ADRIAN
Time was starting to slip.
I didn’t know how long I’d been in Katrina’s cabin. A day? Two? More? The rain never stopped, the sky never brightened, and the steady crackle of the fireplace blurred the hours together until everything felt like one long, unbroken moment.
At breakfast, I finally asked, “What day is it?”
Katrina paused mid‑stir, wooden spoon hovering over the pot. “After a few days,” she said lightly, as if that answered anything.
“A few days since… what?”
She smiled. “Since I found you.”
My stomach tightened. “Are you going to town soon?”
“Not yet.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “We still have supplies. No need to waste gas. Maybe in a day or two.”
A day or two. She said it so casually, like time meant nothing to her. Maybe it didn’t.
I watched her move aroun
