STRANGERS ♱ yellowjackets

44. another winter, long ago

SHE ONLY THOUGHT OF BUNNY FOR THE NEXT DAYS.

Natalie had spent years running from ghosts, but they always found her, lingering in the edges of her mind, whispering between the silences of her breath. But now she let it haunt her, she let Bunny haunt her.

When she told Taissa about PJ and Bunny's niece, she thought, maybe, it would offer some sort of release. It didn't. Taissa only stared, her face unreadable in the dim glow of Lottie's campfire.

"So, Lottie has a kid...with PJ?" Taissa repeated, voice low, skeptical.

Natalie nodded, arms crossed over her chest, suddenly unsure why she had brought it up at all. "He's fine, y'know," she said, and it stung a little, the thought of someone who had come through all of this whole, untouched in a way she never would be.

"Good for him," Taissa muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"She looks like her," Natalie added, quieter now. "Eyes and everything."

Taissa inhaled sharply. She didn't say anything for a long time. Then, "I don't want to talk about her."

"I do," Natalie pushed. "I don't want to forget. I don't want to push her away like she never existed—"

"No," Taissa snapped, cutting her off. "Absolutely not. I'm glad you're doing fine now, Nat, but I don't want to talk about her."

Natalie could only nod, biting the inside of her cheek, her nails digging crescents into her arms.

Days passed, and Natalie couldn't shake PJ's words from her head. He knew. He had always known—about Jackie, about the wilderness, about Bunny. And yet, somehow, he didn't hate her. She tried to understand it, but it didn't fit. She had killed Bunny, hadn't she? Maybe not by her own hands, but by her own actions. She was the reason. The weight of it crushed her lungs, made every breath a conscious effort.

One night, she adjusted the volume on the radio, letting the static hum between them. "Well," she began, forcing something steady into her voice, "I wanted us to gather and talk about what we learned."

She didn't notice the bottle being passed behind her, didn't see the way their movements slowed, softened, as the alcohol settled into their bloodstreams. She only knew that, at some point, the cold didn't bite so hard, that she was outside, twirling in the snow with Lottie's arms wrapped around her, laughter spilling from her lips. And for a moment, just a moment, she could almost forget Bunny.

But Bunny never really left.

Not when Lottie and Van discovered the truth about Adam's murder. Not when Lottie suggested the ritual. Not when they drew the cards. Bunny's voice was in her ears, soft but insistent, when Shauna's daughter pulled the trigger, sending a bullet tearing through Lottie's shoulder. Bunny's face was there, flickering between the flames and the snow, when they tied Lottie down, whispers of old prayers slipping from her lips.

And in the end, when the cold metal of Misty's syringe pressed into her skin, Natalie finally understood. She knew now, in the way she hadn't before, how Bunny had felt.

She tried to move, to pull away, but her limbs felt distant, foreign. Her breath hitched, a sharp, broken thing as warmth spread from the point of injection, seeping into her veins like a lullaby. She reached out blindly, fingers curling against the rough fabric of Misty's sleeve.

"I didn't mean—" her voice rasped, barely more than a breath. The world around her began to blur, shapes melting into one another, the flickering firelight turning into the hazy glow of another time, another place. Bunny was there. She could see her now, standing just beyond the edge of the fire, eyes soft, expression unreadable. Or maybe it was Sadie, Natalie wasn't sure. Natalie blinked, her chest tightening as she struggled to hold onto the image, to hold onto something real. But the wilderness had other plans.

The whispers grew louder, merging with the pounding in her ears. She could feel the snow beneath her, cold and unyielding, but it wasn't snow—it was the hard-packed ground of another winter, another night, long ago.

And then—

Nothing.