By day ten, Amelia’s nails had grown jagged and sharp—dirt and blood caked beneath them.
Her skin was streaked with grime, her lips cracked open in places, but her body had stopped trembling from weakness.
She was past weakness now.
Past pain.
Something colder sat in her chest.
Something hard.
⸻
She no longer counted days the way normal people did.
Time was measured in kills now.
Two more rabbits.
A fat blackbird that had fluttered too low.
And today—
Today, she caught the fox.
⸻
It had come for her snare.
Smart enough to spot it, but not smart enough to see the second trap she’d set nearby.
The deadfall crushed its skull.
Quick.
Efficient.
She skinned it before its body even cooled.
Hands steady.
Movements practiced now.
Her fingers didn’t flinch when the warm blood
