Chapter 33 The Present #2
A voice. Low. Familiar. Too close.
What a weak little bastard.
My blood went ice-cold.
I stopped so abruptly Amelia almost ran into me. “What the fuck?”
I stared into the trees. The voice came again, clearer. Always were. Always will be.
Amelia whispered, “Caiden?”
I didn’t answer. Because if I answered, I’d confirm it was real. And if it was real, then I was losing my mind. I took a step toward the sound, eyes scanning between trunks, searching for a shape. A man. A shadow. Anything.
Nothing. Just trees. Just wind. Just the forest breathing.
My heart hammered. Anger rose up fast, instinctive, because anger was my oldest weapon. Anger was how I survived him. Anger was how I survived myself.
I turned in a slow circle, fists clenched. “Show yourself!” I shouted.
Amelia grabbed my arm.
Her touch was light, but it shocked me like electricity. Warmth on my skin. Real. Human.
“Stop,” she hissed. “There’s nothing there.”
I jerked my arm away. “You don’t know that.”
Her eyes widened. “Caiden. Listen to me.”
“Don’t tell me to listen.” My voice cracked with fury. With fear. With the shame of being seen.
She stepped in front of me, forcing me to look at her. “You’re hearing things.”
I bared my teeth. “So are you.”
She flinched, then steadied. “Yes. I am. And it’s terrifying. And I’m trying not to let it control me.”
I stared at her.
She looked awful. Hollow. Starved. But there was still something stubborn in her eyes. Something that refused to fold.
It made my chest ache in a way I didn’t understand.
The wind gusted again and the trees hissed like a crowd. For a heartbeat I saw it. Not my father, not fully. Just the shape of a man between the trunks, tall and broad, head tilted like he was watching me with amusement. Like he owned me.
I blinked and it was gone.
My lungs pulled in air like I’d been drowning.
Amelia’s voice softened. “Who is it?”
I wanted to say no one. I wanted to lock it back up. I wanted to be the calm exterior again. But the week had sanded me down. The hunger had scraped away layers. The wilderness didn’t care about my mask.
“My dad,” I admitted, the words tasting like poison.
Amelia’s expression shifted. Not pity. Not judgment.
Understanding.
It pissed me off and steadied me at the same time.
“He’s dead,” she said quietly, like a reminder, like a hand on my shoulder.
“I know,” I snapped.
“Then it’s your brain,” she said. “It’s hunger and exhaustion and trauma. It’s not him.”
I stared at her face, at the dirt streaked across her cheek, at the chapped lips, at the way her hands trembled even when she tried to hide it.
She was right. And I hated it. Because if she was right, then the enemy was me.
I dragged a hand through my hair, the dark strands falling into my eyes. I shoved them back with shaking fingers. “We need food.”
Amelia let out a laugh that was almost a sob. “No shit.”
I turned and started walking again, faster, because I needed to move before I did something stupid. Before I punched a tree. Before I screamed. Before I grabbed her and begged her to keep me tethered to reality.
Behind me, Amelia followed, quieter now.
We walked for what felt like hours. The sun barely moved, or maybe I just couldn’t track it anymore. My brain felt swollen. My thoughts came sluggish, like they had to push through mud.
Then I saw it.
A cabin. Small, brown, tucked between the trees. Smoke curling from a chimney. A porch. A window catching light.
My heart jumped so hard it hurt.
I stopped, breathing fast. “Amelia.”
“What?” she snapped automatically, then saw my face and frowned. “What is it?”
I pointed.
Her eyes widened. She stared in the direction of my finger.
For a second, her face lit with something like hope. It was so bright it made her look younger. Softer.
Then the light died.
“There’s nothing there,” she whispered.
My throat went dry. “Yes there is.”
“No.” Her voice shook. “Caiden, there isn’t.”
I blinked hard.
The cabin shimmered. The edges blurred. The smoke twisted wrong, like ink in water. The window’s reflection pulsed like a heartbeat.
My stomach dropped.
I stepped forward anyway, because if I didn’t, I’d never forgive myself.
The cabin vanished.
One second it was there, solid and real and saving us, and the next it was just trees and dead leaves and a cruel empty space where hope had been.
I stood frozen, staring at nothing, my chest caving in.
I laughed, but it came out borderline hysterical. “We’re fucked.”
Amelia’s face twisted. “Don’t say that.”
“What do you want me to say?” My voice rose, cracking. “It’s been days. We have nothing. No food. No fire. No map. No phone. I’m hallucinating cabins now. What the hell do you want me to say?”
Her jaw trembled. “I want you to stop acting like you’re the only one suffering.”
That hit a nerve. A deep one.
I stepped closer. “You think I don’t know you’re suffering?”
“You don’t act like it,” she hissed. “You act like I’m dead weight. Like I’m an inconvenience.”
I exhaled harshly. “Because if I let myself feel how bad it is, I’ll break.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
I hadn’t meant to say that. The truth had slipped out like blood.
Amelia stared at me for a long moment, then her voice dropped, raw. “You’re already breaking.”
I swallowed hard. The forest pressed in around us, quiet and listening.
I forced my face into coldness again, because that was what I knew. That was what kept me from falling apart.