Page 38 of Wreckage

Goddamn hope.

“We’ll take turns keeping it going,” Troy said, glancing at the extra stuff we’d gathered so we could add it in as the night went on.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Neither of us said anything else as we returned to the wreckage.

Inside, it was just as freezing as before, but at least it cut the wind.

Elena was still curled up in the same spot, bundled under what little fabric we had. She stirred slightly as we entered, her lashes fluttering, her breathing uneven. Her eyelids cracked open, showing the pretty blue of her eyes, but only just barely. Her face was badly swollen still.

I cracked open another heating pack and slipped it beneath the blankets near her. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could do.

Troy sank beside her, stretching out in the cramped space. “Come here,” he murmured.

Elena barely reacted.

Troy sighed and moved closer, wrapping an arm around her. She still didn’t react. If anything, she was more stiff than before. I knew our presence so close to her wasn’t enjoyable for her.

I hesitated. It felt different this time.

She was awake. She wasn’t unconscious or delirious from pain. She was fully aware of us being this close to her.

Tension knotted in my shoulders as I settled in on her other side.

Her body was warm from the heating pack and blanket but still trembling. I could feel it against my chest and could hear the way her breathing hitched slightly.

“This isn’t weird,” Troy murmured to her. “It’s survival.”

Elena exhaled shakily but didn’t argue.

She didn’t say anything at all. She closed her eyes, curled in slightly, and let the silence stretch between us.

And then, softly—so softly I almost didn’t hear it—she started to cry.

Her shoulders shook, her breath coming in uneven gasps, but she didn’t make a sound.

She was breaking, and there was nothing I could do about it. I swallowed past the lump in my throat, staring at the jagged metal ceiling.

I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.

Neither did Troy.

We just let her cry, let her feel the weight of everything, hoping—praying—that it would help her in some way.

And then, before I even realized it, my own eyes burned. I turned my face away, pressing it into the side of my arm as my chest ached.

For Elena.

For Troy.

For Dean, who had died in the crash.

For whatever the hell was going to happen to us if no one found us soon.

I let a few tears slip free, silent in the darkness, mourning everything we had lost and everything we might lose.

Chapter 15

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