Gale’s breath hitched at her words. “You need to stop trying to get up and just rest for a while. They won’t get to you with me here.”

The soft pat on his chest almost felt like a weight pressing down on him, but it wasn’t a cruel weight—it was something steady. Something that grounded him in the moment. But the stubborn fire inside him, that unrelenting drive to keep moving, burned brighter in response.

His body trembled with the effort to stay conscious. His mind was a fog, hazy with pain, but he couldn’t quiet the voice that urged him to get up. He couldn’t give in. Not now. Not when they were so close.

His eyes fluttered open again, though they remained half-lidded, and he saw her face above him—blurred by the exhaustion and the darkness, but there. She was here. Her words, even though they were meant to soothe, felt like a shackle to him.

Her hand, warm and soft, was still pressed against his chest. It was a lifeline, a reminder that, for a moment, he wasn’t alone. But his chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath like sandpaper scraping against the inside of his throat. His body was betraying him, and the desperation to do something, to move, to fight, felt like a scream trapped in his chest.

Gale clenched his fists weakly, but he didn’t have the strength to push himself up. Not yet.

He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her to move, to get him to his feet, to keep running. But his throat was dry, and when he tried to speak, his voice cracked and rasped, unable to form the words.

Her words, though calm, kept repeating in his mind: “They won’t get to you with me here.”

And for a moment, just a moment, his resistance faltered. Maybe it was the soft pat on his chest. Maybe it was the undeniable exhaustion in his limbs, the heaviness of his body, the poison still clinging to his veins. He had no choice. His body wasn’t ready for the fight. The relentless pull of sleep—of unconsciousness—was too strong to fight anymore.

Gale’s gaze shifted downward, looking at his own battered form. His chest was a mess—cut, bruised, and bruised deeper in places that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Blood mixed with dirt, the smell of sweat and earth overwhelming in his nostrils. His skin was slick and cold, and though his body was begging for him to lie still, the stubbornness inside him kept trying to find a way to escape, to move, to keep running. He couldn’t stop now.

But the longer he lay there, the more impossible it seemed to move. His body refused to listen, and each attempt to push himself up only brought him crashing back into the dirt. He was too weak. Too broken.

His breath hitched, his ribs aching with each strained inhale, and he closed his eyes briefly. His body screamed for rest, but his mind… his mind wasn’t ready to give in.

Gale’s fingers twitched in the dirt again, but they could barely grasp the ground, the effort draining what little strength he had left. He couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t even argue anymore.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he let his body settle back into the earth, his back pressing against the forest floor.

His pulse was steady, but weak. His breathing, ragged but still present, slow and even now, as the pain and exhaustion wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted into that next haze—whether it was a second or a minute later—but Gale knew, deep down, that for now…

For now, he had to listen. He had to rest.

Kayla stayed with him, on alert but never moving. Her eyes darted around, making sure they weren't being tracked or anything before tipping her head back and leaning it against the tree

Kayla felt his heartbeat neneath her hand and sighed, exhausted but refusing to sleep and leave him defensless

Gale’s body remained still, the exhaustion too overwhelming to resist. His breath slowed, each rise and fall more labored, but he didn’t fight it anymore. His mind drifted in and out of focus, the sharp pain dulling into a background hum.

Kayla’s hand on his chest grounded him, but he couldn’t fully relax. He wasn’t safe yet, wasn’t finished. But for now, all he could do was breathe and let the moment pass.

Kayla looked at Gale's face again, tense but not at the same time. He had underlying softness, she knew that much. Everyone did, even her.

Gale’s eyelids fluttered open, the warmth of the morning sun brushing against his skin. His muscles ached, but the exhaustion was gone—replaced with a new, raw energy. His body felt more alive, the poison no longer clouding his thoughts. He could feel the forest around him, the cool air, the dirt beneath his fingertips.

He didn’t move yet, just lay there for a moment, letting the stillness settle in. The sharpness in his body was gone, and what replaced it was a crackling intensity, a fire running through his veins.

Kayla’s presence was a quiet weight beside him, but it barely registered. He was awake, alert, feeling stronger than he had in what felt like forever.

The world was clearer now, and the hunger to move, to fight, was louder than ever.

The next morning had arrived. And Gale was ready.

"Morning" She muttered, removing her hand from his chest as it had been there all night. "How are you feeling?" She asked softly, looking at him

Kayla smiled at him. "Alright" She said, standing and watching him cautiously, like he may need her.