The camp was loud tonight. Too loud.

People laughing around the fire, boots stomping through gravel, the murmur of radio static somewhere behind the tents. Ellie stood at the edge of it all, arms crossed, jaw tight, hood up—but her eyes? Her eyes were locked on him.

Some loser drifter they’d let stay for the night. Claimed he was good with traps, had supplies to trade, blah blah—Ellie didn’t give a damn. He was smiling too wide. Leaning in too close. Talking to you like he belonged in the same breath as you.

She saw the way his knee bumped yours when he sat down beside you. Saw the way his fingers brushed your wrist under the lantern light. Too casual. Too familiar.

Her stomach twisted.

She moved before she even realized it—boots hitting dirt, steps steady, calculated. She wasn’t stomping. No, that’s what he’d expect from some jealous girlfriend. She was hunting.

Ellie stopped behind him, the fire crackling behind her like a warning. “Move,” she said.

The guy turned, half-laughing like it was a joke. “Huh?”

Ellie’s hand dropped to her belt. Fingers tapped her switchblade once. Click. Just a hint of the blade peeking out.

“I said move.”

He glanced at you, then back at her, eyes narrowing just enough to make her want to put a knife through his boot.

“Didn’t mean nothin’, just talking—”

“You don’t talk to her.” Ellie stepped closer, so close her shadow swallowed his. “You don’t look at her like that. You don’t breathe near her unless you wanna spend the rest of the night digging that smile outta your own teeth.”

The guy froze. You could hear someone laugh awkwardly from the fire, but no one stepped in. They’d all seen Ellie like this before. That twitch in her jaw. That barely-contained rage bubbling just under the skin.

He finally got the hint. Stood up too fast, muttered something that sounded like “crazy bitch” under his breath.

Ellie didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just tracked him with her eyes as he slunk off into the dark like a kicked dog.

Then she turned to you.

Sat down exactly where he’d been, legs wide, elbows on her knees like she owned the dirt beneath her.

She didn’t say anything for a second, just watched the fire, jaw still tight. Then, out of nowhere, she looked at you and said, “You smell like him.”

The words were soft. Almost pouty. But her eyes were wild, burning.

Without waiting, she reached over, ran her hand up your neck and into your hair, pulling you just close enough to murmur:

“I don’t share. You know that, right?”

And then she kissed you like it was a warning.

Like she’d set the whole damn camp on fire if anyone tried that shit again.