Trust No One, Love One

by RaeRaven

Summary:

A Wenclair story inspired by both “Scream” and the book “Five Survive” by Holly Jackson. Enid invited Wednesday to go on a roadtrip with her family along with a couple others but the trip takes a dark turn.

Chapter 1: Buckle Up, Addams

The Addams family home creaks with an eerie silence, the only thing to break it being the sound of a quill being slid across the paper and Wednesday writes. A small candle flickers next to her, illuminating the paper and the jar of ink beside it.
Shes just finished her second year of nevermore and has arrived home for the summer. Finally getting the alone time she’s craved.

The lack of color she’s grown used to illuminating from Enids half of the dorm at nevermore back at her dorm brings her a sense of peace.

“Wednesday! It’s dinner time!” Her mother, Morticia calls from downstairs.

The walls are thin due to the houses age so it’s easy to hear her. Wednesday finishes her sentence on the paper and sets the quill in the jar beside her. She stands up briskly and dusts off her skirt.

She walks down the stairs, one hand on the railing and one by her side. The halls are dark, as they usually are.

Wednesday enters the kitchen. The rest of her family; Morticia, her father Gomez, and her brother pugsley are all already sat around the table. Pugsley stuffs his face with food and lurch pulls a chair out for Wednesday.

She walks over to the chair but doesn’t sit. Instead, she grabs the plate in-front of it, on the table, which already has food on it and begins to leave.

“Where are you going my little death trap?” Gomez says

causing Wednesday to stop and turn towards him.

“I’d rather cut off my own tongue than eat your cooking in the same room as you.” Wednesday replies coldly.

Gomez frowns as Wednesday turns back towards the doorway and walks out. Just as she makes it to the stairway there’s a knock on the front door. Wednesday sets her plate on the banister and walks over to the door. She opens it just enough look who’s on the other side.

On the opposite side of the door stands Enid. Wednesday jumps slightly at the sight of her, obviously not expecting the visit.

“Enid.” She says as she steps outside and closes the door behind her.

“Wednesday!” Enid says, giving Wednesday a hug, which she doesn’t return. “I’ve tried to see you so many times this summer but your weird butler keeps closing the door as soon as he sees me.”

“Lurch has been taught to see color as a threat.” Wednesday replies. “Usually it’s someone trying to convert the Addams family to Christianity.”

Enid makes a face at that.

“Anywaysss” Enid says, changing the subject. “My family’s going on vacation and said I could invite anyone I wanted as a celebration for me finishing werewolf camp last summer.”

“No.” Wednesday replies, quickly and monotonous.

Enid pauses. For some reason she was expecting a different answer. “Oh…” Enid looks at the ground then back at Wednesday. “Well in that case I’ll see you when we get back!” Enid says, pulling Wednesday into another hug.

As Enid touches her, Wednesdays head shoots back as she enters a vision. The windows of an RV shatter as a loud gunshot is fired. Enid falls and hits the ground hard.

Wednesday snaps out of her vision, laying on the ground with Enid over her.

“Wednesday!” Enid yells.

Wednesday sits up quickly and turns towards Enid. “I’ll go.” She says.

“What? Really? What made you change your mind?” Enid asks.

“I just saw how much fun it would be.” Wednesday replies with a very slight smirk.

There’s a pause.

“Okay! Well pack your stuff and my family will pick you up tomorrow when it’s time to go!” Enid says, helping Wednesday stand up. “See you tomorrow roomie!” Enid says, turning and walking down the steps before getting into her mother’s car.

Wednesday walks back inside and up the stairs, grabbing her plate on the way. The foods already gone cold but she doesn’t seem to care.

She enters her room and tosses the food into the trash along with the entire plate. She grabs her suitcase from when she was at never more and sets it on her bed. Opening it.

She walks over to her wardrobe and goes through it. The darkness of the clothes matching the rest of her room. She grabs a couple outfits and walks back over to her suitcase, setting them neatly inside.

She pulls the suitcase off of her bed and sets it on the floor. She then sits at her desk and continues writing, picking up where she left off.

The next day, an RV pulls up outside of the Addams family home and out steps Enid. She walks up to the front door and knocks. Almost instantly Wednesday opens the door.

“You ready?” Enid asks.

“No. Let’s go.” Wednesday replies, stepping past Enid while holding her suitcase. She goes down the steps and steps into the RV. Her eyes meet Bruno Yuson almost immediately, causing her to sigh and roll her eyes.

Wednesday sets her suitcase down and sits on a couch on the opposite side of Bruno and gives him and looks through his eyes. This stare causes Bruno to shift nervously, tapping his foot on the ground quickly.

After a moment, Enid steps into the RV. She looks between Bruno and Wednesday before deciding to sit next to Wednesday. The RV makes a noise as it’s shifted into Drive, pulling out of the Addams property.

Chapter 2: The Extra Seat

The RV rattled as if it were one screw away from disassembling itself in the middle of the road. Wednesday sat rigidly on the couch, her spine as straight as the iron railing of a cemetery gate. The smell inside was a cocktail of gasoline, cheap upholstery, and the faint trace of Enid’s lavender body spray. A nauseating combination.

Bruno was still across from her, drumming his foot nervously. Each tap scraped her patience thinner.

“Is there a reason you’re impersonating a woodpecker?” she asked flatly, her eyes narrowing into his.

Bruno’s legs almost immediately stopped as he was caught.

“That death glare you’re giving me. It’s hard to focus when you do that. Plus, I don’t like long drives.” Bruno replies, running a hand through his hair.

Wednesday opens her mouth to speak but Enid cuts in before she can get a word out.

“Oh come on Bruno! That’s just Wednesday for ya!” She says joyfully, dismissing Wednesdays obvious distain of Bruno.

Wednesday lets her finish before turning her attention back to Bruno to say what she was going to before Enid cut her off. “If you dislike long drives you should’ve stayed home.”

Enid leaned over, bright and irritating as ever. “Play nice, Wens. We’re supposed to be bonding.”

“Bonding is what happens when flesh melts together in a fire,” Wednesday said. “This is closer to imprisonment.”

The RV jolted over a pothole. The cupboards above rattled, a metallic clinking echoing like bones shifting in a coffin.

Enid had chosen to sit beside her rather than across, an unspoken declaration of allegiance. Wednesday tolerated it. Enid’s chatter filled the air as miles blurred by in shades of green and asphalt gray. She talked about her summer camp, about her pack, about how excited she was for the trip. Each sentence was an assault on Wednesday’s desire for silence. However, she didn’t mind since it was Enid doing the talking.

She didn’t respond. She rarely needed to. Enid was content to speak for both of them.

“So.. do you have any snacks in this thing?” Bruno asked as he looked at Enid.

“Yes!” Enid chirped, standing to rummage through a cabinet. The RV swayed and she stumbled, clutching at Wednesday’s shoulder for balance. Wednesday resisted the urge to shrug her off with force.

Enid found a bag of neon-orange chips and plopped back down beside her. She threw a bag to Bruno and got to work eating her chips. crunching loudly. Each bite sounded like bone marrow cracking.

Hours passed, the road stretching endlessly before them. Wednesday observed her companions with the precision of a coroner. Bruno fidgeted, Enid fawned, and the driver—Enid’s father—seemed blissfully unaware that his passengers were at best mismatched and at worst combustible.

It wasn’t until the RV slowed near a lonely stretch of town that Wednesday noticed the girl on the side of the road. Pale skin, sharp features, dark sunglasses shielding her eyes from the sun. Yoko Tanaka.

Enid practically screamed. “Yoko! Over here!”

The RV door hissed open and Yoko climbed inside, carrying a sleek black backpack. Her expression was unreadable.

“Didn’t know you were coming,” Bruno said, voice pitching higher than usual.

“Didn’t know I needed your permission,” Yoko replied coolly, sliding into the seat opposite Wednesday.

Wednesday almost smirked. Almost.

Enid clapped her hands together. “This is perfect! Now it’s a real party!”

Wednesday turned to her. “If this is your idea of a party, I can only imagine what your funerals look like.”

The RV set off once more, the road shifting from bumpy to smooth then back again multiple times. Enid moved over to sit next to Bruno. They’d been dating for a bit now so why wouldn’t she? However, seeing Enid chatting with Bruno and giggling at his jokes stirred something in Wednesday. Without saying a word she stood up, and headed to the bathroom at the back of the RV.

In the bathroom, Wednesday pressed her hand against the wall of the RV and closed her eyes, trying to get another glance of the vision she had earlier in the day. All she ended up seeing was the exact same thing she had already seen. As she came back to reality she looked into the mirror. Behind her stood a pigtailed girl with red hair, Agnes.

“Hello Wednesday.” She said with a smile that had a level of crazy behind it.

“When did you get here?” Wednesday asks, not turning around to face Agnes.

“Same time you did.” Agnes says, tilting her head slightly. “Just because schools out doesn’t mean I can’t be your assistant.”

“You aren’t my assistant. I exploited your fondness of me for my own self gain and I feel no pity for it.” Wednesday replies flatly.

“And I loved every second of it, Wednesday~” Agnes says, dragging out Wednesdays name.

Wednesday glances at her and then flings the door to the bathroom open and walks out, positioning herself in front of Enid.

“You have a stowaway.” Wednesday says.

“What?” Enid asks, confused. She turns her head to glance towards the bathroom and spots Agnes just before she returns to being invisible. “The little brat!” Enid says, standing up and stomping over to the bathroom. “Show yourself you pint sized disappearing act!”

There’s no response and after a while of searching the RV Enid gives up and sits back down, still glancing over her shoulder every now and then.

Wednesday looked out the window to watch the road ahead, long and empty, a black ribbon unraveling toward inevitability.

She knew better than anyone: every journey was just a funeral waiting to happen.

Notes:

Im very pleased with how this fic is coming along so far, and so I’d love to hear any feedback anyone may have!!

Chapter 3: Serpents in the Rear View

The RV rattled like an oversized coffin being dragged across gravel. Wednesday sat rigidly by the window, notebook balanced on her knees, pen scratching across the page in short, deliberate strokes.

Enid leaned over, peeking. “What are you writing?”

“My will.”

Enid blinked. “Seriously?”

Wednesday looked up at her, deadpan. “No. I’m making a list of people I’d least like to be trapped in this RV with. Congratulations on second place.”

Enid gasped in mock offense. “Second?”

“Myself, naturally, is first.”

Enid laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

Across from them, Bruno shifted in his seat. His leg bounced against the floor, jittery, but his eyes weren’t on the window or the road. They were locked on Enid — and more specifically, the way she leaned toward Wednesday like she belonged there. His knuckles tapped against the cushion, louder each time she brushed against Wednesday’s arm.

Wednesday caught the movement in her periphery. She cataloged it, like noting the twitch of a dying insect’s wing. Nothing more.

“So… uh… how much longer till we stop?” Bruno muttered, voice tight.

“Not long,” Enid’s father called cheerfully from the driver’s seat. His humming filled the air again, off-key, tuneless, and insistent. “We’ll be picking up another passenger soon.”

Enid frowned. “Another passenger? Who?”

“You’ll see,” her mother replied, smiling too wide, too steady.

Wednesday’s pen paused on the page. Another variable.

The RV groaned as it slowed, pulling into a cracked parking lot by a lonely gas station. The sign flickered with a broken buzz, moths throwing themselves against the glow like tiny suicides.

Wednesday peered through the glass. A tall figure stood near the edge of the lot, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, beanie tugged low despite the heat. Something faint shifted beneath the knit cap — snakes never did enjoy being confined.

Ajax Petropolus.

The RV hissed to a halt. Ajax hesitated before climbing the steps, his hand lingering on the rail as if weighing whether to turn back. His eyes scanned the cramped interior, landing on Enid for a fraction of a second before flicking away.

Enid’s smile faltered, her face draining of color. “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice thin.

Ajax dropped his bag with a dull thud. “My parents told me this was some volunteer thing. Trail clean-up. Youth outreach. Am I in the wrong place?” His tone was flat, but his jaw was tight.

Enid blinked rapidly, then turned toward her mother. “Yes, he’s in the wrong place! Completely wrong place!”

“Enid,” her mother said softly, still smiling, “we thought this would be a good chance for you and Ajax to make up. He’s such a nice boy, after all.”

“Mom!” Enid snapped, throwing her arms out. “Now is not the time for that! This was supposed to be my trip and I can’t have Ajax here!”

Ajax’s gaze didn’t move from the window. “Well, I live about two hours from here. My parents dropped me off. It’s not like I can just walk home.”

Bruno muttered something under his breath.

Enid’s head whipped toward him. “What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Bruno said quickly, though his eyes darted nervously between her and Ajax.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the creak of the RV door shutting.

Ajax finally moved toward the farthest corner, sliding into the seat as far from Enid as he could get. He adjusted his beanie, the fabric shifting faintly with the restless snakes underneath. His posture was stiff, deliberate, like a wall being built brick by brick.

Enid crossed her arms, muttering to herself. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Wednesday snapped her notebook shut. “Few things ever are. That’s what makes them entertaining.”

Enid turned on her. “You’re not helping.”

“I wasn’t trying to.”

Yoko smirked, leaning back lazily. “This is better than a soap opera. Someone hand me popcorn.”

The RV lurched back into motion, cupboards rattling overhead. A fork slipped from a drawer, clattering onto the floor. The metallic scrape echoed like a warning.

Wednesday glanced at it, then at the faces around her: Enid’s forced smile cracking, Bruno gnawing at his lip, Ajax staring rigidly out the window, Yoko watching like an amused spectator, and Enid’s parents up front — humming and smiling too brightly, as if the chaos behind them wasn’t their fault.

Agnes appeared faintly in the reflection of the window beside Wednesday, her grin stretched too wide. “Snakes and secrets,” she whispered, delighted. “Both coil. Both squeeze. I like him.”

Wednesday ignored her. Her gaze lingered on Ajax, his silence heavier than shouting, the faint hiss of his snakes betraying him. Silence was often sharper than words.

Enid shifted closer, lowering her voice. “This trip is already a disaster.”

Wednesday didn’t look at her. “Most disasters don’t announce themselves so early. Consider it a gift.”

Enid exhaled, then leaned into her shoulder, warm and soft against the rigid line of Wednesday’s body.

Wednesday didn’t move. She told herself it was because moving would’ve been inefficient, not because she found it tolerable.

Outside, the highway stretched endlessly ahead, a black ribbon unraveling into inevitability.

And inside, Ajax’s silence hissed louder than the snakes beneath his cap.

Chapter 4: Everyone’s guilty of something

The RV shuddered like a coffin being dragged across gravel, every dip and pothole rattling its joints as though the entire vehicle was one misstep away from collapsing. The cupboards above clinked and rattled with each bump, metal and plastic shifting around in chaotic symphony. To most, it was an irritating sound. To Wednesday, it was a lullaby. The groan of a dying machine was far preferable to the relentless chatter surrounding her.

She sat rigidly by the window, notebook balanced on her lap, pen in hand. The paper bore a few lines — fragments of sentences, sketches of thought — but mostly she just listened. Watched. Catalogued. Writers were parasites. They drained their surroundings for material until nothing was left but an empty husk.

Across from her, Bruno had been trying for the past half hour to occupy himself with a deck of cards. The cheap kind you’d find at a gas station. His hands moved in sloppy shuffles, the sound of uneven cardboard scraping together filling the small space. He dealt himself a hand, frowned, gathered the cards, shuffled again. It was a pattern, but a nervous one.

Wednesday’s gaze lingered on him. Silent, unblinking, dissecting.

Bruno froze under her stare, then forced an awkward chuckle. “Do you always look at people like that?”

“Yes.”

He laughed again, weaker this time. “Okay. Cool. That’s… uh, unsettling.”

Wednesday tilted her head. “That’s the point.”

He shifted uncomfortably, brushing a hand through his hair. “Right. Of course.” He looked down at the cards, started to shuffle again, but his hands slipped and the deck fanned out across the table like broken teeth scattering from a jaw. He cursed under his breath and scrambled to collect them.

“Smooth,” Yoko remarked from the corner, her voice dry. She lounged on the far seat, sunglasses still perched on her face despite the fading light outside. Her thermos rested lazily in her hand. “You’re really nailing the ‘suspiciously guilty’ vibe.”

Bruno bristled. “I’m not guilty of anything.”

“No one said you were.” Yoko’s lips curved in the faintest smirk.

Wednesday returned to her notebook, pen scratching across the page. “He assumed guilt before anyone accused him. That’s telling.”

Bruno snapped his head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you lack subtlety. Criminals with nervous habits rarely last long.”

Enid groaned and leaned over, nudging Wednesday with her elbow. “Wens, stop psychoanalyzing people. You’re gonna make him paranoid.”

“I’m not paranoid,” Bruno muttered, though his leg bounced rapidly against the floor.

“Not yet,” Wednesday corrected.

Enid rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Thank you.”

Bruno busied himself with the cards again, but the steady rhythm of his shuffling was gone. Each movement was sharp, sloppy, punctuated by muttered swears when he dropped one.

“Seriously, Addams,” Yoko said, sipping from her thermos, “you’ve got a real gift for ruining vibes.”

“I prefer to call it honesty.”

“Yeah, well, honesty makes people uncomfortable.”

“Exactly.”

Enid piped up, trying to change the subject. “Sooo, what’s in the thermos, Yoko? More pomegranate juice?”

“Of course.”

“You drink that stuff like water,” Enid said with a grin. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Yoko tipped her sunglasses down, eyes glinting crimson in the dim light. “Do you get tired of oxygen?”

Enid raised her hands in surrender. “Fair point.”

The RV jolted again, sending everyone bouncing slightly in their seats. A spoon tumbled from one of the cupboards above and clattered to the floor, spinning like a coin before coming to rest at Bruno’s feet. He bent down to grab it, muttering under his breath.

Wednesday’s pen paused as she tilted her head, watching him. Something about his hurried movements, the way his hands shook as he held the spoon for a second too long, made her note another line: Tremors in the guilty hand.

Her pen scratched again, steady and precise.

Bruno noticed, his eyes flicking up for just a moment before darting back to his cards. His shuffle grew sharper, cards snapping against each other like bones. Yoko caught the shift, her smirk deepening. She didn’t say anything, but the silence stretched heavy.

At the back of the RV, Ajax remained silent. He sat with his arms crossed, pressed as close to the window as possible, duffel bag at his feet. The beanie tugged low on his head twitched faintly as the snakes underneath shifted, irritated by the confinement. He adjusted the cap, jaw tight.

He hadn’t spoken a word since boarding, but his silence said enough. Enid cast a glance back at him, worry tightening her features, but she didn’t try to start a conversation. His posture made it clear: he wanted distance.

Agnes’ voice threaded softly through Wednesday’s mind, light as smoke curling beneath a door.

“They’re all hiding something. Can’t you hear it? Bruno’s hands won’t stop shaking. Yoko’s eyes stay behind glass. Ajax has snakes for hair but it’s his silence that hisses the loudest. Even Enid’s parents so cheerful it hurts. Which one will it be, Wednesday? Who fires the gun?”

Wednesday didn’t look up from her notebook. “You’re commentary. Nothing more.”

Agnes laughed, a bright, girlish sound edged with madness. “And you love it.”

Another pothole jolted the RV. The lights flickered briefly, making the interior flash like a haunted carnival ride before steadying again.

“This thing’s gonna fall apart before we even get anywhere,” Bruno muttered.

“Bold of you to assume it hasn’t already,” Wednesday said.

Yoko chuckled softly, swirling her thermos. “You know, for someone who talks so much about death, you sure seem invested in survival.”

“I’m invested in observation,” Wednesday replied evenly. “Survival is a side effect.”

Enid sighed, flopping back dramatically against the seat. “Can we not make this trip sound like a horror movie already?”

“It already is,” Wednesday said.

Her mother’s voice piped cheerfully from the front seat. “Isn’t this lovely? All of us together, heading toward adventure.”

“Mom,” Enid whined. “It’s not an adventure. It’s just a trip.”

Her mother ignored her, smiling at Ajax through the rearview mirror. “Darling, do you remember your address? We should write it down, just in case.”

Ajax frowned. “Why?”

“Oh, you never know with roads like these,” she replied, still smiling. “Detours, dead ends… Sometimes you think you’re going north, but you end up somewhere else entirely.”

Her husband nodded, humming louder. “Always good to be prepared. Maps can’t be trusted.”

Yoko raised a brow. “Wow. Not creepy at all.”

The RV rattled onward into deepening night. The horizon was bruised purple, headlights carving thin beams into the darkness. Enid shifted closer to Wednesday, their shoulders pressed together. Wednesday tolerated it. More than tolerated it. Silence, when shared, was almost pleasant.

Bruno fumbled another shuffle, cursing quietly. Yoko smirked behind her thermos. Ajax’s snakes twitched restlessly under his hat. Enid’s parents beamed at the road like it was their personal stage. And Agnes’ whisper lingered at the edge of Wednesday’s mind, faint but insistent:

“Everyone’s guilty of something. The fun part is deciding what.”

Chapter 5: Roads to Nowhere

The RV rumbled back onto the road with a groan, a lumbering beast of metal and worn rubber. Wednesday sat with her back straight, notebook resting against her knees. The ink in her pen scratched across the page, though her attention wasn’t entirely on the words. It was on the people around her.

Enid leaned sideways, chin propped on her palm, peeking at Wednesday’s notes. “What are you writing this time? Another list of everyone you hate?”

“Yes,” Wednesday replied without looking up. “And congratulations. You’ve climbed to first place.”

Enid snorted. “Progress! I’ll take it.”

From across the RV, Bruno let out an awkward laugh. “You two are… something.” He adjusted the folded paper map in his lap, holding it upside down without realizing. “Anyway, uh, your mom said we should take the next right.”

“My mom said that?” Enid frowned, leaning forward in her seat. “She’s driving, Bruno. She can see the road better than you can.”

Bruno flushed. “I meant she… agreed with me earlier when we stopped. I’m just trying to help. Nobody else is offering directions.”

“You’re not exactly Magellan,” Ajax muttered from his corner. He hadn’t said much since getting on the RV, but when he did, it landed like a knife. His beanie shifted slightly as the snakes beneath twitched restlessly.

Bruno stiffened. “At least I’m doing something. Better than sitting there sulking.”

Ajax’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look at him. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed firmly out the window, the passing trees blurring into streaks of green and gray.

Yoko stretched her legs out, sunglasses reflecting the RV’s dim lights. “Boys, boys. You’re both doing great at making this trip feel like a reality show meltdown. Ten more minutes and I’ll start charging admission.”

Enid rolled her eyes. “Can everyone please not fight for like, one second? We’re supposed to be on a fun trip.”

“Fun,” Wednesday repeated, her voice flat. “Yes. Few things are more enjoyable than driving toward an inevitable doom.”

“Your optimism is infectious,” Enid said, bumping her shoulder lightly against Wednesday’s.

Wednesday allowed the contact but didn’t look away from Bruno. His hands were gripping the map too tightly, the paper crumpling at the edges. His leg bounced against the floor. His eyes darted between the lines of roads like he was translating an alien language.

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she asked.

“Yes,” Bruno said quickly. Too quickly.

Yoko smirked. “That’s the exact thing someone says before they get us hopelessly lost.”

“I know what I’m doing!” Bruno snapped. His voice cracked on the last word.

Wednesday’s lips twitched upward, almost a smile. “Your confidence is inspiring. We’ll carve it onto your tombstone.”

Enid huffed. “Seriously, you guys, can we not joke about tombstones right now?”

“I wasn’t joking,” Wednesday replied.

The RV rumbled down the road, the trees thickening around them. The pavement narrowed, cracks spiderwebbing like veins. They passed no cars, no houses, not even a gas station. Just endless forest pressing in from both sides.

Ajax finally spoke again, voice low. “This doesn’t look right.”

“It’s fine,” Bruno insisted. He squinted at the map, turning it sideways. “We’re supposed to take this turn up here. I think.”

“You think,” Yoko said, her tone lazy but edged.

Bruno flushed. “Maps are hard, okay? Not all of us are good at… reading.”

Wednesday’s eyebrow arched. “You’ve survived school without being able to read a map? Astounding. A true miracle of natural selection.”

Bruno glared at her, then turned back to Enid for backup. “Enid, come on, tell her—”

But Enid was staring out the window, worry creasing her brow. “I don’t recognize this road. Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Bruno lied.

The RV veered onto a narrow side road, the asphalt cracked and uneven. Branches scraped the sides like claws. The hum of the engine echoed louder in the silence of the woods.

Minutes stretched into half an hour. The road grew tighter, darker.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Enid muttered.

“It’s fine,” Bruno repeated. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

Finally, the trees broke just enough to reveal the end of the road. Not an intersection. Not a highway. Just a sheer dead end, trees pressing tight on either side. The pavement ended in cracked dirt, too narrow for the RV to turn around.

The engine quieted as Enid’s father put the RV in park.

A heavy silence fell.

Yoko leaned forward, pulling down her sunglasses just enough to peer over them. “Well. Congratulations, navigator. We’re officially nowhere.”

Bruno’s face flushed red. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“Intent doesn’t erase incompetence,” Wednesday said sharply.

Enid groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Seriously? We’re stuck?”

Her mother turned back in her seat, still trying to smile despite the tension. “It’s just a mistake. We’ll figure it out.”

Ajax finally looked at Bruno, eyes narrowing. “You had one job. And you blew it.”

Bruno’s mouth opened, then closed again. His foot tapped frantically against the floor. “I… I didn’t mean to, okay? I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Wednesday cut in. Her voice was calm, but her gaze was sharp, dissecting. Every nervous twitch, every defensive word only added to the quiet case she was building against him.

Yoko leaned back, crossing her arms. “Well, at least now we know who not to trust with directions. Or anything else.”

Enid jumped in, voice strained. “Guys, stop. Please. Fighting isn’t gonna help.” She turned to Wednesday, desperation in her eyes. “Wens, tell them.”

Wednesday met her gaze, expression unreadable. “She’s right. Fighting won’t help.”

For a heartbeat, Enid looked relieved.

Then Wednesday added, “But observing will.” Her eyes slid back to Bruno.

Bruno shrank into his seat.

The silence stretched. The RV’s air felt thick, suffocating. The trees outside loomed, shadows twisting with every flicker of wind.

Enid shifted closer to Wednesday, her hand brushing against Wednesday’s on the notebook. The touch lingered, seeking comfort.

Wednesday didn’t pull away.

Finally, Yoko broke the silence with a dramatic sigh. “Well, since we’re stuck here, anyone want to play I Spy?”

Nobody laughed.

Yoko smirked anyway, slipping her sunglasses back into place. “Didn’t think so.”

Wednesday closed her notebook with deliberate care. “We’re lost, trapped on a road with no exit. A predictable mistake, but not an irreparable one.”

Ajax’s snakes shifted beneath his beanie, restless. “You make it sound like it’s the beginning of a horror movie.”

Wednesday met his gaze. “It is.”

The RV sat in silence, engines off, trees pressing closer, shadows growing longer. And for the first time, the group truly understood: there was no easy way out.

Notes:

Finally starting to get to the point 😋

Chapter 6: Five minutes

The RV creaked as the group spilled out, one by one. The air outside was sharp with pine and damp earth, carrying the faint musk of moss and old rain. After hours in the cramped vehicle, even the forest smelled like freedom.

Enid stretched dramatically, arms reaching toward the sky, a soft groan escaping her. “Ohhh my gosh, I thought my spine was about to fossilize in there.”

Yoko smirked, tugging her sunglasses down just enough to peer over them. “Pretty sure that’s just how you always sound. Like a dying puppy.”

Enid gasped, clutching her chest. “Rude. I’ll have you know werewolf joints are very flexible. We don’t fossilize—we thrive.”

Ajax leaned against the RV, arms crossed. The beanie tugged low on his forehead twitched faintly, the snakes beneath it restless. He sighed, half amused. “Pretty sure I heard your shoulder pop twice just now.”

“Battle scars,” Enid shot back, grinning.

Bruno shuffled a few steps away, shoulders hunched, hoodie sleeves tugged low over his hands. He muttered something about stretching his legs, his eyes darting to the treeline like he expected something to be watching.

Wednesday lingered apart from them, her back straight, hands clasped behind her. She didn’t stretch or sigh like the others—she scanned. Her eyes moved from the treeline to the dirt road, then to the RV itself. Every detail, every shadow, cataloged.

Her gaze snagged on the rear of the RV. Something was wrong.

The vehicle leaned faintly, a sag in its frame so subtle most wouldn’t notice. But Wednesday did. Always. She moved forward without a word, boots crunching softly against the gravel shoulder, eyes narrowing as she crouched beside the rear tire.

It was flat. Not simply deflated—slashed.

Her fingers traced the edges of the rubber. Jagged grooves, uneven and deep. Not a blade. No tool marks. These were claw marks, raw and tearing.

Wednesday’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Interesting.”

“Interesting what?” Enid had crept after her, peering down curiously. She followed Wednesday’s gaze, and her breath caught. “Oh my God. Is that—?”

“Yes.” Wednesday rose, brushing her skirt. “Claws.”

The words landed like a guillotine.

Yoko arched a brow, lowering her shades. “Claws? Like… big cat claws? Or…?”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked to the group. “Werewolf claws.”

The silence was immediate. Enid’s parents stiffened by the RV door, glancing at one another quickly before schooling their faces into forced calm. Enid froze, claws twitching half-extended at her sides before she forced them back.

Ajax shifted, adjusting his beanie as his snakes stirred faster. He didn’t speak, but his eyes lingered on Bruno.

Bruno’s head snapped up defensively. “What? Don’t look at me like that. You think I’d slash the tire? Why would I trap myself here with you people?”

Wednesday tilted her head. “You’ve been nervous since we left Nevermore. Fidgeting. Watching your shoes more than the road. Guilt is rarely quiet.”

Bruno’s jaw worked, color rushing to his cheeks. “Or maybe I just don’t like being stuck in a box on wheels with people who treat me like a walking red flag!”

Enid flinched. “Bruno, no one said that.”

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? Then how come all eyes went to me when Wednesday said claws? Huh? I’m not the only one with them.” His glare shifted, stabbing toward Enid. “What about her? She’s been sulking since we left. Maybe she thought slashing the tire would force us to turn back.”

The accusation struck like a physical blow. Enid’s mouth opened, but no words came. Her ears drooped, color flooding her face. “What? Bruno—I’d never—” Her voice cracked, trembling with hurt.

Before she could finish, Wednesday’s voice cut through the clearing, cold and sharp as steel.

“Impossible.”

Every head turned. Wednesday’s glare pinned Bruno like a butterfly beneath glass.

“Enid is many things—obnoxiously cheerful, painfully optimistic, tragically color-coded—but not a saboteur. If she wanted to leave, she wouldn’t hide behind subtlety. She’d shred the RV door with her claws and bolt into the forest, screaming the whole way.”

Enid’s eyes widened. Her heart gave a painful, confused flutter. She’d expected Wednesday’s silence—or worse, her agreement. But this? A defense, unflinching and absolute.

Bruno blinked, jaw flexing. “You don’t know that—”

“I do,” Wednesday snapped. “And if you attempt to shift suspicion onto her again, I’ll consider slashing more than a tire.”

The clearing went dead silent. Bruno’s face darkened, but he looked away, grinding his teeth. His claws flicked out involuntarily before he shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket.

Enid swallowed hard, then glanced at Wednesday. Her voice was small. “Thanks, Wens.”

Wednesday didn’t look at her, but her hands tightened around the leather cover of her notebook.

Yoko broke the silence with a dry laugh, tilting her sunglasses back up. “I’d pay money to see you two in couples therapy.”

Enid flushed crimson. “We’re not—”

“We aren’t,” Wednesday cut in instantly, her tone flat.

Yoko’s smirk widened. Ajax didn’t laugh—his snakes stirred violently, scales rasping against the inside of his beanie. He shifted away from the group, jaw tight.

Enid’s parents tried to diffuse the tension with strained smiles. Her father cleared his throat. “Maybe it was just an accident. The road’s rough. Could’ve been a rock.”

Wednesday turned her gaze on him, and he flinched. “The only sharp things out here are attached to us.”

Her mother gave a shaky nod and muttered something about checking for a spare. She ducked into the RV, her husband following quickly.

The others stayed outside, the air thick with suspicion. Bruno paced at the edge of the road, muttering under his breath. Ajax remained near the treeline, arms folded, eyes sharp. Yoko leaned casually against the RV, but her smirk didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Enid wrapped her arms around herself, claws digging lightly into her sleeves. Her chest still hurt from Bruno’s words, but Wednesday’s defense echoed louder. She wanted to lean closer, to thank her properly, to ask if she really meant it—but she didn’t dare.

Instead, she whispered, “Wens… can we not think about this for five minutes? Please?”

Wednesday studied her silently. Then, with a sigh, she closed her notebook. “Five minutes.”

Enid smiled faintly, her shoulders relaxing. She stepped closer, their arms brushing. This time, Wednesday didn’t move away.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The others shifted and muttered, the forest stretched endless and dark before them, and the tire sagged like a warning.

But Enid’s warmth pressed against her side, steady and real.

And for five minutes, Wednesday let it be enough.

Chapter 7: Echoes on Gravel

Notes:

Warning yall now. This chapter gets a little gruesome.

The forest was quieter than before, the crunch of gravel underfoot replaced by the faint rustle of leaves stirred by the evening breeze. The group lingered just past the RV, avoiding the ruined tire. Even the air seemed heavier now, tainted by unease.

Enid bent down, brushing her fingers over the gravel, as though searching for answers in the disturbed ground. She wasn’t really looking for anything—more trying to keep her hands busy. Her claws flexed nervously against her palms.

Wednesday stood near her, arms folded, watching her with the kind of intensity that made Enid’s throat dry. She didn’t say anything, but her gaze lingered just long enough that Enid shifted under it, cheeks hot despite the cool evening air.

“You don’t have to stare,” Enid muttered, half under her breath.

“I wasn’t staring. I was observing.” Wednesday’s voice was flat, but her eyes didn’t leave her. “There’s a difference.”

Enid huffed and looked away, though the corners of her mouth twitched like she was fighting a smile. Her chest felt uncomfortably tight, and she hated how easy it was for Wednesday to do that without even trying.

Behind them, Ajax leaned against the RV, silent. The snakes under his beanie twitched restlessly, hissing softly against the fabric. Yoko stood with her back to the side panel, arms crossed, her usual air of indifference intact, though her jaw tightened each time the silence dragged too long.

Bruno hovered near the treeline, fidgeting with his sleeves. He looked jumpy, muttering something about “needing space.” His eyes darted everywhere except at the group.

The quiet stretched on. Enid shifted closer to Wednesday, not even realizing until her shoulder brushed against her. Wednesday stiffened but didn’t step away.

Enid tilted her head toward her. “You really think we’ll be fine out here?”

“I think panicking wastes energy,” Wednesday replied. Her expression didn’t change, but her hand tightened slightly on the notebook she wasn’t writing in. “And I think you’re too close.”

Enid flushed but didn’t move away. “Well, maybe I feel safer here.”

Wednesday finally looked at her then, eyes sharp, unreadable. For a moment, it was too much, and Enid broke eye contact, her heart rattling against her ribs.

Before anyone could speak again, Bruno shifted. “I… I think I need to check around. Just to make sure it’s safe.”

“Alone?” Yoko asked, one brow lifting.

He didn’t answer, just turned toward the trees. His retreat was stiff, uneven.

Enid bit her lip, watching him go. “Do you think we should—”

“Let him,” Wednesday cut in. Her gaze followed Bruno until he slipped into the shadows. “He’ll tell us more with his absence than his excuses.”

The air pressed down heavier. Ajax’s snakes twitched, restless. Yoko adjusted her stance but stayed silent.

Enid leaned closer to Wednesday again, lowering her voice. “What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Then that’s an answer too,” Wednesday replied.

The group stayed huddled near the RV, time stretching thin. Every sound of the forest felt sharpened—the wind, the rustling branches, the snap of a twig.

Then came a muffled thump.

Enid froze. Her claws dug lightly into her palms. “Bruno?” she called softly.

No answer.

The forest swallowed the sound whole.

Then, the RV door creaked faintly behind them. The group turned at once, breath caught. But the door wasn’t opening. It was only the metal frame shifting in the cool air, an echo that left the clearing taut with silence.

And then came the screams.

Enid’s mother first—shrill, jagged—followed by her father’s, raw with terror. The sounds cut off almost as suddenly as they began.

Enid’s stomach lurched. “Mom? Dad?”

Yoko’s composure cracked, lips parting in something dangerously close to fear. Ajax flinched, the snakes beneath his hat writhing violently.

Wednesday stepped forward, boots crunching softly on the gravel. “Stay here,” she ordered, voice flat.

Enid tried to follow, but something in Wednesday’s look pinned her in place. Her chest heaved as she waited, claws trembling at her sides.

Inside the RV, the stench hit first—thick, metallic, and suffocating. The warm, humid air was tainted with the coppery tang of blood, lingering like a living thing in every corner. Pools of it had spread across the floor, soaking into the threadbare carpet, dark and glistening under the dim interior light. It streaked the walls in jagged lines, spattered across the ceiling where it had rained down from unseen strikes, leaving small rivulets that twisted like veins.

Enid’s mother lay slumped across the narrow kitchenette bench, her torso grotesquely split open from mid-abdomen to collarbone. Ribs jutted outward at uneven angles, some broken cleanly, others splintered into jagged shards that pierced the surrounding fabric and flooring. Her organs were partially exposed, slick and dark, twisted in ways that made it impossible to look away. Blood coated her hair and face, one eye hanging loose in its socket, the other staring blankly as if frozen mid-terrified gasp. Her tongue lolled out, split along the edge, her lips torn in a scream that never escaped.

Her father was sprawled in the narrow aisle, chest caved in from a strike that had sheared through sternum and left lung. The skull above his fractured jaw had been partially crushed, sending fragments of bone into the cushioned wall behind him. Blood sprayed the paneling, streaked down in long, twisting ribbons. One arm was bent back at an impossible angle, the elbow puncturing the skin, the fingers curled unnaturally. His legs were splayed, one knee hyperextended as if pulled by invisible hands, the other bent sharply under the weight of his torso.

The RV’s interior was a tableau of violence. Chairs were toppled, the table had collapsed under the shock of impact, and the cupboards bore streaks of blood as though brushed in a violent frenzy. The air shimmered with the thick copper haze, the scent so overpowering that each breath felt coated in iron. Drops of blood fell from the ceiling, hitting the floor with a wet, dull plop, some rolling into the pools beneath the bodies.

When Enid finally stumbled in, her body betrayed her. She gagged, doubling over before retching onto the floor, sobbing through the heaves. Her vision blurred with tears as she pressed her face into Wednesday’s shoulder, trembling uncontrollably.

“No… no… no…”

Wednesday wrapped an arm around her, steady, unmoving. “They are gone. But you are not. That distinction matters.”

Enid vomited again, choking on her sobs, body wracked. Her claws scraped helplessly against her own arms as though she could tear the grief out of herself.

Wednesday’s arm remained steady around her, noting every angle, every possible clue—how the strikes had come from multiple directions, how precision and speed suggested a killer both practiced and cruel. She cataloged the splintered bone, the torn flesh, the arcs of blood sprayed across the narrow confines of the RV, even as she felt Enid’s heartbeat hammering against her side.

Yoko appeared in the doorway, face pale, glasses tilted slightly. Her usual cool tone was gone, replaced by something strained. “Holy…” she muttered, trailing off.

Ajax lingered back, snakes thrashing violently under his hat, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t come closer.

Bruno was nowhere.

Wednesday noted his absence coldly, her mind already dissecting it, but she pressed her palm against the back of Enid’s head, anchoring her.

Yoko’s sunglasses reflected the chaos, mouth tight, her usual calm fraying at the edges. Ajax shifted, snakes hissing violently beneath his beanie, restless against the tension, staring without moving.

And in the center of it all, the bodies lay sprawled, a brutal ledger of violence, their features frozen mid-attack, grotesque and unrelenting, every detail etched into Wednesday’s mind. She knew that whatever had done this had been precise, calculated, and terrifyingly fast—and whoever it was could strike again at any moment.

Enid’s voice was raw, shredded. “Bruno…?”

“Not now,” Wednesday murmured. “Focus on breathing. On being here.”

Enid shook, clinging tighter.

The forest outside whispered in the wind, but inside the RV, death hung heavy, the silence louder than screams.

Every breath carried the copper tang of blood from the RV, seeping out into the night like a signal flare for something monstrous. The forest no longer sounded like a forest. No insects. No birds. Just silence, as if even nature refused to witness what had happened.

Enid stayed pressed against Wednesday, her body trembling, claws half-extended as if her instincts were trying to take over. Her sobs had faded to ragged breaths, but her eyes were wide, reflecting the dim glow spilling out of the RV.

Yoko finally broke the silence. “This wasn’t random. That wasn’t some animal attack.” Her voice was low, stripped of its usual amusement. “Someone did this on purpose.”

“Someone close,” Ajax said darkly. He still hadn’t moved closer, arms folded so tight his knuckles had gone pale. His snakes hissed as if echoing his unease.

Wednesday let Enid pull back slightly, though her hand stayed steady against the girl’s back. Her gaze swept across the scene—blood spray on the ceiling, gouges in the walls, the strange neatness of the cuts that didn’t quite match frenzy. “No intruder could have done this without being noticed. Which means the killer is one of us.”

The words hit like stones.

Enid’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “No… no, Wens, it—it can’t be one of us! We—we were all outside, remember? Nobody went in…”

“Not all,” Wednesday corrected. Her voice was sharp, clinical, merciless. “Bruno was missing.”

Yoko’s jaw tightened. “I knew it. I knew the guy was twitchy.”

Enid’s throat closed. She shook her head violently. “No! He’s… he’s awkward, yeah, but he wouldn’t—” She broke off, voice trembling.

Ajax spoke for the first time, his words low and deliberate. “He left right before it happened. The timing’s not coincidence.”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed, scanning the forest edge where Bruno had vanished. “Coincidence is a story people tell themselves to avoid facing truth. Bruno knew something. Or wanted something. Either way, this was deliberate.”

Enid’s breathing grew shallow. Her parents’ blood was already drying in the cool air, painting grotesque shadows across the RV windows. She shook her head again, her voice cracking. “If it was him… why my parents? Why not—why not me?”

Wednesday looked at her, unflinching. “That is the question we must answer before he returns.”

The forest groaned in the distance, a long, low creak like bending wood. Everyone stiffened.

Yoko pulled her sunglasses off completely, eyes dark and sharp. “If Bruno did this, we need to be ready. He’s not just unstable—he’s dangerous.”

Enid’s knees buckled, and she sank down onto the gravel. Her claws dug into her palms, blood beading from the half-moon cuts she made in her own skin. “I can’t… I can’t do this… not without them…”

Wednesday crouched in front of her, forcing her eyes to meet hers. Her tone was unyielding, a lifeline wrapped in barbed wire. “You can. Because you must. Grief later. Survival now.”

Enid blinked through tears, staring into Wednesday’s cold, unwavering gaze. And slowly, shakily, she nodded.

The shadows stirred, the forest holding secrets it wasn’t ready to share. The group huddled closer to the blood-soaked RV, each one realizing they weren’t just stranded anymore. They were being hunted.

Chapter 8: The Invisible Girl

The air around the RV was sour with iron, thick enough that every breath burned at the back of the throat. Even standing outside, the smell clung, drifting out of the doorway like smoke from a fire that refused to die. No one spoke. No one moved. They simply lingered near the gravel clearing, eyes drawn again and again to the warped shadows spilling from inside.

Enid stood rigid, her arms wrapped tight around herself. Her claws pressed so hard into her palms that small beads of blood had gathered, though she didn’t notice. Her eyes were locked on the RV door, pupils wide, breaths shallow and uneven. Every inhale seemed to snag against a sob she was too exhausted to release.

Wednesday stood a few steps ahead, her posture straight, deliberate. The dim light glinted off her dark braids, but her face was unreadable. When she finally turned back to the group, her voice cut the silence cleanly.

“We can’t leave them like this.”

Enid flinched at the words, biting down hard on her lip until it trembled. Ajax shifted uneasily, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets. The snakes beneath his hat writhed restlessly, their hiss a constant undercurrent. Yoko crossed her arms tighter, sunglasses tilted down her nose just enough to reveal the sharpness in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” Yoko asked, her voice low but steady.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. “If we remain here with the bodies exposed, it will erode our ability to think clearly. The constant reminder of what has happened will corrode morale. Panic thrives when death lingers too close.”

“That’s…” Ajax trailed off, looking toward the RV, his jaw tightening. “You’re saying we just—what? Move them? Like trash?”

“Like the dead,” Wednesday corrected sharply. “They are not here anymore. Only their bodies remain. If we are to survive, we cannot afford to let grief paralyze us.”

Enid shook her head, the words scraping raw against her ears. “You can’t just—just talk about them like that! They were my parents!” Her voice cracked, breaking into something between a growl and a sob.

Wednesday’s gaze fell on her, cool and unyielding. “Which is why you are in no condition to do it. I will not ask this of you.”

Enid’s throat tightened until she could barely breathe. She staggered back a step, pressing a hand against the side of the RV for support. The thought of touching them—her parents, what was left of them—made her stomach twist violently. She turned away, covering her mouth with her sleeve, hot tears pricking her eyes.

“I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

“You won’t,” Wednesday said simply, turning back to the others. “But we will. Yoko. Ajax.”

The two exchanged a glance, neither eager, but neither willing to be the first to refuse. Yoko’s lips pressed into a thin line before she gave a short nod. Ajax shifted his weight, swallowing hard, then muttered something under his breath that sounded like reluctant agreement.

Wednesday didn’t thank them. She simply stepped toward the RV, boots crunching against the gravel, the others forced to follow her shadow.

Inside, the air was worse. Still heavy with blood, still clinging in every corner like a living thing. The copper stench coated their tongues, seeping into their clothes. Enid stayed outside, her back pressed against the metal paneling, hands clamped over her ears as though that might block out the wet shuffling noises as the others entered.

Yoko forced herself not to gag, but her hand hovered near her mouth. She avoided looking too closely at the faces, focusing instead on gripping the arms and legs with a detached, almost mechanical precision. Ajax looked pale, sweat running down his temples, the snakes beneath his beanie thrashing as if trying to escape the confined space.

Wednesday directed them without flinching. “Out. Behind the trees, near the ridge. Somewhere out of sight. Do not drag them—lift. We are not animals.”

The words landed more like commands than guidance, her tone sharp enough to keep them from arguing. Slowly, painfully, they moved the bodies, their motions stiff and clumsy. Blood smeared across their hands and sleeves, the slick weight dragging every step into something surreal.

Enid squeezed her eyes shut tighter outside, listening to the shuffle of boots, the occasional thud when someone stumbled under the weight. She pressed her forehead against the RV, nails digging into the metal until it screeched faintly. Each sound drove her deeper into the hollow ache of disbelief.

By the time Yoko and Ajax staggered back, their faces were pale, their shoulders hunched. Yoko rubbed furiously at her arms as though trying to scrub the memory from her skin. Ajax kept his head down, his breathing ragged, snakes twitching in subdued protest.

Wednesday stepped out last, her clothes mostly clean, though a faint smear of red marked her sleeve. She dusted off her hands with a cold finality. “It’s done.”

The group stood in silence, the clearing even heavier now, the absence of the bodies somehow louder than their presence had been. Enid hugged herself tighter, trembling, unable to look at any of them.

It was then that a ripple of distortion shimmered near the treeline, and Agnes finally stepped out of her invisible state. Her sudden appearance jolted everyone—the faint blur resolving into her slight, pale figure. Her eyes darted between them, her posture hunched as if caught doing something she shouldn’t.

Enid’s lip curled instantly. “You.”

Her voice was sharp, venomous, raw with grief. She stepped forward, claws flexing at her sides. “Where the hell were you? While we were—while they were—” Her words broke apart, swallowed by the lump in her throat.

Agnes didn’t answer right away, her gaze dropping to the ground. She looked smaller than usual, fragile in the way her arms wrapped around herself. But Wednesday stepped closer, her shadow long, her eyes fixed on the girl.

“You were unaccounted for,” Wednesday said flatly. “Invisible. Watching. Did you see anything?”

Agnes hesitated. Her lips parted, her eyes darting up to meet Wednesday’s sharp gaze before flicking away again. For a moment, her shoulders lifted as if she were about to speak—

And then the forest itself seemed to tear open.

A blur of darker movement burst from the shadows, too fast to track, too solid to ignore. It hit Agnes with the force of a hurricane. One second she was standing there, her mouth just forming words—and the next, her body was split nearly clean in two.

Her top half flew back with a sickening rip, torn free at the waist as if she were made of paper. The sound was wet, thunderous, grotesquely final. Her torso crashed against the gravel, arms flopping lifelessly, her mouth still frozen in the half-formed attempt to speak.

Blood sprayed in an arc across the group, hot and sharp, spattering their clothes, streaking the RV walls.

Enid screamed.

It didn’t happen slowly.

One second Agnes was there, her mouth opening, her hand twitching up as if she were finally about to spill whatever she’d been hiding. The next, something unseen ripped her in half.

The sound was wet, tearing — louder than it should have been, louder than anything human. A spray of blood painted the gravel and the side of the RV in wide, violent arcs. Her scream didn’t even finish before her body gave out.

The pieces hit the ground with a sickening thud. Her upper half landed face-down, one arm pinned beneath her chest, the other clawed into the dirt like she was still trying to drag herself forward. Her lower half was several feet away, nothing but shredded meat and bone, denim ripped apart, her spine sheared through like an animal carcass. Blood pooled fast, thick and dark, running in streams that stained the rocks black.

The smell followed almost immediately — copper, iron, gut rot.

For a moment, the world stopped.

Enid’s stomach lurched violently, bile rushing up her throat, but she forced it down. Her claws had already extended without her realizing, and her entire body shook. She hated Agnes — hated her attitude, her smug superiority, the way she looked down on everyone as though they were pawns in her private game. But she hadn’t wanted this. Not like this. No one deserved to be torn apart like roadkill.

Ajax collapsed against the RV’s wall, his face ashen, hands gripping his head so tightly his knuckles whitened. His snakes thrashed and hissed in panic, a living halo of terror above him. “She—she just—oh god, oh god, oh god—” He couldn’t stop babbling.

Yoko staggered back, choking, one hand pressed hard over her nose and mouth. Even through the barrier, the stench hit, and she doubled over, gagging bile into the dirt.

Enid’s voice cracked as it broke free. “She—she was gonna say something! She was—” Her words turned into a sob as she glanced at Wednesday.

Wednesday stood rooted, blood flecked across her cheek and collar. Her eyes were hard, but not cold. She was watching the blood pool around Agnes’s torso with an expression that looked closer to calculation than grief.

“She was about to speak,” Wednesday said softly, her voice razor-sharp against the silence. “And then she was silenced.”

Enid froze, the words sinking like stones. Her claws trembled at her sides, the fur at her knuckles bristling. “You’re saying… someone didn’t want us to know what she saw.”

Wednesday’s gaze flicked up, pinning her. “Correct.”

That single word carried a gravity that made Ajax whimper. Yoko stumbled upright, wiping her mouth, her sunglasses slipping down her nose. “Are you saying one of us—”

“No.” Wednesday’s tone cut her off before the spiral could begin. “Not yet. What I am saying is that Agnes was a liability. She saw something, and someone made sure we wouldn’t hear it.”

Enid turned back toward the body against her will. Her chest heaved, tears welling despite the anger coiled inside her. Agnes had been unbearable, but she hadn’t deserved to be turned into… that. She swallowed hard, but the image of Agnes’s intestines spilling like slick ropes across the gravel wouldn’t leave her.

Ajax buried his face in his knees. “We’re all next. We’re screwed, screwed, screwed…” His voice rattled like broken glass.

Wednesday crouched near what was left of Agnes, ignoring the way her boots sank into the spreading blood. She examined the edges of the wound, tilting her head slightly. Her hair fell across her cheek, streaked faintly red where blood had misted her.

“Not a blade,” she said, her voice steady, almost bored. “These tears are jagged. Flesh was ripped, not sliced.”

Enid squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head violently. She didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to picture claws dragging through Agnes’s spine, didn’t want to imagine what kind of thing could do that in one strike.

Yoko’s voice was small, broken. “Claws… like the tires.”

Wednesday rose to her full height, her expression unreadable but her eyes burning dark. She looked at the others one by one, forcing them to meet her gaze.

“Agnes didn’t die for nothing,” she said flatly. “She died because she saw something we didn’t. Something worth killing for.”

Silence smothered the clearing. Ajax shivered against the RV. Yoko wouldn’t look up. Enid’s claws slowly slid back, but her hands still shook uncontrollably.

Wednesday finally turned her back on the body, her braid swinging as she faced the treeline. The woods stood silent, oppressive, watching.

“She was silenced before she could warn us,” Wednesday murmured. “Which means whatever is out there… doesn’t want us prepared.”

The pool of blood crept further, seeping toward the group’s shoes, dark and endless.

Chapter 9: A Wolf’s Grief

The clearing was suffocating. The air clung thick and wet, every breath dragging iron down their throats. No one spoke. No one dared. The absence of Agnes’s body, the silence after her brutal death—it pressed in on all of them, tighter than the night itself.

Enid couldn’t hold it anymore.

Her claws slid free with a shhhk of keratin against skin. Before she realized what she was doing, she turned toward the RV and raked.

The sound tore through the night—metal shrieking, peeling under the force of her grief. Sparks jumped as her claws carved a brutal gouge down the side, leaving four deep, jagged scars that glinted silver in the moonlight.

The noise jolted the others instantly. Ajax spun, snakes snapping alert under his beanie. Yoko’s head snapped up, sunglasses slipping lower as her eyes locked onto the mark. Even Wednesday, who rarely betrayed surprise, turned toward her with a sharp precision.

Enid stood there panting, claws trembling, her chest heaving like she might tear herself apart. The mark on the RV seemed to pulse with her rage, a scar carved into more than just metal.

Her voice burst out raw, unsteady but loud enough to rip through the clearing.

“Why aren’t you all screaming?!” Her words cracked, high and jagged. “Why are you just standing there like—like this is normal?!”

Ajax flinched, taking half a step back. “Enid—”

“No!” She whirled on him, claws still out, streaks of blood shining faintly on her palms where they’d split skin. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. My parents are dead—dead!—and we’re just—we’re just moving on like it doesn’t matter?”

Yoko’s arms tightened across her chest, but she didn’t speak. Her gaze flicked toward the trees instead, like maybe there was safety in not meeting Enid’s eyes.

Enid let out a sharp, bitter laugh, broken at the edges. “Do you even care? Any of you? Or am I the only one who’s supposed to just—just keep going while everything I’ve ever loved is rotting in the dirt?!”

Her throat closed up, the sobs clawing their way free, and before anyone could answer, she turned.

She shoved past them, boots crunching against gravel, and stormed toward the treeline. The shadows swallowed her fast, her blond hair a blur before it vanished completely.

For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was Enid’s retreating footsteps, ragged and uneven, like someone fleeing from their own skin.

Then Wednesday’s voice cut the silence. Low. Certain. Final.

“I’ll go.”

And without waiting for permission, she followed, her black figure slipping into the trees after the golden flash of grief and rage.

The forest was darker than the clearing, shadows folding over each other until the world seemed stitched from black. The only sound was Enid’s uneven sobs, brittle and raw, echoing off the trunks as she stumbled farther in.

“Enid.”

Wednesday’s voice cut through the night like a blade, firm but not sharp enough to wound.

Enid didn’t stop. She dragged her claws along a tree trunk, the bark splintering under the force, leaving another raw scar in her wake. “Go away, Wednesday!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “Just—leave me alone!”

Wednesday’s boots crunched steadily over the undergrowth. She didn’t quicken her pace, didn’t raise her voice. “No.”

Enid spun then, chest heaving, eyes shining with angry tears that caught the sliver of moonlight. Her claws were still out, trembling as if even she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to fight or fold. “You don’t get it!” Her voice cracked, jagged as glass. “You never get it! You don’t feel things the way the rest of us do—you don’t even care!”

Wednesday stopped only a few feet away, her face pale in the dark, braids falling neatly down her shoulders. Her expression was unreadable as ever—but her voice softened, quiet enough that Enid had to strain through her sobs to hear.

“You’re wrong.”

Enid blinked, the words knocking her off balance for just a second.

“I care,” Wednesday continued, stepping closer. “I care enough to follow you into the woods. Enough to stand here when you’re screaming at me. Enough to tell you that grief is not weakness, even if it feels like it will kill you.”

Enid shook her head violently, tears streaking hot down her cheeks. “It is killing me! They’re gone, Wednesday. And it’s my fault—I should’ve—if I’d—” Her breath hitched so hard she couldn’t finish, her shoulders collapsing inward.

Wednesday moved then, fast but deliberate.

Before Enid could flinch away, Wednesday closed the gap and pulled her forward, arms firm and unyielding around her. Enid’s breath caught, her claws twitching in the air like she didn’t know whether to push away or cling to her. But the warmth of the embrace broke through her resistance, and suddenly she was clutching Wednesday’s shirt with shaking fists, burying her face against the solid black fabric.

The sobs tore out of her—loud, ragged, unstoppable.

Wednesday held her, one hand gripping the back of her hair, the other steady against her shoulder. She didn’t shush her, didn’t murmur platitudes. She just held on, unflinching, like an anchor against the storm that was ripping Enid apart.

Enid’s claws grazed the back of Wednesday’s jacket but never pierced through. Slowly, she curled them inward, clutching tighter instead of tearing. Her whole body shook against the stillness of Wednesday’s frame.

Finally, in a voice so faint it nearly vanished into the trees, Wednesday spoke.

“You will survive this. Because I won’t let you do otherwise.”

The words landed like a vow—cold, certain, unbreakable.

And for the first time that night, Enid let herself believe her.

The forest seemed quieter after Enid’s sobs ebbed, though her breaths were still sharp and uneven against Wednesday’s shoulder. She hadn’t let go, not fully, her fists clutching the fabric of Wednesday’s jacket as though letting go would mean collapsing entirely.

Wednesday allowed it. For minutes, she stood in that unmoving embrace, her chin tilted slightly toward Enid’s crown, her eyes sharp and watchful even as she held her close. There was no impatience in her grip—only that unwavering, deliberate steadiness.

When Enid’s breathing finally slowed, she mumbled something against Wednesday’s shirt, words muffled, half-swallowed.

“What?”

Enid pulled back just enough to look up, her eyes red, streaked with tears that caught the faint moonlight. Her lips trembled as she repeated herself, softer but clearer.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

For a long moment, Wednesday’s expression didn’t change. And then—so slight that only Enid could have noticed—her features shifted. Not a smile, not quite. But a softening, like the edges of her mask had been sanded down by the rawness in Enid’s voice.

“You won’t be,” Wednesday said.

Enid’s chest hitched, and she nodded quickly, as if clinging to the words themselves. She swiped at her face with the back of her sleeve, smearing her tears into streaks across her cheeks.

Wednesday loosened her hold but didn’t step away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly toward the clearing, where the faint glow of the RV lights bled between the trees.

“They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“I don’t care,” Enid whispered, her throat still raw. “I don’t want to face them right now. Not after…” She broke off, her claws twitching faintly at her sides, the memory of dragging them through the RV metal flashing across her mind.

Wednesday reached out, her hand brushing briefly against Enid’s wrist before sliding down to entwine their fingers. The gesture was small, almost clinical in its precision, but the pressure of her hand was steady, grounding.

“You don’t have to face them,” Wednesday said simply.

Enid’s breath caught again, but this time not from tears. She squeezed Wednesday’s hand tight, like if she let go she’d splinter apart all over again.

They stood like that for another moment, hidden in the dark tangle of trees, the night air sharp with pine and the faint copper that still clung to their clothes.

When they finally stepped back toward the clearing, Enid kept close, her shoulder brushing against Wednesday’s. The others were gathered near the firepit, their faces drawn and pale, whispering in fractured voices.

Yoko was pacing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, sunglasses perched higher to hide her eyes. Ajax sat slumped against a log, his snakes subdued into uneasy silence.

When the group noticed the two reemerging from the treeline, the conversations died instantly. All eyes turned toward them.

Enid tensed, but Wednesday’s grip on her hand didn’t falter. She gave the smallest squeeze—so subtle it could have been mistaken for nothing at all, if not for the way Enid’s shoulders steadied beneath it.

“She needed space,” Wednesday announced, her voice clipped, final, allowing no room for questions.

And that was all she said.

The group seemed to accept it. Or maybe they were just too drained to argue. Yoko muttered something about keeping watch, moving toward the edge of the clearing. Ajax buried his face in his hands, shaking his head but saying nothing.

Enid sank down beside the RV, pulling her knees to her chest. She didn’t want their stares, their pity. But Wednesday settled beside her without hesitation, her presence firm, silent, and immovable as stone.

Enid leaned into her shoulder, closing her eyes.

For the first time since the blood had started, she felt like she could breathe again.

Chapter 10: Wolf in sheep’s clothing

The clearing was suffocating.
The air clung thick and wet, every breath dragging iron down their throats. No one spoke. No one dared. The absence of Agnes’s body, the silence after her brutal death—it pressed in on all of them, tighter than the night itself.

The gouges Enid had carved into the RV gleamed faintly in the moonlight, silver scars etched deep into the metal. Her claws had long since retracted, but she could still feel the sting in her palms where they had split skin. The urge to rake them across something again hovered just beneath her surface, but Wednesday’s presence beside her kept it at bay.

She leaned into Wednesday’s shoulder, quiet, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes burned from the tears she’d already shed, but now she held herself tighter, steadier. Wednesday had held her once, and though Enid hated how much she needed that anchor, it had worked. The sobs were gone—for now. What remained was raw exhaustion, a simmering ache she could no longer scream out.

The others weren’t doing much better. Ajax sat hunched over on a log, elbows digging into his knees, his snakes curled tight and silent under his beanie. Yoko paced the edge of the clearing, sunglasses tilted low but not enough to mask the hard line of her mouth. Every so often she’d throw a glance toward the trees, sharp, restless, like she was daring something else to come tearing out of the dark.

No one wanted to look at the gouge Enid had left in the RV. No one wanted to look at her either.

“We can’t stay here,” Yoko said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence like glass. “It’s a killing ground. We’re just waiting for it to pick us off.”

Ajax groaned. “And go where, Yoko? The van’s trashed, the phones are dead, and last I checked, we don’t exactly have a map to safety.”

“We can’t just sit around,” Yoko shot back. “Agnes didn’t just—” She cut herself off, biting the words down, her sunglasses hiding the flicker in her eyes. “If we stay here, we’re next. That’s a fact.”

Enid pressed her forehead against her knees, biting down on the inside of her cheek. The thought of leaving her parents behind again—their bodies already dragged into the treeline, hidden out of sight—made her stomach twist. But the idea of staying here, in the shadow of that RV where their laughter used to fill the walls, was unbearable too.

Wednesday shifted beside her, the motion subtle but steady. “Yoko is correct. Remaining in one place makes us prey.”

Ajax looked up sharply. “So you’re saying we just march into the woods? With what, Wednesday? We’ve got no weapons, no supplies, nothing. That’s not survival—that’s suicide.”

“Better suicide on our own terms,” Yoko muttered, resuming her pacing.

Enid lifted her head finally, her voice hoarse but steady. “We can’t keep fighting like this.”

Both Yoko and Ajax turned toward her. Her cheeks were still streaked from earlier, her hair tangled, but there was no tremor in her words this time. She hugged her knees tighter, forcing herself to meet their eyes. “You two, bickering every five minutes—it’s not helping. It just makes it worse.”

Ajax rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath, but didn’t argue. Yoko only crossed her arms tighter, jaw locked.

Wednesday glanced at Enid, one dark brow arching faintly. The smallest acknowledgment.

For a moment, silence returned—thick, heavy, but not the same as before. This one was threaded with fraying nerves, each of them teetering between fight and collapse.

Enid’s claws twitched faintly against her skin. She swallowed down the burn in her throat. “We should… stay together. Even if we don’t know where we’re going yet. Splitting up would be…” She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

Yoko muttered, “Stupid.”

Ajax nodded reluctantly. “Fine. Together.”

The word didn’t make anyone feel safer.

The fire they had tried to build earlier had burned low, its glow a faint pulse against the clearing. Beyond it, the forest crouched black and waiting. Every shift of branches, every snap of a twig under some distant paw made them flinch, glancing toward the dark as if something was about to burst free again.

Enid couldn’t shake the image of Agnes. The way her body had ripped apart like paper. The sound—the sound was the worst, wet and final, burned into her ears. She hugged her knees tighter, nails digging shallow crescents into her arms.

Wednesday’s hand found hers in the dirt between them, deliberate, not subtle. Their fingers touched, then laced—cold and steady against Enid’s trembling skin.

Her throat clenched. She didn’t look at her, couldn’t. But she squeezed back.

Hours stretched long and heavy. None of them spoke much. Yoko took watch, pacing slow arcs near the treeline. Ajax eventually slumped sideways, dozing against the log with his arms crossed tight, snakes twitching in uneasy sleep.

Enid’s body felt like stone, too heavy to move, her head resting against Wednesday’s shoulder. She hated herself for how much relief it gave her, but she couldn’t pull away either. Wednesday didn’t move, didn’t complain—just stayed there, a steady pillar she could lean against when the weight threatened to crush her.

Her eyes burned, but sleep didn’t come. The copper tang of blood still lingered in her nose, sticky in the back of her throat. She couldn’t escape it.

By the time the fire collapsed into ash, the clearing had fallen into near-total silence.

Enid stirred finally, whispering, “I can’t sit here anymore.”

Wednesday tilted her head. “Where would you go?”

“I don’t know,” Enid admitted, voice low. “I just… need to move. I can’t stand feeling trapped.”

For a moment, Wednesday studied her, eyes dark and sharp in the faint glow. Then she gave a single nod. “I’ll accompany you.”

“No,” Enid said quickly, shaking her head. “I—I just need air. I’ll stay close.”

Wednesday’s gaze lingered, unblinking, weighing her words. Then she released Enid’s hand slowly, deliberately. “Stay within earshot.”

Enid nodded, her throat tight. She pushed herself up and slipped toward the treeline, the shadows swallowing her once more.

The forest was different this time. Quieter. But not in a way that comforted her. It was the kind of quiet that felt like watching. Like the trees themselves held their breath as she passed.

Her claws slid out again, unbidden, just for the comfort of their weight. She dragged them lightly along the bark as she walked, the faint rasp grounding her.

For a while, there was only the sound of her own boots on the damp earth, her breathing ragged but steadying. She wasn’t running from herself anymore—just moving, pushing the restless ache through her muscles.

Until she saw it.

At first, it was just a shape in the undergrowth. A dark mound crumpled near the roots of a pine, half-hidden by ferns. She slowed, heart hammering, her claws twitching in anticipation of something leaping at her.

But nothing moved.

Cautiously, Enid stepped closer, the moonlight breaking weakly through the canopy above. The pale light spilled across the figure—and her breath caught hard in her chest.

Bruno.

His body was slumped sideways, eyes half-lidded, his chest streaked dark with blood.

Enid froze, every nerve in her body screaming at once.

His body was completely torn apart, only able to be identified by the clothes that still clung to the corpse. Though covered in blood they stilled carried the smell of his heavy cologne. Mixed with the smell of iron, it wasn’t pleasant.

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Then the scream tore itself raw from her throat, shattering the silence of the forest.

Wednesday was on her feet instantly. Ajax bolted upright, snakes hissing awake in a frenzy beneath his beanie. Yoko froze mid-step at the treeline, sunglasses slipping down her nose as her head snapped toward the sound.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice was sharp, already moving. She didn’t wait for the others. Branches clawed at her coat as she pushed into the trees, each step precise, unyielding.

Ajax stumbled after her, muttering, “Oh god, oh god—” under his breath. Yoko cursed low, harsh, before darting forward too, their panic snapping like sparks behind Wednesday’s deliberate pace.

They found Enid on her knees in the undergrowth, claws out, hair a pale tangle spilling over her shoulders. Her whole body shook, her scream collapsing into ragged sobs that tore her throat raw.

And in front of her, slumped against the roots of a pine, was Bruno.

At first, Ajax couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. His eyes locked on the shirt—the same faded blue hoodie Bruno had been wearing, the one with the frayed cuffs he always twisted when nervous. It was soaked through now, darkened with blood that spread in stiff patches across the fabric.

“Jesus Christ,” Ajax whispered, his voice breaking. He staggered back a step, nearly tripping on the uneven ground. The snakes hissed louder, their bodies thrashing in wild, confused arcs.

Yoko covered her mouth with one sleeve, but the sharp intake of her breath was loud in the silence. She looked away almost instantly, but her sunglasses couldn’t block the tremor in her voice. “No- no- no- no fucking way!”

Enid reached forward with trembling claws, fingers hovering inches from Bruno’s shoulder. She couldn’t bring herself to touch. Her voice cracked, raw and childlike, as she begged the impossible. “Bruno? Please. Please, wake up.”

Her claws curled in, dragging faint grooves in the dirt when the only response was the stillness of his body, the moonlight glinting off the gash across his chest. It stretched cruel and deliberate, too clean to be an accident, too final to leave hope.

Wednesday stepped closer. Her face betrayed nothing, but her eyes were sharp, dissecting, calculating. She crouched beside him, her braid falling forward as she tilted her head slightly, studying the wound, the unnatural stillness of his chest.

“He’s gone,” she said at last.

The words hit like a hammer. Enid doubled over, clutching her stomach, a sound breaking from her throat that wasn’t a scream, wasn’t a sob—just something hollow and broken.

Ajax spun, punching the trunk of a nearby tree hard enough that bark split under his fist. He left his hand there, pressing his forehead against it, muttering a string of curses into the rough wood. His snakes coiled tight around his neck, their hissing dropping into a low, vibrating hum of grief.

Yoko backed away another step, sunglasses glinting with reflected moonlight, though her mouth was tight, trembling. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, voice harsh. “It’s not—he didn’t even—” She broke off, shaking her head violently.

Wednesday rose, her movements deliberate. She looked down at Bruno’s body one last time before turning to the others. Her voice was steady, colder than the night air.

“We can’t leave him here.”

Ajax’s head snapped up, fury etched across his face. “What, so we just—what? Drag him back like—like we did with them?!” He jabbed a shaking finger toward the treeline, toward the hidden place where Enid’s parents now lay.

“Yes,” Wednesday said, unflinching. “We will not abandon him to rot in the woods.”

Ajax let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh, pressing his palms into his hair. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you hear how—how cold that sounds?”

Enid shot up then, her claws flashing faintly in the moonlight. “Shut up, Ajax!” Her voice cracked, tears streaking her dirt-stained face. “She’s right! We’re not leaving him out here like garbage!”

Her words sliced through the clearing, silencing Ajax’s rant. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. The snakes hissed again, restless, before curling close against his throat as if pulling him inward.

Wednesday turned her gaze on Yoko. “Help me.”

Yoko hesitated, teeth clenched, then nodded once. Together, she and Wednesday bent down, sliding their hands under Bruno’s arms and legs. The body sagged between them, heavier than it looked, limp in a way that only deepened the wrongness of it all.

Enid had to look away, pressing her clawed hands against her temples. Her stomach churned with every wet sound of fabric shifting against blood-soaked earth. She wanted to help. She wanted to throw herself forward and carry him herself. But the moment her eyes flicked back toward the pale slackness of his face, the bile surged, and she stumbled to the side to retch into the dirt.

Ajax moved toward her instantly, but she shoved him back with a clawed hand, shaking her head. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”

He stopped, lips pressing into a thin line, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Wednesday and Yoko bore the weight in silence, their faces pale but focused. The slow, uneven steps they took back toward the clearing made the world feel heavier with each drag of Bruno’s body over the roots and stones.

Enid followed behind, arms wrapped so tightly around herself that her claws dug crescent moons into her skin. Her sobs had run out again, leaving only the hollow ache in her chest. Her feet moved like she wasn’t even controlling them, like the forest itself was dragging her forward against her will.

When they broke through the treeline, Ajax stumbled ahead to clear space near the firepit. The clearing’s glow fell across Bruno’s body as they lowered him down, careful but clumsy, his hoodie catching in the dirt.

No one spoke at first. The fire sputtered low, shadows stretching long across the clearing. Bruno’s body lay unnervingly still, pale under the flicker of flame, the gash across his chest staring at them like an open eye.

Yoko backed away fast, sinking onto a log with her head in her hands. Her sunglasses slipped, forgotten, hanging crooked as her shoulders shook in silent tremors.

Ajax dropped heavily onto the ground, pulling his knees up, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his eyes. “We can’t keep doing this,” he muttered. “We can’t—we’re not built for this. We’re kids. We’re just kids.” His voice cracked, almost breaking completely.

Enid sank to her knees beside the firepit, staring at Bruno through blurred eyes. The hoodie was so familiar it hurt, like the faint scent of his cologne still clung to it, even under the copper stink of blood. She reached forward, brushing dirt gently from the fabric, her claws trembling as they hovered just above his chest.

Wednesday stood silent for a long time, her shadow falling across the body. Finally, she spoke, her tone clipped but carrying an edge sharper than usual.

“We bury him.”

Enid looked up sharply, her throat aching. “Not here. Not—not where it happened.”

Wednesday’s eyes flicked to her, calculating. “Then where?”

Enid’s voice cracked again, breaking on the words. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere… somewhere he won’t be alone.”

Ajax let out a harsh sound, something between a laugh and a sob. “Safe. You think there’s any safe left?”

But Wednesday didn’t answer him. She kept her eyes on Enid, her face still, unyielding. Then she gave the faintest nod.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “At first light. Tonight, we stand watch.”

No one argued.

The clearing went quiet again, but this silence was heavier, thicker. Not the waiting hush of the forest—but the suffocating stillness of grief settling in like fog.

Enid stayed where she was, beside Bruno’s body, her claws curled into fists in the dirt. She didn’t cry this time. She couldn’t. The tears had burned out of her, leaving only the hollow space they’d carved.

Wednesday’s shadow lingered beside her, silent, steady.

The fire crackled. The forest waited.

And Bruno lay still in the dirt, the gash across his chest gleaming in the firelight like a wound the night itself had carved.

Chapter 11: The Wrong Enemy

The fire spat and hissed in the damp air, throwing more smoke than warmth. Bruno’s body lay just beyond its glow, shadows shifting over him like the forest itself refused to let him go.

No one spoke.

Enid sat hunched on the dirt, knees pulled up, arms wrapped so tight around them she could barely breathe. Her eyes stayed locked on the blood-soaked hoodie. Even now—especially now—she recognized it. The frayed cuffs he used to twist when nervous, the smell of that heavy cologne clinging even under the stink of iron. And still, part of her brain kept whispering the same impossible thought: It was him. It had to be him.

But it wasn’t. He was gone, and something else was still out there.

Ajax broke first. He shot to his feet and started pacing, his sneakers kicking up dirt. The snakes under his beanie writhed and hissed, their agitation bleeding out of him in waves. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides like he couldn’t decide whether to punch the trees or tear his own skin off.

“This doesn’t make sense!” His voice cracked, pitched too high. “It doesn’t—none of this adds up!” He swung toward them, wild-eyed. “If Bruno’s dead, then who the hell has been hunting us?”

The words slammed into Enid’s chest. She flinched, arms tightening until her claws bit faint crescents into her skin.

Yoko stood fast, sunglasses dangling from one hand. Her eyes were sharp, restless, flicking to the treeline. “He’s right,” she said flatly. “We all thought it was him. Every single one of us.”

Enid swallowed hard, guilt choking her throat. She had thought it too. She’d whispered it to herself in the dark, clung to it like a twisted lifeline—that if it was Bruno, then maybe they weren’t cursed, maybe they weren’t doomed. And now…

Her voice cracked when she spoke. “We blamed him.” She stared at the body, her stomach twisting. “All this time, we blamed him while he was already—” The words broke off into silence.

Ajax spun back toward them, panic in every line of him. “So what does that mean? That we’ve been wrong the whole time? That the real monster is still out there watching us? Waiting?” His snakes hissed louder, thrashing in quick, agitated arcs. He pressed both palms hard against his beanie as if trying to cage them, to cage himself. “This is worse. This is so much worse—”

“Ajax.” Wednesday’s voice cut through sharp and clean. She stood over Bruno’s body, her braid spilling forward as she tilted her head, eyes like blades in the firelight. “Enough. Hyperventilation won’t prevent your throat from being slit.”

The bluntness snapped him silent, though his breathing came ragged, rough. The snakes quieted, but only barely, twitching in unsettled coils.

Enid lifted her head toward Wednesday, her voice shaking. “But we thought it was him too. Even me. I wanted it to be him.” Tears blurred her vision, but she forced the words out. “Because if it was Bruno, then it was… it was explainable. It made sense.”

Wednesday moved then, swift and precise, until she was crouched at Enid’s side. Her cold hand settled firmly over Enid’s arm. The weight of it, the deliberate steadiness, cut through the spiral in her chest.

Enid blinked up at her, eyes wide and wet.

“You are not to blame,” Wednesday said, each word slow and deliberate, like a scalpel cutting truth from rot. “The error was in the deception, not in you. Redirect your guilt where it belongs: to the hand that killed him.”

Enid’s throat clenched, but the words rooted deep. For the first time since the scream had ripped out of her, she could breathe again. Not freely—but enough. She leaned into the cold steadiness of Wednesday’s touch, closing her eyes against the sting.

Yoko had resumed pacing, faster now, her sunglasses clutched white-knuckled in one hand. “If it wasn’t Bruno, then we don’t know anything. Not who, not why, not how many.” Her voice was flat, but the tightness in it betrayed her.

Ajax crouched low again, elbows on his knees, head bowed. His snakes pressed tight against his cheeks, restless and unsettled. “We’re screwed,” he muttered. “Totally screwed.”

Wednesday straightened, her gaze sweeping them like a dissecting blade. “We proceed as though our enemy is near. Because they are.”

The fire cracked and popped, and the forest loomed closer in the silence that followed. Enid hugged herself tighter, but this time, when she leaned, Wednesday didn’t shift away. She stayed, shadow-dark and unwavering, letting Enid brace herself against her presence.

The fear didn’t vanish. But it didn’t consume her either.

The fire guttered low, spitting sparks into the dark. Every snap of wood made Enid’s muscles tense, every sway of shadow twisting into a threat.

Yoko had resumed pacing in sharp arcs, her sunglasses clutched in one hand, the other curled into a fist. Her gaze never left the treeline, as if she could will the forest to reveal its secrets. “We can’t sit here like bait. Whoever—whatever—is out there, it’s watching us. Waiting for us to fall apart.”

Ajax groaned low, burying his face against his knees. “Newsflash: we already are.” The snakes beneath his beanie hissed restlessly, feeding off his panic.

Enid pressed her palms against her legs, claws itching beneath her skin. The scent of blood still lingered in her nose, acrid and heavy, Bruno’s hoodie burned into her vision. She had wanted it to be him. Wanted it so badly that now the guilt sat like acid in her chest.

Her throat tightened, but Wednesday was there—close, deliberate. The brush of her sleeve against Enid’s arm, the faintest pressure of her presence, grounding her like an anchor against the spiraling storm.

“We adapt,” Wednesday said, her tone unyielding. “We accept new information and redirect our focus. Grief will not prevent us from being hunted.”

Enid swallowed hard. “So what do we do?”

Wednesday’s dark eyes flicked toward her, steady. “We survive.”

The word sat heavy in the air.

And then the forest moved.

A blur streaked from the treeline, faster than thought. A hiss, a rush of displaced air, and Yoko cried out, staggering back. The shape vanished as quick as it appeared, swallowed by the black.

“Yoko!” Enid bolted up, claws sliding free.

Yoko clutched her side, stumbling. Blood seeped bright and wet between her fingers, dripping down her arm. Her sunglasses fell into the dirt, forgotten. “Fuck—” she hissed, gritting her teeth, her fangs flashing in the firelight.

Ajax shot upright, panicked, eyes wide. “Shit—shit, it’s here, it’s here!” The snakes thrashed violently under his beanie, hissing in wild chorus.

Wednesday was already moving. She crossed to Yoko in precise strides, catching her under the arm before she collapsed fully. “Sit,” she commanded, dragging her down toward the log. “Now.”

Yoko resisted for half a second, but the pain won, and she let herself fall heavily onto the wood. Blood soaked through her shirt, staining her jacket, each breath coming tight and shallow.

Enid dropped to her knees beside them, claws trembling as she reached toward the wound but froze short of touching. “It got her—it actually got her—” Her chest heaved, panic threatening to choke her.

“Focus,” Wednesday said sharply, her voice cutting through the chaos. She pressed her own hands firmly against the gash, ignoring the blood that smeared across her pale skin. “The wound is shallow. More designed to weaken than to kill.”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Ajax barked, stumbling back a few steps. He spun toward the trees, eyes darting wildly. “It’s out there—watching us—waiting to hit again—”

“Then give it something else to look at,” Wednesday snapped, her voice like ice. “Your panic feeds it more than your blood.”

Ajax froze, breathing ragged, but didn’t argue.

Enid’s claws dug furrows into the dirt. She couldn’t tear her eyes from Yoko’s blood. Couldn’t unsee the way it gleamed in the firelight, too close to the images already burned into her memory—her parents, Agnes, Bruno. It was happening again, always again.

Her vision blurred, her chest heaving, until Wednesday’s cold hand caught hers. Firm. Steady.

“Enid,” Wednesday said, quiet but deliberate. Her gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. “Breathe.”

Enid gasped in air, ragged, shaky, but she obeyed.

Wednesday didn’t let go. Her hand anchored her, grounding her in the middle of chaos.

The fire crackled. The forest loomed. Yoko hissed between her teeth, blood dripping through her fingers. Ajax paced, muttering under his breath.

And all Enid could do was cling to Wednesday’s hand, claws trembling, and pray the blur in the dark didn’t come again.

The clearing had turned on them. The fire’s weak glow no longer kept the dark at bay—it only lit their fear, throwing jagged shadows that danced across the trees.

Yoko swayed where she sat, one hand pressed against her side. The blood oozed thick through her fingers, dripping into the dirt at her feet. Her fangs flashed again when she hissed, low and furious, but the sound cracked halfway through.

“We can’t stay out here,” Enid said, her voice high and tight. Her claws flexed helplessly, scraping furrows into the earth. “It hit her once—it’ll hit again.”

Ajax whirled toward her, face pale under the firelight. “And where the hell do you suggest we go? The trees? The same trees it just came out of?” His snakes writhed violently under the beanie, pressing so hard against the fabric it looked ready to split.

“The RV.” Wednesday’s voice cut clean through the panic. Calm. Precise. She hadn’t moved her hand from Yoko’s wound. “Inside, we have walls. Locks. Supplies.”

Ajax let out a strangled laugh, pacing in sharp, erratic arcs. “You think thin metal is going to stop that thing? Did you see how fast it moved? It could tear through us like—”

“Enough.” Wednesday’s tone was cold steel. Her eyes, black and unwavering, flicked up to him. “Your hysteria is wasted breath. If it can get through, it will. Our goal is to make it more difficult.”

Enid shot to her feet, claws still unsheathed, and pointed toward the dark bulk of the RV. “She’s right. At least in there we’re not just sitting targets.” Her voice cracked. “We can’t let Yoko bleed out in the dirt!”

At her name, Yoko groaned, slumping harder against Wednesday’s grip. “I’m fine,” she muttered through clenched teeth, though her voice was weak, wavering. “It’s not that bad.”

Blood dripped steadily between her fingers.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “You are delusional if you believe that.”

Enid darted to Yoko’s other side, slipping under her arm. “Come on—we’re moving you. Now.” Her claws retracted, shaking hands trying to steady Yoko against her shoulder.

For a moment, Yoko resisted, baring her fangs like the denial alone might keep her upright. But another wave of weakness broke her, and she slumped into Enid’s support, hissing as the movement tugged at the wound.

Ajax stood frozen, hands half-raised, eyes wide. The snakes under his beanie hissed loud and agitated, mirroring his panic.

“Don’t just stand there!” Enid snapped, her voice breaking on the edge of desperation. “Get the door open!”

That snapped him into motion. He sprinted across the clearing, sneakers slipping in the damp earth, fumbling for the RV handle with shaking hands.

The forest stirred again—a rush of air, a faint scrape—and every muscle in Enid’s body seized. She whipped her head toward the treeline, claws flashing back out instinctively. Nothing. Just darkness swallowing itself.

“Enid.” Wednesday’s voice was sharp, pulling her back. “Focus forward. Move.”

Enid swallowed hard, tightening her grip on Yoko, and staggered toward the RV with Wednesday steadying the other side.

Ajax yanked the door wide, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Hurry, hurry—”

They dragged Yoko up the metal steps, the RV groaning under their combined weight. Enid nearly tripped in the scramble, her claws gouging into the frame as she hauled herself inside.

The moment they cleared the door, Ajax slammed it shut with a metallic bang, shoving the lock down so hard it rattled. He braced his back against it, chest heaving, eyes darting wildly around the dim interior.

The RV smelled like dust and old metal, faintly tinged with the copper reek of blood that clung to their clothes. Too tight. Too close. The walls already felt like they were shrinking.

Enid eased Yoko onto one of the benches, hands trembling as she tried not to jostle her too much. Blood smeared across the vinyl, black in the low light.

Wednesday crouched instantly, pale hands steady as she peeled Yoko’s fingers away from the wound. “Ajax. Barricade the windows.”

He blinked at her, wild-eyed. “With what?”

“Anything.” Her gaze didn’t leave the blood. “Furniture. Panels. Your panic. Choose one.”

Enid darted to a cabinet, flinging it open with her claws. Plastic forks clattered to the floor, useless. Her hands shook harder. “There has to be something—”

And then she froze. A flash of white plastic in the shadows. Recognition struck like a knife to the gut.

“My parents,” she whispered, voice breaking. She reached in with trembling claws, dragging out the battered first aid kit. The sight of it hit like a punch—their insistence on bringing it, every trip, every time. Her throat tightened until it hurt. “They… they always kept this in here.”

Wednesday’s head snapped up, her eyes sharp. “Good. Open it.”

Enid fumbled with the latch, spilling gauze and antiseptic across the bench beside Yoko.

Outside, something scraped against the RV’s outer wall.

The three of them froze.

The fire outside sputtered and hissed, throwing shadows against the windows.

And then—silence.