Through The Ashes

37

Jorn sat on the outskirts of the camp, perched on a rusted, overturned crate. The sky was fading into the deep purples and grays of early evening, and the distant buzz of camp activity seemed far away, muted. The Rot, the Screechers, the sudden and terrifying idea that the they were evolving—it all thrashed around in her head like a hurricane.

She stared out into the wasteland beyond the junkyard's boundaries, her fingers tracing the cool, jagged edge of Spencer's katana. The lethal steel made sense.

But everything else?

Mara's face had invaded her thoughts all day. The soft way she said "girlfriend," the ease with which she'd talked about them like they were something real, something lasting. Jorn wanted that, in some deep, hidden part of herself, she craved it more than she'd ever let on.

But in a world like this? With the Rot closing in, Screechers pulling the strings of death at every corner, could they really afford to be that to each other? Could she afford to let herself fall any further?

Love wasn't safe. Not now. Not here.

The idea that they could lose it all in an instant nagged at her. She hadn't let herself dream of a future like this before, not since everything went to hell. Jorn never had a girlfriend, never even had the chance to navigate her sexuality with any certainty. It was a part of her that had always lingered in the background, quietly present but never fully explored. Until Mara.

And now that Mara was there, that possibility, that want was a wildfire in her. Could they be more than just two people surviving? Could they carve out something for themselves in this world?

She sighed heavily, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees as the familiar sense of doubt crept in, whispering to her that maybe she wasn't built for this kind of thing—love, relationships, happiness.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. Jorn didn't look up immediately, thinking it could've been Mara but then the shuffling paused just beside her, and she could feel eyes staring into her. She glanced over and saw Harrem standing there, hands awkwardly tucked into the pockets of his worn jacket.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked, his voice softer than usual, without the typical swagger he usually carried.

Jorn nodded, though she didn't say anything. She wasn't sure she had the energy for whatever conversation was about to follow. Harrem sat down on the crate next to her, the silence between them thick but not quite uncomfortable.

After a long pause, Harrem cleared his throat. "Look... I, uh... I've been thinking about what happened. Back at Windridge." His voice was careful, almost hesitant. Jorn raised an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance.

"I fucked up," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the ground. "What I said about you and Mara... that was wrong. I shouldn't have made you feel like that."

Jorn's grip tightened slightly on the katana, her lips pressing into a thin line. She appreciated the apology, but the discomfort from that moment still lingered like a bad taste in her mouth.

"I just..." Harrem hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before he finally looked at her. "I think... maybe I'm little jealous."

Jorn blinked, caught off guard. She turned her head slightly to face him, frowning in confusion. "Jealous?"

Harrem let out a short, awkward laugh. "Yeah. Sounds stupid, huh? But... I don't know. She's... beautiful. I thought maybe I could try and get to know her—"

Jorn paused, her fingers stilling over the blade. She hadn't expected this from him. Not Harrem, with his stupid grin and flippant attitude. But now, here he was, admitting he was jealous of her.