The forest closed around me in a way that felt almost compassionate, as if the trees themselves wanted to hide what I was about to do. The world had gone quiet — too quiet — except for the faint hum of insects and the distant crackle of dying flames from what used to be our escape point.

Dante was heavy in my arms, too still, too quiet, his skin cooling beneath my trembling hands. I held him as if I could force life back into him by sheer will. His chest had always been my rhythm — the place I’d rested against during the brief moments when the world wasn’t...