POV: Zina
The cabin smelled like dust and forgotten things. The air was thick, heavy, and every breath I took felt like I was inhaling years of silence. The wooden floors creaked beneath our steps, and the walls seemed to press inward, like the place itself didn't want us there.
Jared guided me inside, his hand resting lightly on my back as if I might shatter if he pressed too hard. I clutched Asher close to my chest, his body limp with exhaustion, and laid him down on the worn-out couch. He barely stirred as I wrapped a blanket around him, his little face streaked with dirt and dried tears.
"He'll be okay," Jared said, but his voice didn't sound convincing — not even to himself.
I nodded, but my throat was too tight to speak. My hands were stained with smudges of blood — some mine, some not. I needed to clean up. I needed to breathe. Without saying anything, I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
