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Snow had a way of making everything look softer than it really was.
The camp looked almost peaceful beneath it. White layered over old cabins, over chain-link fencing, over footprints that disappeared as quickly as they were made. It buried sharp edges and ugly truths under something clean and quiet, and Enid hated it for that because nothing here was clean and nothing here was quiet.
The Hyde colony sat in the middle of nowhere, tucked between pine forests and mountains that swallowed the sky whole, and every morning Enid woke up expecting to feel different. Better. Lighter.
She never did.
Every day she opened her eyes and remembered.
The blood.
The tearing.
The awful, horrible moment she had looked down and realized what she had done.
He had been a bad man. Everyone told her that. He would have hurt her. He would have hurt Wednesday. He would have kept going if she had not stopped him.
It didn’t matter.
Because she had still killed him.
And somehow everyone else here kept moving.
Hyde after Hyde walked around camp carrying histories full of violence and destruction and broken things, and yet they laughed around fires at night. They played cards. They argued over chores. They lived.
Enid felt like she was drowning while standing still.
Maybe they were pretending.
Maybe everyone here was just better at hiding it.
Tyler Galpin certainly seemed to be.
God, Tyler.
Even thinking his name made irritation flare up through the fog in her head.
He walked around camp with that infuriating expression like he knew something everyone else didn’t. He joked with people. Helped split firewood. Sat on cabin steps staring into forests like some tragic movie character. He looked… functional.
Which made no sense.
Because he had done terrible things.
Worse things than her.
And she knew some of it hadn’t been his fault. She knew what it was like now—sharing your head with something else, feeling yourself disappear while another version of you took over.
But she also remembered the look in his eyes when he threatened Wednesday.
Remembered the smile.
Remembered him admitting he liked hurting people.
Maybe he had changed.
Maybe he hadn’t.
She didn’t know.
What she did know was that she couldn’t talk to Wednesday.
Not because Wednesday wouldn’t listen.
God, Wednesday would burn the world down if Enid asked.
That was the problem.
Wednesday already carried too much.
Ever since they arrived here she had been quieter. Not visibly—not to anyone else. She still stalked around camp with perfect posture and an expression sharp enough to cut glass. Still solved everyone’s problems before they asked. Still checked locks at night and pretended she wasn’t doing it.
But Enid noticed.
Because she always noticed.
Wednesday looked at Tyler too long when she thought nobody saw.
Tyler looked at Wednesday every chance he got.
And every time their eyes met there was grief there so thick it almost felt alive.
Enid hated it.
Not because Tyler cared.
Because Wednesday did too.
And neither of them knew what to do with it.
Enid knew Wednesday better than anyone. Better than Thing. Better than Eugene. Better than the Addams family.
Wednesday Addams loved strangely.
Quietly.
Terrifyingly.
Like tying your shoelaces because you forgot.
Like standing between you and danger without hesitation.
Like staying awake all night because you had a nightmare and pretending it was coincidence.
Like crossing entire forests because she thought you might be in trouble.
Wednesday loved like someone putting pieces of themselves into your hands and acting like they hadn’t noticed.
And Enid—
Enid was her sister.
Not by blood.
Not by law.
But in every way that mattered.
So no.
She would not add this to Wednesday’s shoulders.
Not when Wednesday already carried enough ghosts.
The snow crunched beneath Enid’s boots as she walked.
Cabins blurred by on either side.
Her hands were shoved deep into her coat pockets but she still felt frozen.
She almost turned around three times.
This was stupid.
This was so stupid.
She hated Tyler.
She absolutely did not want to talk to Tyler.
Unfortunately he was also the only person here who might understand.
She reached Cabin Seven and stared at the door.
No decorations.
No lights.
No sign anyone actually lived there.
Very Tyler.
Enid knocked.
Nothing.
She waited.
Still nothing.
Her eye twitched.
She knocked harder.
“Tyler!”
Movement inside.
A thud.
Then, faintly—
“Coming.”
The door opened.
Tyler stood there looking vaguely exhausted, hair messy like he had been asleep, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
“Oh. Enid wha—”
“How do you not feel guilty?”
He blinked.
She pushed past him.
Warm air hit her immediately.
The cabin smelled like coffee and cedar and something faintly burnt.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked dryly behind her.
“I was freezing my butt off outside and I asked you a question.”
Her finger pointed directly at his chest.
He closed the door.
“Okay. Which guilt are we discussing? I’ve got a catalog.”
God he was insufferable.
“How do you not feel guilty about everything?” she snapped. “Was that specific enough?”
The humor vanished.
Just like that.
His eyes moved away from hers.
To the table.
The window.
Anywhere else.
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“Because you seem fine.”
Silence.
“And because you’re you.”
His mouth twitched.
“Wow. Brutal.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.” He leaned against the counter. “I don’t.”
“You smile. You joke. You act normal.”
“And you wear rainbow sweaters and talk too loudly when you’re upset.”
Enid froze.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
His voice was quiet now.
Steady.
“When Wednesday isn’t looking at you, you stop smiling.”
Her stomach dropped.
“When she leaves a room, you stare after her like you’re checking she’s still there.”
He stepped closer.
“You haven’t slept properly in weeks.”
Another step.
“You keep rubbing your hands together because you still feel blood on them.”
The room went still.
Enid couldn’t breathe.
“You think nobody notices,” he said softly. “But I do.”
Her eyes burned.
No.
No no no.
She was not crying in front of Tyler Galpin.
Absolutely not.
“I don’t have a mask,” she said too quickly.
He stared.
“I’m great.”
Silence.
“The best I’ve ever been.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Enid.”
“I mean it.”
“Enid.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you know things!”
He laughed once.
A tired sound.
“Unfortunately I do.”
She hated that laugh.
Because it wasn’t smug.
It wasn’t cruel.
It was empty.
And suddenly she saw it.
The dark circles under his eyes.
The tension in his shoulders.
The way he never stood with his back to doors.
How every loud noise outside made him glance toward the window.
Oh.
Oh.
He wasn’t okay either.
Not even a little.
Her anger fizzled.
Just enough.
“Fine,” she muttered.
He waited.
“I came because…” Her voice cracked.
Damn it.
“I killed someone.”
Everything stopped.
Tyler slowly pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
Enid stayed standing.
“He was bad,” she rushed out. “He was going to hurt us and I wasn’t myself and I changed and then—”
Her breath hitched.
“And I killed him.”
Silence.
She sat down because her knees suddenly felt weak.
“Wednesday doesn’t know,” she whispered.
Tyler’s expression tightened.
“She hasn’t said anything.”
“You think she doesn’t know?”
Enid looked up.
He sighed.
“Enid. It’s Wednesday.”
Oh.
Right.
The realization hit like a truck.
Wednesday probably did know.
She just hadn’t pushed.
Because Enid hadn’t talked.
The thought somehow made everything worse.
Tears blurred her vision.
“It’s eating me alive.”
Tyler looked at the table.
“At first,” he said quietly, “I didn’t feel guilty.”
Enid blinked.
He kept talking.
“I felt angry.”
His eyes stayed fixed downward.
“At everyone.”
His hands were clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
“My mom left.”
Pause.
“My dad lied.”
Another pause.
“I spent years feeling wrong and nobody noticed.”
Enid didn’t move.
“Then suddenly my mother was alive again.”
His laugh was hollow.
“She wanted me.”
The words hurt to hear.
“She chose me.”
He swallowed.
“And I would’ve done anything for that.”
Snow tapped softly against the window.
“She thought the Hyde was a monster.” His voice lowered. “So I became one for her anyway.”
Enid’s chest hurt.
“She asked and I obeyed.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then suddenly it wasn’t enough anymore.”
His eyes closed.
“Pugsley.”
Enid inhaled sharply.
“Wednesday.”
The name sounded different coming from him.
Soft.
Broken.
“She was buried alive and I couldn’t stop it.”
Silence.
“Then she came back.”
His eyes opened.
“And my mother betrayed me.”
He looked away.
“She let go,” he whispered.
The room went still.
“And then she was gone.”
Enid cried before she realized she was crying.
God.
Everything about him was sad.
He laughed weakly.
“Yeah.”
She sniffed.
“That wasn’t what I was reacting to.”
“No?”
“Every time you speak somehow your life gets worse.”
He stared.
Then barked out a laugh.
A real one this time.
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’m serious!”
“I can tell.”
She wiped her face.
“I just…” She shook her head. “If someone told me a year ago I’d be sitting in your cabin trauma bonding with you I would’ve assumed I lost my mind.”
His mouth twitched.
“Imagine Wednesday finding out.”
Enid immediately started laughing.
“Oh my god.”
“She’d have an aneurysm.”
“She’d combust!”
“She’d accuse me of kidnapping you.”
“She’d accuse me of being kidnapped.”
They both laughed.
The tension cracked.
Just enough to breathe.
Eventually it faded.
Silence settled.
Comfortable.
Weirdly comfortable.
Tyler leaned back.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I don’t think you’re a murderer.”
Enid looked up.
“You defended someone you loved.”
The room felt smaller.
“That doesn’t make you evil.”
She looked away.
“You sound like Wednesday.”
He smiled.
“Don’t tell her that.”
Enid snorted.
Silence again.
Then—
“You love her.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Tyler froze.
Oops.
He looked at the table.
Didn’t deny it.
Enid blinked.
“You really do.”
His smile disappeared.
“I don’t get to.”
The answer came instantly.
Like he had said it a hundred times before.
“You don’t decide that alone.”
His eyes lifted.
“Enid.”
“No seriously.”
She leaned forward.
“You care about her.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“She cares about you too.”
His expression shattered.
Just for a second.
Then rebuilt.
“She shouldn’t.”
Enid stared.
Oh.
Oh no.
This idiot.
“Tyler.”
“No.”
“You absolute disaster.”
He blinked.
“You think you’re too broken.”
Silence.
“You think because of what happened you don’t deserve her.”
He looked away.
“And maybe,” Enid said softly, “you’re right about not deserving forgiveness yet.”
His jaw tightened.
“But Wednesday doesn’t love people because they deserve it.”
He looked back.
“She just does.”
The room went silent.
Outside snow kept falling.
Inside something shifted.
Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But understanding.
The beginning of it.
The knock on the cabin door cut through the silence.
Once.
Sharp.
Precise.
The kind of knock that somehow sounded annoyed.
Enid and Tyler both froze.
The clock on the wall read 2:17 AM.
Outside the world had disappeared under snow and darkness. The colony slept. No lights shone through the windows of the neighboring cabins. The forest beyond them was still and black.
Nobody should have been awake.
Tyler already knew who it was.
The second knock came.
He looked at Enid.
Enid looked horrified.
Tyler moved first.
The floor creaked softly under his feet as he crossed the cabin and opened the door.
Wednesday Addams stood outside.
Snow dusted her coat and the ends of her braids. Her hands were shoved into her pockets. She looked exactly the same as always.
Except her eyes.
They moved immediately.
Tyler.
Enid.
The table.
Two mugs.
The tears Enid hadn’t wiped away.
The silence sitting heavy in the room.
Her gaze landed on Enid again.
“You disappeared.”
Her voice was quieter than usual.
Not angry.
Worried.
Enid felt her chest hurt.
“Oh.”
Wednesday stepped inside.
Tyler shut the door behind her.
The cabin felt smaller immediately.
“You left your cabin fifty-one minutes ago,” Wednesday continued. “You were not in the common area. You were not near the eastern trail. You were not at the overlook.”
Enid blinked.
“You looked for me?”
Wednesday stared.
“You vanished.”
Like that was explanation enough.
Like of course she had looked.
Tyler looked away.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
Because of course she had.
If Enid disappeared, Wednesday moved.
That was simply how the world worked.
Enid swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry.”
Wednesday turned fully toward her.
“You were crying.”
Not a question.
Across the room Tyler quietly leaned against the counter, deliberately putting distance between himself and them.
He shouldn’t be here.
The thought came suddenly.
This was theirs.
Whatever this was between them.
Family.
He had no place in it.
“I killed someone.”
The words escaped Enid before she could stop them.
Everything went still.
Tyler’s eyes lifted immediately.
Wednesday didn’t move.
Enid looked at the floor.
“He was bad,” she whispered. “I know he was bad. I know everyone keeps saying that and I know I protected people and I know I wasn’t fully me but—”
Her voice cracked.
“I still killed him.”
Silence.
Snow tapped softly against the windows.
The fire in the little stove had nearly gone out.
Tyler stayed perfectly still.
Wednesday stepped forward.
“You protected yourself.”
“I still did it.”
“You protected others.”
“I still killed him.”
Wednesday stopped directly in front of her.
Her expression had gone unreadable.
Dangerously unreadable.
“Enid.”
Enid looked up.
“You are not a monster.”
The room went quiet.
“You are not cruel.”
Wednesday’s voice lowered.
“You are not him.”
Tyler looked down immediately.
The words hit him too.
Enid shook her head.
“I don’t feel good anymore.”
The admission came out small.
Broken.
“I feel wrong.”
Something flickered across Wednesday’s face.
Pain.
Real pain.
The kind she almost never showed.
Then she reached out.
Her hand closed around Enid’s wrist.
“You are my family.”
Tyler stopped breathing.
Enid stared.
Wednesday rarely said what she felt.
She acted.
She stayed.
She protected.
But she almost never said it.
“You’re my family,” Wednesday repeated quietly. “Nothing you survive changes that.”
Enid burst into tears.
“Oh no,” she cried immediately. “Why would you say it like that?”
Wednesday looked mildly alarmed.
Enid threw herself at her.
Wednesday stumbled backward a step.
Then—
Very awkwardly—
She hugged back.
Tyler looked away.
Not because it hurt.
Because it felt private.
Because this was love.
Not romantic.
Not dramatic.
Just absolute.
The kind built brick by brick.
Late nights.
Shared rooms.
Choosing each other over and over.
Sisters.
The kind you found.
The kind you kept.
Enid eventually pulled back.
Her eyes were red.
Wednesday looked like physical affection had inflicted mortal damage.
Then Enid turned.
Tyler immediately straightened.
He shouldn’t have.
Because now they were both looking at him.
“No,” he said instantly.
Enid blinked.
“What?”
“No whatever you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
She absolutely had been.
Wednesday was still watching him.
God.
He hated when she looked at him for too long.
It made everything worse.
Enid’s expression softened.
“You look lonely.”
Tyler laughed once.
Quietly.
“That’s because I am.”
The honesty surprised all three of them.
Silence settled.
He looked away first.
“I’m used to it.”
The words felt empty.
Like something he’d repeated enough times to believe.
Movement.
Tyler looked up.
Wednesday had stepped closer.
He frowned.
She stopped in front of him.
“You helped Enid.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“You helped her.”
Like it mattered.
Like she was keeping score.
Tyler swallowed.
“I just listened.”
“You stayed.”
The room went still.
“You listened,” Wednesday corrected softly.
The air felt strange.
Too warm.
Too close.
Tyler couldn’t look away.
Wednesday held his gaze.
And there it was again.
That awful feeling.
Hope.
The thing he hated most.
Because hope meant wanting.
Wanting meant losing.
“You should not have been alone either.”
Tyler forgot how breathing worked.
Enid looked between them with widening eyes.
Wednesday seemed to realize what she had said approximately three seconds too late.
She stepped back immediately.
The moment broke.
Tyler looked down.
His chest hurt.
Not in the bad way.
Which was somehow worse.
Enid sat down again suddenly.
“Nope.”
Both of them looked at her.
“Nope nope nope.”
“Enid,” Wednesday warned.
“I’m serious.”
She pointed between them.
“You two are exhausting.”
Tyler groaned quietly.
Wednesday narrowed her eyes.
“You care about each other and nobody can convince me otherwise.”
“We absolutely can,” Tyler said immediately.
“Incorrect,” Wednesday said at the exact same time.
Silence.
They both looked at each other.
Enid grinned.
“Oh my god.”
Wednesday looked away first.
Tyler rubbed a hand over his face.
The stove crackled softly.
Outside snow continued falling.
Inside nobody moved.
Eventually Enid yawned.
Huge.
Unashamed.
Wednesday turned instantly.
“You’re tired.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Okay maybe a little.”
“It is after two in the morning.”
Tyler checked the clock.
2:41 AM.
How had it been that long?
Enid looked between them.
Then smiled.
Softly this time.
Different.
“You know,” she said quietly, “I think this is the first time none of us are alone.”
Nobody spoke.
The words settled over the room.
Tyler looked at the floor.
Wednesday went still.
Enid smiled sadly.
“Me and Wednesday had each other.”
She nudged Wednesday’s shoulder.
Wednesday tolerated it.
“You didn’t have anybody.”
Tyler’s throat tightened.
“And now,” Enid continued, “you do.”
Silence.
The fire cracked.
Wind brushed against the cabin walls.
Tyler looked up.
Enid was smiling at him.
Wednesday wasn’t looking away.
For the first time in years—
Years—
The loneliness felt smaller.
Not gone.
Just…
Smaller.
Wednesday stood.
“It is late.”
Translation: I am emotionally overwhelmed.
Enid stood too.
Translation: I know.
Tyler opened the door for them.
Cold air slipped inside.
Snow still fell.
Enid paused before leaving.
“Goodnight, Tyler.”
Wednesday stopped beside the door.
Her eyes met his.
“Goodnight.”
One word.
Quiet.
Real.
They left.
Tyler stood in the doorway long after they disappeared into the snow.
The colony slept.
The forest remained silent.
But for the first time since arriving here—
The cabin didn’t feel empty anymore.