The quiet hum of the night was broken by the soft crackle of the fire. Scarlett sat cross-legged; her eyes unfocused as she turned the tablet over in her hands. Caleb was nearby, his back against a tree, methodically cleaning his weapon. The air was thick with unspoken worry, the kind that clawed at the mind and refused to relent.
The weight of Nathan's absence worried Scarlett. Every shadow seemed to take his form, every rustle in the underbrush teased her with hope.
"Get some rest," Caleb said, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"We've got a long way to go tomorrow."
Scarlett shook her head.
"I can't. Not while he's still out there."
Caleb sighed, lowering his weapon.
"He's a survivor. If anyone can make it through, it's Nathan."
She looked up at him, her expression a mixture of defiance and desperation.
"I need to believe that. But what if—"
"Don't," Caleb interrupted, his tone firm.