Ravensblood Forest preppers

meredith doesn’t bother looking up at him as she works, but the sharp flick of her ear says she’s listening. of course he’d take the bait. predictable bastard.

careful? she echoes, voice flat, unimpressed. reckon you wouldn’t last long, period.

she shoves another bundle into the satchel, movements efficient, precise. no wasted energy. not even on him. but crowell’s the type that slinks into whatever cracks he can find, and there he is again—stepping closer, offering help in that mocking way of his.

meredith snorts. ain’t this a rare sight. crowell, bein’ generous. she finally lifts her head, eyes cutting to him, unreadable but assessing. she rolls a strip of dried meat between her teeth, thinking.

then, with a careless shrug: fine. make yourself useful. she juts her chin toward a pile of supplies. start packin’—or piss off. don’t much care which.