The sun was already half-swallowed by the trees when Mark finally managed to light the fire.

  “I FUCKING DID IT!” he yelled, raising the two sticks like they were the World Cup.

  “Look at this, Anton! Look! I made fire like a fucking Neanderthal! I’m Bear Grylls, for fuck’s sake!”

  Antea didn’t answer.

  She was curled up against a tree trunk, knees to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs, Mark’s shirt (too big, smelling of him) hanging almost to her thighs. Her hair, still damp, stuck to her face. She was trembling. Not just from the cold.

  Good job, genius, she thought with a bitterness that burned worse than the frost.

  If you hadn’t spent the entire afternoon staring at rocks and trees like some idiot from Project Stargate, maybe you could’ve figured it out earlier.

  But no, you had to play discount Jedi.

  Congratulations.

  Mark turned around, beaming, then the smile died on his face when he saw her so small and closed in on herself.

  He approached slowly and crouched about a meter away.

  “Hey… I’m sorry. I couldn’t find anything to eat. I wandered around like an asshole, but all I found were berries that looked like squirrel shit and mushrooms that probably would’ve made us shit out our souls.”

  Antea lifted her gaze just a little. Her voice came out like a wisp of smoke.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Mark swallowed. “At least come closer to the fire, come on. It’ll warm you up.”

  He held out his hand.

  Antea stared at it for two painfully long seconds, as if it were a snake. Then she got up on her own, slow, unsteady. She walked to the fire and sat on the opposite side, as far from him as possible without seeming rude.

  The flames warmed her skin.

  Only her skin.

  Inside she was still ice.

  It didn’t happen to me, she thought for the thousandth time.

  That filthy pig didn’t touch me. He touched this body. These tits that aren’t mine. This ass that isn’t mine. I wasn’t there. I was… somewhere else. Watching.

  Yet the memory of those calloused hands ripping the silk, the rancid breath on her neck, the weight crushing her to the ground… that was real. That stuck to her like sweat.

  Mark sat in front of her, hands stretched toward the fire. The light danced over the abs.

  Antea felt her eyes slide over them on their own.

  And immediately looked away, disgusted with herself.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Why was her body reacting?

  Why was there warmth between her legs even as she felt like vomiting?

  Why did she feel weak, defenseless, and he was the only human being in this fucking world who didn’t (yet) want to hurt her?

  Yet.

  Because she knew. She knew damn well.

  Today Mark was kind.

  Today he looked at her with those guilty puppy eyes.

  Today he apologized for not finding food.

  But tomorrow?

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  In three days?

  In a week, when hunger, fear, loneliness would eat the last crumbs of civilization he had left?

  Why shouldn’t he just take her?

  No one saw them.

  No one would ever see them again.

  She had no powers.

  No strength.

  Not even a name that truly belonged to her anymore.

  She was just a perfect pussy in a world waiting for a chance to fuck her.

  Literally.

  I could run away tonight, she thought, staring at the flames.

  Wait until he falls asleep and run.

  But where?

  They didn’t know where they were.

  They didn’t know if there was a village, a road, a fucking sign saying “welcome to fantasy world, free rapes here.”

  And most importantly: alone, she would last as long as a popsicle in hell.

  Mark was the only shield she had.

  Even if that shield could one day become the blade.

  Antea hugged her knees tighter.

  The flames crackled.

  Mark watched her in silence, not daring to speak.

  And she, for the first time since waking up in that body, realized something terrible.

  She wasn’t only afraid of the world.

  She was afraid of him.

  And afraid of wanting him not to be afraid of her.

  The fire crackled low, almost tired itself.

  Mark cleared his throat, embarrassed by a silence heavier than the cold.

  “So… what do you want to do? Tomorrow, I mean. We can’t stay here forever. We need to look for a city, a village, a fucking adventurer party… I don’t know. Out here in the forest all we know is there are beasts, and I don’t want to find out which ones when they tear us apart in our sleep.”

  Antea stared at the flames without really seeing them.

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

  Her voice came out small, almost foreign.

  “I’m scared of everything.”

  A bitter laugh escaped her lips, dry as sandpaper.

  “I thought this was going to be an anime isekai, you know? Skills, party, leveling up… but no. It’s just another shitty dimension, more backwards than ours, where a woman without powers gets to do two things: find a strong man and pay for his protection with her pussy. That’s it.”

  Mark stayed silent a second too long.

  “We don’t know what kind of world we’re in, Antea.”

  She snapped her head up.

  “What the fuck did you just call me?”

  “Antea,” he repeated, without looking away. “I can’t call you Anton. I’m not even a hundred percent sure you’re really in there… and this body is as far as it gets from the Anton I knew.”

  The name stabbed her chest—a flash of real anger—but it lasted the space of a heartbeat. Then it faded.

  “Call me however you want,” she murmured. “Doesn’t change a fucking thing.”

  Another silence.

  “I don’t feel like talking,” she added. “I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Mark opened his mouth, already blushing.

  “So…”

  “No,” she cut him off, sharp. “Not that.”

  “I wasn’t gonna say that, for fuck’s sake!” he exploded, raising his hands. “I would never take advantage of you. You know that, right?”

  Antea didn’t answer.

  She kept staring at the fire, lips pressed tight.

  Because no, she didn’t know that anymore.

  She didn’t know that about anyone.

  And especially not about him.

  “Oh God,” Mark whispered, running a hand through his hair. “You really think I could… Fuck. No. It’s normal you don’t trust anyone right now. I get it.”

  Silence.

  Only the crackling wood and the wind slipping between the trees like a cold caress.

  Mark cleared his throat again.

  “Tomorrow we could explore. Leave this clearing for good. Around here I only saw trees, tiny shitty animals, and the stream. We need to go farther. Do you think you can do it? If you prefer we stay here another day, it’s fine.”

  Antea shrugged.

  “Fine by me.”

  But maybe we should leave immediately, she thought.

  Who says more of those grizzly-men won’t show up tonight? Maybe they have a camp nearby. Maybe they smelled the blood. Maybe they’re already coming.

  She glanced at Mark from the corner of her eye.

  He was staring at the fire, hands stretched toward the flames, his abs tightening every time he breathed.

  And she hated that her eyes had slid over them again.

  What if they attack and he can’t use that telekinetic thing again?

  What if it fires off by accident and crushes me instead of a tree?

  Better not think about it.

  Impossible not to.

  She closed her eyes.

  The fire warmed her skin.

  Inside, everything stayed ice.

  Antea lowered her gaze to her own breasts, still half-exposed under Mark’s oversized shirt.

  They were big.

  Perfect.

  They should’ve driven her insane with joy, the way Anton used to spend hours on Pornhub searching “big tits natural” and jerking off like a champion.

  Instead—nothing.

  Zero.

  It was like looking at someone else’s old body in a mirror.

  Or worse: like looking at her own old body from the outside.

  She felt nothing.

  They weren’t hers.

  They were an accessory.

  A weapon the world would use against her.

  Then her eyes slid to Mark.

  Lying on the ground, hands behind his head, staring at the stars, bare chest rising and falling slowly.

  And her traitor body reacted.

  Heat between her legs.

  Hard nipples.

  An ache in her stomach that wasn’t hunger.

  Fuck.

  Her mind was changing.

  She was becoming a straight woman.

  Or bi.

  Or whatever the hell this shit was.

  She’d never had dysphoria before.

  She’d been a normal straight guy, for fuck’s sake.

  Not one of those super-straight dudes on forums who have to prove how much they love pussy.

  Just a guy who loved pussy, period.

  She’d never looked at a man and thought, “I’d fuck him.”

  Now she did.

  And she hated herself for it.

  I don’t want to think.

  I want to go home.

  I want to wake up on the couch with drool on my mouth and the muffin on my stomach.

  A tear slipped out.

  Then another.

  “Go ahead and sleep,” Mark said, without turning around. “You need rest. It’ll calm you down—at least a little.”

  Antea laughed, crooked and mean.

  “And you think I could sleep while you’re awake? You really didn’t get a fucking thing, idiot.”

  Mark shot upright, staring at her.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not planning to touch you.”

  A pause.

  “If you’re really Anton, you shouldn’t be afraid of me.”

  His expression was gentle.

  Too gentle.

  Antea felt her cheeks burn.

  Mark was trembling.

  It was cold now—truly cold—and he was shirtless, because he’d given her his.

  She felt the urge to hug him.

  To cling to him.

  To warm him up.

  She hesitated.

  She thought of everything he’d done for her today:

  He’d looked for food, started a fire with sticks like a mentally deficient caveman, taken punches from a horny gorilla, killed a man (maybe), all while his best friend had turned into a magazine-cover slut.

  And he hadn’t asked for anything.

  Not even a full-on perverted look (well, almost).

  She felt like shit for thinking he’d eventually rape her.

  And then the thought hit her like a low blow:

  If I’m kind to him, maybe he won’t do it.

  Immediately after:

  No.

  That’s not how it works.

  It must not work like that.

  But he really was trembling.

  Antea stood.

  She approached.

  “You’re shaking.”

  “Yeah,” he smiled, “the fire isn’t enough anymore.”

  “You’ll get sick.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If it’s not a problem for you… we could sleep close. Close. For warmth.”

  A pause.

  “Don’t get any weird ideas, though.”

  Mark raised his hands, already red to his ears.

  Gesturing: bad idea, very bad idea.

  “Look, if you get sick, we’re both screwed. Staying close won’t solve everything, but it’s better than nothing.”

  He looked at her.

  Looked at her breasts.

  Immediate

  ly looked away.

  Antea didn’t wait.

  She hugged him.

  Her tits pressed against his left arm—firm, warm, heavy.

  “See?” she whispered. “It’s warmer.”

  Mark was red as a pepper, stiff as a pole.

  “I’m not going to sleep,” he said, voice cracking.

  Antea closed her eyes, her face against his chest.

  She felt his heart racing.

  And hers, fuck, too.

  And she hated both.