Sage

The Accord’s presence is subtle but suffocating. It’s something I notice first in the women—small changes in the way they move, shoulders pulled tight, conversations quieting whenever an Accord man passes by. Mara, usually quick to joke, avoids the main paths near the southern edge now, and her laughter has faded into something more cautious, like she’s looking over her shoulder at every step.

Around the fire pit, I see it too. The women gather a little closer, not huddled, but there’s a quiet formation happening, unspoken but deliberate. It’s as if by sheer proximity, we can form some kind of invisible barrier. But I know we can’t stop them from watching us, from lingering with that quiet power they carry, as if they’re just waiting for a reason to move in closer.

When Mara and I head down to the southern edge with a bundle of clothes to wash, I can feel the tension like a second heartbeat, pulsing under my skin. The men aren’t doing anything—they don’t have to. Their presence alone is enough to remind us that we’re not alone here, and that they’re watching every move we make.

A line of stakes marks their boundary, rough but clear, stretching across what used to be our land. Their small, makeshift tents loom over the stream, their supplies stacked in plain view. It’s like they’ve planted a flag, silently staking their claim, daring us to challenge them. We still have access to the water, but just barely; the stream feels tainted somehow, as if their gaze has polluted it by proximity alone. I keep my eyes down as we approach, forcing myself not to meet their eyes, but I can feel their gaze following us, like a cold prickling against the back of my neck.

We work quickly, Mara beside me, her jaw clenched as she dunks a shirt into the water, scrubbing with short, angry strokes. “It’s like they’re daring us to make a move,” she mutters, barely audible over the soft rush of the stream.

I nod, trying to focus on rinsing a shirt, pretending there’s nothing wrong. “They don’t have to say anything,” I reply, just as quietly. “They know we feel it.” My voice wavers, despite myself. I’ve spent years building a place here where women could feel secure, could speak freely, and now, that sense of safety feels paper-thin.

A shadow of movement catches my eye, and I look up to see one of the Accord men, arms crossed, staring in our direction with an expression that chills me. He’s not smirking, not openly challenging, but there’s a simmering confidence in his gaze—a certainty that he can stand here as long as he wants, without consequence. It’s more unnerving than outright aggression, this calculated, quiet dominance. And I hate it.

“Do you think Dash and Branson have any idea what it’s like for us?” Mara asks, her voice tight, barely a whisper.

“Maybe,” I murmur, glancing back toward the camp. Some of our men are lingering on the edges, trying to keep an eye on us, and among them, I spot Dash. His stance is calm, face unreadable, but I can tell he’s watching, taking in everything. I know that having him nearby should feel like enough, but here, near the edge, it doesn’t. Not when their presence is this close, breathing down our necks.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Let’s finish this up,” I murmur, squeezing water from a shirt with fingers that feel numb. We’re quick and silent, the weight of our vulnerability settling between us as we work. And as we turn to head back to camp, I feel a new resolve solidify in me. I’ll keep building this invisible wall around us, but I know now that it may not be enough. And as the tension hums around me, I wonder how long we can hold out before something shifts, before this quiet war turns into something we can’t ignore.

Dash

The campfire crackles as dusk settles, casting flickering shadows across the faces around us. People are winding down, and for a few peaceful minutes, it feels almost normal—almost like the world before.

I’m standing off to the side when Greg approaches. His smile is casual, but I can see something sharper beneath it, a glint in his eyes that sets my instincts on edge.

“Dash,” he starts, nodding toward Sage, who’s speaking with Mara across the fire. “It’s nice, you know, to see you two… working so well together.” His tone is smooth, the kind of compliment that feels hollow even before he adds, “Especially since not everyone’s so quick to buy into… well, let’s just say alliances of convenience.”

I feel my jaw tighten. I don’t want to response, before marrying Sage, I wouldn’t have responded. “Is that so?” I keep my voice steady, but I don’t bother hiding the edge in my tone.

Greg shrugs, glancing over at Sage with a smirk. “Some people just aren’t easily convinced. I mean, it’s admirable, what you’re doing. Stepping in, keeping the peace and all. But if you ask me, authenticity’s a hard thing to fake. People notice when something’s… a little forced.”

I cross my arms, letting his words hang in the air. “What exactly are you getting at, Greg?”

He looks at me, feigning surprise, as if he didn’t expect me to call him out. “Just that… well, some arrangements benefit both parties, right? It’s smart—both of you keeping up appearances like that.” His eyes flick to Sage again, and I feel my patience wearing thin.

Sage must notice the shift in our conversation, because she glances our way, her smile fading when she catches Greg’s gaze on her. She takes a step closer, her presence a reminder, an anchor. Greg’s smirk falters.

I lean forward, just enough to make my point. “Whatever arrangement we have, Greg, is between us,” I say quietly, my voice cold. “And it’s real enough that you should think twice before questioning it.”

Greg chuckles, but I can tell he’s thrown off. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he says, backing off slightly, but the look in his eyes tells me he’s not used to being put in his place. “I’m just saying—people talk.”

“Let them talk.” I don’t move, holding his gaze. “But you won’t. Not to her, and not about her.”

Greg’s smirk fades, and for a second, he looks almost stunned. He mumbles a quick, “Sure,” and glances away, his confidence shaken. Then, with a forced smile, he nods toward the fire and mutters, “See you around,” before slipping off into the shadows.

Sage’s hand brushes mine, a silent show of solidarity. Her eyes meet mine, gratitude flickering there, but I can see something else—a softness that wasn’t there before, something unspoken passing between us. Whatever Greg intended, he failed. Instead, he’s just made our bond feel even more grounded, more real. And as I watch him disappear into the dark, I feel my protectiveness for Sage settle in deeper, a steady resolve that no one—not Greg or anyone else—is going to come between us.

“Wanna go home?” I ask, hopeful.