Page 103 of Wreckage

Finally, Troy exhaled and said it.

“We were talking about leaving.”

My stomach dropped. The words settled over me like a lead weight, pressing me down, suffocating me. I knew what that meant. I knew what that implied.

This was the end.

They wouldn’t be talking about leaving unless they had no other choice.

Unless this was it.

My chest tightened, my fingers clenching into the blanket, my breath coming in short, shaky bursts.

Troy and Adrian were immediately there, pressing in close. Their arms wrapped around me, and their voices were soft and soothing as I cried into their chests.

“We’ll figure it out, butterfly,” Adrian whispered, his lips pressing to my hair, his fingers threading through my loose waves.

“I promise,” Troy murmured, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm and steady, grounding me as I shook in their arms.

They kissed me softly, repeatedly—gentle reassurances, silent apologies, desperate vows.

I wanted to believe them, that they would find a way, that I wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Deep down, though, I knew the truth.

If we didn’t leave soon, we would never leave at all.

Troy let out a slow breath, reaching for something near the fire.

A small, familiar bottle.

He opened it, pulling out one of his last sleeping pills before pressing it into my hand.

“Take it,” he whispered. “Just sleep.”

I stared at the pill, his shaking hands, the tightness in his expression, and the darkness in his eyes.

I didn’t argue. I didn’t want to be awake for this anymore. I swallowed the pill with a sip of water, barely registering Troy’s fingers brushing over my lips.

The warmth of their bodies pressed in around me, anchoring me even as my mind drifted further and further away.

And as the drug pulled me under, I realized something.

I had felt less afraid when the plane had crashed.

Because at least then?—

At least then, I still believed we would be saved.

Chapter 36

Adrian

We had been eating for a week. It had saved Elena. The color had returned to her cheeks. Her voice was stronger. She wasn’t as frail and wasn’t fading before our eyes anymore.

But the food was running out.

Troy and I had spent every night whispering, calculating, trying to figure out what came next. If we didn’t do something in the next few days, we’d be right back where we started.

And worse—Elena was starting to question it. She wasn’t stupid. She knew something was off. And today, she finally stopped dancing around it.

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