Jonathan lit his cigarette, leaning back against the patio railing as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the humid night air. It was his second watch of the night, and he didn’t mind. Compared to the chaos of the last few months, this felt almost serene. He took a long drag, letting the nicotine steady his nerves. His fingers twitched slightly as he brought the cigarette to his lips again. The twitch wasn’t from the cold or the stress—it was the itch.

He shook the thought off and focused on the horizon, where faint flashes of lightning flickered across the sky. Thunder rumbled low and distant, a subtle warning of the storm creeping closer. The air felt heavy, charged with moisture and anticipation, as if nature itself was holding its breath.

Jonathan looked at his rifle, resting within arm’s reach. The thought of needing it, of not knowing when that moment might come, unsettled him in a way he wasn’t used to admitting. It reminded him of the restless energy cocaine used to give him—the constant edge, the feeling of always being ready for something that might never come.

He ran a hand through his hair, his thumb brushing briefly against his nose. He could almost feel the burn in the back of his throat, the rush of clarity that used to come with it. Stop, he told himself firmly. The last thing he needed was his mind wandering down that road.

Their Jeep Cherokee sat in front of the cabin, its nose pointed toward the road for a quick getaway. It hadn’t been driven since their frantic escape, its damaged exterior bearing silent witness to what they’d been through. Most of their gear was still packed, sitting by the door inside, ready to grab if they needed to run. Jonathan had rigged the back perimeter with makeshift alarms—fishing line tied to cheap civilian safety devices that screamed like banshees when tripped. Not perfect, but better than nothing.

They were hours away from where they had found it, days on foot. They all secretly hoped it was far away but they still were tense, like a spring ready to jump and them making a hasty escape in the process.

The thunder rumbled louder now, rolling through the forest like a warning growl. Jonathan took another drag from his cigarette, the familiar sensation grounding him. He had a single pack left, and every time he reached for it, he told himself it would be his last. Smoking had become his replacement vice, something to keep his hands busy and his mind off the temptation locked away deep in his pack.

Inside, movement caught his eye. Sofia and Przemek were stirring, their shadows visible through the window. Jonathan smiled faintly. He liked them, even if they didn’t really know him. Not the whole picture, anyway.

He stubbed out the cigarette on the patio railing, wincing as his fingers brushed the burning ember. For a moment, he debated lighting another one. The itch under his skin told him he needed something, anything, to fill the void, but he pushed it down.

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The door creaked open, and Przemek stepped out. He nodded at Jonathan, lighting his own cigarette with slow, deliberate drags.

“Were we overrun this morning?” Przemek asked sarcastically.

“Nah,” Jonathan replied with a smirk. “Kept them at bay. They didn’t stand a chance.”

Przemek chuckled, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the storm clouds gathered. “You can get some rest if you want. I’ve got the patio for the next two hours.”

Jonathan shook his head. “Not tired. I’ll try to fix that thermal scope we found in Malmö. No point lugging it around if it’s busted.”

Przemek nodded approvingly. “Good idea. If you can’t fix it, try calling the warranty number.”

Jonathan laughed, standing up and grabbing his rifle. “I’ll be inside.”

Sofia was sitting on the sofa, working on a ghillie suit Przemek had shown her how to make. “There’s coffee,” she said as he passed by.

“Already had too much. I’m hungry,” Jonathan replied, heading to the kitchen.

“There’s stew. Better eat it before it goes bad.”

Jonathan smirked. “What’s in it?”

“Nothing you wouldn’t eat, Jonathan.”

“I won’t eat Jonathan!” Przemek yelled from outside.

Jonathan chuckled, grabbing a bowl and filling it with stew. He ate quickly, marking another line on the whiteboard hanging in the kitchen. He didn’t want to lose track of how many days they’d been here.

“Did you see the scope I left on the table?” he asked Sofia.

“Przemek put it in your backpack last night.”

“Figures,” Jonathan muttered, retrieving it. He spread out the scope and a few tools on the coffee table, his hands steady despite the restless energy thrumming beneath the surface.

The itch was still there, clawing at the edges of his thoughts as he opened the battery compartment with a screwdriver. Focus, he told himself. The scope needed fixing. The metal pin connecting the battery to the rest of the device was bent, likely from someone forcing in the wrong type of battery. He worked carefully, using a small pin to straighten the connection.

Outside, Przemek’s voice broke through the sound of the rain. “You guys should come out and wash while it’s still pouring!”

Jonathan glanced up, spotting Przemek in his boxers, washing himself under the downpour. Sofia grabbed her things and headed outside. Jonathan returned to the scope, fine-tuning the pin until it was in place. He reassembled the device, muttering a quiet prayer before inserting a fresh battery.

A low hum emanated from the scope, and Jonathan grinned as it came to life. He raised it to his eye, scanning through the open door. The thermal vision revealed the bright white outline of Przemek under the rain, his arms spread wide like he was welcoming the storm.

“You like the view?” Przemek called, catching Jonathan’s grin.

“Got this thing working!” Jonathan replied.

“Great job!” Przemek said, laughing. “I’d buy you a beer, but we’re all out of luck there.”

“How about you take my watch tonight?” Jonathan countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Deal,” Przemek said, shaking water from his hair as he laughed.

Jonathan leaned back, satisfied with the fixed scope, the storm raging outside. For now, the itch was quiet. But he knew it would be back, and when it was, he’d have to fight it all over again.