The knife was in her hand. Cold, solid, and trembling with the fury she couldn't contain.
He stood there ominously, grin stretched wide, his voice a sickening drawl as he spoke. "He owed me, Eve. And now, you owe me."
Her brother stood to the side, pale and sweating, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "It's not like that," he muttered, his voice shaky. "I'll pay you back, just give me more time. Please!"
The man ignored him, his hungry gaze fixed on Eve. "You're the payment."
Her heart thundered in her chest. Every muscle in her body screamed to move, to run, but his words pinned her in place like iron chains. She barely noticed the knife in her hand until it was pointed at him, her grip so tight her knuckles whitened.
"Stay away from me," she hissed, her voice trembling but sharp.
The gang leader took a slow, taunting step forward, hands raised in mock surrender. "What are you gonna do with that, sweetheart? You don't have the guts."
Her brother moved then, stepping between them. "Eve, stop! Put it down!"
But his sudden movement sent her into action. It was a reflex. She was protecting herself. Her breath caught, and before she knew it, the blade sliced through the air.
It happened too fast.
Her brother's eyes widened in shock as the knife sank into his side, crimson blooming instantly across his shirt. His hands flew to the wound, as if trying to hold himself together.
"Eve…" he gasped, his knees buckling.
"No!" Eve's voice cracked, her hands shaking as she stumbled back. The knife clattered to the floor, her mind screaming at her to do something, to stop the blood pouring from his body.
The man's laughter cut through her panic like a blade of its own. "Well, that's a twist I didn't see coming."
Her brother reached out to her, his bloodied hand trembling. She stumbled backwards as the sound of the leader's laughter drowned out everything else. She didn't even realize she'd run until she was outside, the cold air biting at her skin.
The memory shattered as Eve bolted upright, her breath coming in gasps. Her hand instinctively reached for her hip where her knife usually rested, but it wasn't there. Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out the quiet sounds of the safe house.
And then she saw her.
Ash hovered over her, expression unreadable in the dim light. Her dark eyes glinted with something between curiosity and unease.
Eve didn't care. Her chest heaved, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to her like a cold sweat. She pressed a hand to her forehead, willing the tremors to stop, but they only got worse.
Ash shifted, her arms crossed but her weight balanced cautiously, like she was ready to either catch Eve or bolt. "You okay?" she asked, her tone flat but laced with something softer, something almost like concern.
"No," Eve muttered, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her hands shook as she dropped them to her sides. "Just… go back to sleep."
Ash didn't move. She studied Eve for a moment longer, then exhaled sharply. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"I said I'm fine," Eve snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her. Her head throbbed, and the room felt too small, the air too thick.
Before she could argue further, Ash stepped closer, the faintest frown tugging at her lips. "You don't look fine."
Eve wanted to push her away, to shove her back into the corner of the room and bury herself in her usual defenses. Something inside Eve snapped. Her body moved before her brain caught up, leaning forward and pressing her forehead against Ash's shoulder, seeking an anchor she didn't want to admit she needed.
Ash stiffened at the sudden contact, clearly unsure of what to do. But she didn't pull away. Her voice came quietly. "Eve?"
Ash reached out hesitantly, her hand hovering before finally resting against the back of Eve's head. Eve froze, her breath hitching as the tension between them thickened. For a moment, she let herself lean into the touch, the warmth grounding her against the cold grip of the nightmare. But the vulnerability was fleeting.
Eve's face hardened, her walls snapping back into place. With a sharp exhale, she pulled away and shoved Ash back—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her point.
"Don't," she said, her voice low and cold.
Ash stumbled back a step, her eyes narrowing. "I wasn't—"
"Just go back to sleep," Eve interrupted, turning away from her. "We need to leave at first light."
Ash lingered for a moment, her lips pressing into a tight line. But she didn't push further. She turned and walked back to her corner, her presence heavy even after she was gone.
Eve stayed sitting, her hands trembling in her lap. She clenched them into fists, forcing the tremors to stop.
"Get it together," she muttered under her breath. "You don't have time for this."
The nightmares, the guilt—they'd wait for her to fall asleep again. But tonight, she wasn't going to give them the chance.
The pale light of dawn crept through the cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting faint stripes across the worn floorboards. Eve was already awake, her movements quiet but purposeful as she rummaged through her pack, checking supplies. The nightmare still lingered in the corners of her mind, a shadow she couldn't quite shake, but she buried it beneath layers of resolve. Survival didn't allow for indulgent emotions.
She rummaged through her pack finding what she was looking for, a small but sturdy hunting knife, its blade clean and sharp. She turned it over, weighing it thoughtfully before glancing toward Ash, who was still asleep on the tattered couch. Eve hesitated, then crossed the room and set the knife down beside the sleeping woman, its sheath tied neatly with a strip of cloth.
"Better than nothing," she muttered to herself, retreating to her pack.
Eve's fingers worked methodically, gathering her meager gear, she would need to make a stop and soon. The food was running dangerously low. She moved with purpose, the tension in her shoulders betraying the storm still brewing inside her. She refused to allow her mind to stray.
Ash stirred, a soft groan escaping her lips as her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, disorientation flickered across her face, but it didn't take long for her gaze to land on Eve.
"You're up," Ash muttered groggily, her voice thick with sleep.
"Didn't have the luxury of lying around," Eve replied without looking up, her tone clipped. "We need to get moving."
Ash sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as the fog in her mind began to clear. A yawn escaped her and she stretched as her eyes shifted the knife lying next to her, and she frowned.
"What's this?"
"Your new best friend," Eve said, her back still turned. "You'll need it."
Ash picked up the weapon, running her thumb along the sheath. It was practical, not flashy, and somehow that made it feel more significant. She hated how grateful she felt.
"Thanks," she said begrudgingly, setting it aside.
Eve didn't acknowledge the gratitude, busy securing the straps of her pack.
Ash watched her silently for a moment, memories of the previous night surfacing unbidden. Eve's nightmare, her vulnerability—none of it aligned with the hardened, sarcastic person she'd come to know.
She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers tracing patterns on the armrest. "You were screaming last night," she said cautiously.
Eve froze for the briefest of seconds, her hands pausing mid-motion.
"And?"
"And… nothing," Ash said, folding her arms. "Just curious if you're gonna keep dodging every time something real happens."
Eve turned, her expression unreadable. "You think now's the time for soul-searching?"
"Not for you, apparently," Ash shot back, but there was no real heat in her voice.
Eve let out a low laugh, humorless and sharp. "I don't owe you anything." She swung her pack over her shoulder and stepped toward the door. "Be ready to leave in five. I'm not waiting."
Ash watched Eve's retreating figure, her fingers tightening around the handle of the knife. She felt a surge of guilt rise in her chest, sudden and sharp, as she recalled the way she'd blamed Eve for everything. She had been so wrapped up in her anger, so consumed by the loss of her father, that she hadn't stopped to think—hadn't let herself think—about what Eve had gone through. Eve was just as broken as she was, haunted by her own demons, and Ash had been too stubborn to see it.
The rage she'd felt toward Eve for killing her father seemed… misplaced now. She'd been angry because she hadn't wanted to face the truth—that her father was gone. That no matter how much she wished it, he wasn't coming back.
Her breath hitched as the hole in her chest grew, an emptiness that nothing, not even the bite of her anger, could fill. It wasn't Eve's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault.
But the ache was still there.
Ash clenched her jaw, pushing the thoughts aside as best as she could. She couldn't afford to fall apart. Not now. Not when everything was so uncertain, so fragile.
The sound of Eve's footsteps outside brought her back to the present. She stood, her legs shaky, but she didn't let herself falter. The world wasn't waiting for her to feel better. It had never cared about her pain, and it sure as hell wasn't going to start now.
With a final glance at the empty space where Eve had been, Ash picked up the knife, sliding it into her belt with a newfound determination. She wasn't going to let herself break. Not today.