Chapter Text
The fire outside had burned low by the time Quentin returned, a rolled-up sleeping bag under his arm. He ducked inside with a quiet, “Hope I’m not too late,” and offered a tired smile.
Laurie shifted on her cot, blanket tucked around her shoulders. “No—you’re fine. Thanks for doing this.”
He shrugged, already unrolling his bag beside hers. “You’d do the same.”
The small tent felt even smaller with two of them inside, their movements brushing against each other in the cramped space. For a while, neither spoke. The only sound was fabric rustling and the occasional crackle of the dying fire.
Quentin finally settled on his back, hands folded over his chest. His breathing steadied, slow and rhythmic. Laurie mirrored him, lying on her side, staring at the faint seams in the canvas above.
Safe. She should feel safe.
And yet…
Her mind replayed the weight pressing her down, the cold plastic mask inches from her face, the whisper: I missed you. Laurie squeezed her eyes shut, jaw tight. The memory clung to her like a second skin.
“You okay?” Quentin’s voice cut through the quiet. He hadn’t been asleep after all.
Laurie hesitated. “Yeah. Just… sore.”
He turned his head, watching her in the dim light. “If you want, we can keep talking. Sometimes it helps.”
She thought of telling him. Just blurting it out. But the words turned to ash in her throat. What if he didn’t believe her? Worse—what if Ghostface found out?
Instead, she forced a thin smile. “Talking’s good. Just… maybe not about trials.”
Quentin nodded, accepting that. “Then tell me something else. Anything.”
So she did. They whispered about movies they missed, the taste of real food, little things from before the Fog. Laurie found herself almost laughing at one of his dry jokes. For a fleeting moment, the knot in her chest loosened.
But when Quentin finally drifted into sleep, his breathing soft and steady beside her, Laurie stayed awake.
Every creak of the camp, every flicker of shadow against the canvas kept her on edge. She pulled the blanket tighter, heart racing. Even with Quentin inches away, even with the warmth of his presence…
She didn’t feel safe.
Not really.