feel it—his eyes like weight on her skin. Still, she didn't turn. Didn't speak. Her fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her sleeve, heart hammering louder than the crackle of embers.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not now. Not after everything.

The forest settled into stillness, the distant rustling of branches soft beneath the hush of night. One by one, the group drifted into sleep—some curled in makeshift blankets, others slouched against tree trunks, heads bowed and breath slow. The fire had dwindled to a faint orange glow, casting the faintest light across tired, dirt-streaked faces.

Katya lay with her back to the group, body curled protectively around herself, eyes shut tight though sleep hadn't quite taken her. Avalon slept stretched out carelessly, like the ground was a lounge chair. Tyler was motionless, though his hand never left the pocketknife near his hip. Even Yiseo, after tossing and shifting a few times, had finally gone quiet, eyes closed beneath perfectly smudged eyeliner.

Only Tommy and Milaya remained awake—sitting near the edge of the fire, not speaking much, but not leaving either.

Milaya hugged her knees to her chest, eyes flicking now and then toward the trees, like she expected something—or someone—to come out of them. Tommy sat cross-legged, elbows resting on his thighs, staring into the coals as if trying to read some kind of message in the dying embers.

"You think anyone's looking for us?" she asked quietly, voice barely more than a breath.

Tommy didn't answer at first. Then, "They'd have to know where to look."

Milaya nodded slowly, biting the inside of her cheek. "Still think we should check the plane?"

"I do," he said, glancing at her. "Even if it's a long shot. Anything to keep people alive, right?"

Milaya met his eyes. There was no panic in either of them—just tired focus. The kind that came from being afraid, but refusing to let it win.

"Someone has to keep this group together," she murmured. "Before it falls apart."

Tommy gave a dry, humorless smile. "Yeah. And I think it's just us."

They sat like that a while longer, quiet, watchful, bound not by friendship, but by shared instinct—the bone-deep need to survive, and the unspoken agreement to hold the rest of them together.

Even if it killed them.

________________________________

AUTHOR'S NOTE
Yayyy for re-written chapter!