Page 14 of What Remains

Seth’s shoulders tightened, his flinch disguised as a stretch. “I’m fine.”

Jay didn’t call him a liar. Didn’t push. Didn’t corner him.

He simply said, “You’re allowed to not be.”

Seth’s demeanor changed.

Seth looked away. He crouched, picked up a piece of split wood from the pile at his feet, turned it over once, and set it back down. Jay looked at the axe’s blade.

Jay laid a hand on Seth’s shoulder. “Listen… when we head out in spring, you won’t be alone out there. I’ll have your back, and you’ll have mine. That’s how this works. So whatever’s eating at you—you don’t have to carry it out there with us. You can set some of it down first.”

Seth blinked hard at the snow-dusted ground, his throat working.

The silence stretched, filled with everything Seth wasn’t saying.

Then—

“…Thanks.”

One word. Barely heard above the wind.

But Jay understood exactly what it meant.

Sawyer stepped out onto the porch then, axe in hand. “Everything good out here?”

Seth straightened instantly, his mask sliding back into place. “Yeah. All good.”

But as Jay met Sawyer’s eyes, he gave a single, tiny shake of his head.

The gesture was all it took.

By midday, the snow had eased as Sawyer and Jay made their slow trek around the cabin’s surrounding area. The trees stood tall and silent around them, branches blanked in white, and every few steps Sawyer paused to listen.

Jay kept pace beside him, boots crunching in a steady rhythm. But his thoughts kept replaying the conversation on the porch.

Sawyer noticed the silence first. “You’re walking like a slug,” he muttered, glancing sideways.

Jay snorted, the sound humorless. “Got a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah,” Sawyer said. “Care to share with the class?”

They reached the edge of the ridge overlooking the frozen creek below. Sawyer scanned the woods out of habit while Jay shoved his gloved hands deeper into his coat pockets.

Finally, he exhaled. “It’s Seth.”

Sawyer didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, I figured.”

Jay kicked at a the ground. “He’s… different lately. Not just quiet. It’s like he’s gearing up for something, and whatever it is, he’s trying to bury it deep.”

Sawyer nodded slowly, eyes still on the horizon. “Man’s been through hell.”

“We’ve all been through our own hell, sure,” Jay said. “But this is different. It’s like he’s drowning in plain sight, working overtime to convince us he can swim.”

Sawyer let out a breath. “I’ve seen that look before. Lost men from my unit. Good men—stronger, in a lot of ways, than I ever managed to be. It doesn’t matter how tough a man is. Grief is a funny thing, it doesn’t announce itself first. And winter…” He shook his head. “Winter never helps.”

Jay stared down at the snow, “He’s scared he won’t measure up when we head out. Scared he’ll fail us the way he thinks he failed them.”

“Or scared he’ll survive again when someone else doesn’t,” Sawyer said quietly. “That one’s harder to shake. Trust me.”