Jenny and Reed sat by their campfire, the glow of the flames casting flickering shadows across their faces. The wilderness was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves and distant howl of wind. It should have been comforting, but the weight of everything they’d been through loomed heavy in the silence.

Jenny stared at the fire, her one hand resting on her knee. Her harness pressed against her shoulder, a subtle reminder of how much she’d adapted—and how much she hadn’t. The ache in her chest wasn’t physical, but the guilt gnawed at her. Reed deserved the truth. They were so close now. And yet, she couldn’t find the words.

On the other side of the fire, Reed methodically sharpened his dagger. The rhythmic scrape of steel on stone filled the air, grounding but tense. He wasn’t just sharpening the blade; he was focusing his thoughts, trying to make sense of Laura’s unexpected choice to stay with the caravan. It didn’t add up. Laura had always been calculated. Self-serving, sure, but never illogical. Whatever her reasoning, it didn’t sit right with him.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Reed said, breaking the silence without looking up.

Jenny shifted, her fingers tightening around the edge of her harness. “Just thinking,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual.

He glanced at her briefly, then returned to his work. “About?”

“Everything.” The word came out heavier than she intended. She hesitated, then added, “We’re almost there. Bunker 4.”

Reed paused mid-motion, the blade catching the firelight. “Yeah,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Almost.”

The conversation lulled again, the weight of unspoken thoughts filling the air between them. Jenny stole a glance at him, noticing the slight crease in his brow. “You’re worried about Laura, aren’t you?”

Reed’s sharpening slowed, but he didn’t stop. “It doesn’t make sense,” he admitted. “Laura’s good at survival. She knows how to read a situation, how to calculate risk. Staying with the caravan, skipping the payday—there’s no logic to it.”

Jenny watched him, noting the way his grip on the dagger tightened slightly. “And Denzel leaving was logical?” she asked, her tone edged with skepticism.

Reed glanced up, his expression calm but resolute. “What gods want, they get,” he said simply, returning his focus to the blade. “If Denzel has some destiny tied to that Trial key, it’s his choice whether to follow or resist the pull. Either way, he’ll make his own path.”

Jenny frowned, the words settling uneasily in her chest. Faith wasn’t something she’d ever been taught to trust. The Bunker’s archives were filled with stories of science, progress, and reason—not divine intervention or mystical destinies. “You really believe that?” she pressed.

Reed looked up again, his eyes steady. “I believe in Denzel,” he said. “He doesn’t do anything without reason, even if it’s one only he understands.”

Jenny leaned back slightly, crossing her legs as she mulled over his words. “Guess I’ve got a lot to learn about trust,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

Reed smirked faintly, though there was no humor in it. “Out here, you learn fast. Or you don’t survive.”

Jenny watched him. “You think something’s up with that caravan?”

Reed sighed, setting the blade down. “I know something’s up. But I can’t deal with it until we handle the Bunker.”

Jenny nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the fire again. The guilt in her chest twisted tighter. She wanted to tell him the truth, to confess the lie she’d built their entire journey on, but the words felt stuck. Instead, she deflected. “Maybe Laura’s just tired of the danger. The caravan’s safe. Predictable.”

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Reed smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Predictable doesn’t suit Laura. And if she was tired of danger, she wouldn’t be with Chan. He’s got a knack for stirring things up.”

Jenny chuckled softly, the sound more of a reflex than genuine amusement. “You really think she’ll stay with them?”

Reed’s smirk faded, his expression turning thoughtful. “No. Once this is over, I’m going after her. Figure out what’s really going on.”

Jenny’s heart sank. Of course, he’d go after her. The loyalty he had to his group was unshakable, even when it conflicted with his own survival. She envied it—and feared it. What would he do when he found out about her lie?

He broke the silence this time. “If the Bunker folk pay enough... everything will work out.” His voice was casual, but the edge of doubt was clear.

Jenny frowned. “And if they don’t?”

Reed looked at her then, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Reed,” she began hesitantly, but stopped when his gaze met hers. There was something unspoken between them, a fragile connection hanging in the air.

“Yeah?” he prompted, his tone softer now.

Jenny opened her mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she looked away, her cheeks warming slightly. “Nothing. Forget it.”

Reed studied her for a moment, then leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “You’ve been carrying something this whole time, haven’t you?” he asked quietly. “More than just the mission.”

Her heart skipped, but she forced a casual shrug. “Haven’t we all?”

Reed didn’t push, but the weight of his gaze lingered. “Yeah,” he said eventually. “I guess we have.”

The fire crackled softly between them, the night heavy with unspoken words and unresolved tension. Both had spoken enough to crack the surface of their thoughts, but the deeper truths remained buried. Reed sat for a moment longer, then picked up his sharpening stone and dagger, giving the blade a final pass.

Satisfied, he set the dagger aside and stood, dusting his hands on his pants. Crossing the campfire, he crouched in front of Jenny. “Let me fix that harness,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

Jenny blinked, caught off guard. “It’s fine,” she said quickly, though her hand instinctively moved toward the straps.

Reed shook his head, already reaching out. “You’ve been tugging at it all night. Let me.”

She stiffened as his hands brushed against her shoulder, his fingers deftly adjusting the straps. His touch was firm but careful, and the closeness was disarming. The firelight flickered across his face, highlighting the faint lines of focus etched into his expression. Jenny’s breath hitched as the scent of him filled the space between them—sweat, leather, and the faint tang of antiseptic. It wasn’t pleasant, exactly, but it was grounding. Real.

Her gaze flicked to the fire, its flickering flames casting shadows that danced like whispers of doubt. Don’t do this, a voice in her head warned. But another, quieter voice whispered back: Why not?

Reed glanced up, his face just inches from hers. His eyes lingered for a second too long, searching hers for something unsaid. Jenny’s chest tightened, her heart racing as her gaze dropped to his lips. The doubts still lingered, but the pull was stronger.

Before she could think better of it, she leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a soft, hesitant kiss. Reed froze for a moment, caught off guard, but then his hand slipped instinctively to her shoulder, steadying her as he kissed her back. The warmth of his touch spread like the firelight, igniting something neither of them could ignore.

For Reed, the world seemed to shift. The kiss was unexpected, yet it felt inevitable, like a thread tying together all the moments they’d shared. The pull to her had always been there—quiet, building—but now it was undeniable. And with it came the realization of how much more complicated everything had just become.

But just as quickly as it began, it ended. Reed pulled back first, his hand lingering for a moment before dropping away. Jenny leaned back, her cheeks flushed, her breath uneven as her mind raced to make sense of what had just happened.

Reed sat back on his heels, the flickering firelight painting his face in shadows and light. “Jenny...” he began, his voice low, almost unsure.

“Don’t,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “Just... don’t.”

Reed didn’t press further, but the moment lingered between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Jenny clenched her hand into a fist, her heart pounding. She’d kissed him. She’d wanted to. But now that it was done, the weight of her secret—the lie about the mission—pressed down harder than ever. You shouldn’t have done that. The thought cut through her, sharp and unforgiving.

Reed sat across the fire now, his gaze fixed on the flames. The kiss had felt like a step toward something—but what, he couldn’t say. It only sharpened the pull he felt toward her, even as his mind reminded him of the dangers it brought. Laura’s strange decision, the payday waiting at the Bunker, the plan he wasn’t ready to abandon—all of it weighed on him, and yet none of it seemed as clear as the memory of Jenny’s lips on his.

Around them, the night seemed darker, the fire their only island of light in the void. The shifting flames mirrored the turmoil in their minds, burning but never steady, dancing but never resolving. Both were lost in their thoughts, unwilling to look at each other yet unable to truly look away.