Sage

Branson’s voice is low and steady, his words clipped as he talks through the latest movements from the Accord. “They’ve set up two more watch posts along the southern edge in the past two weeks. We’re starting to lose sight lines into the open areas.”

Dash stands next to him, arms folded tight, listening with the kind of intensity I’m starting to recognize as his version of controlled frustration. I feel it too—an anxious flutter at the base of my spine, an instinct to move, to do something—anything—to push back against the slow encroachment of their presence.

Mara stands beside me, her arms crossed, eyes dark and thoughtful. “It’s like they’re trying to make us feel… surrounded,” she says, her tone bitter. “To keep us in our place.”

“Exactly that,” Dash mutters, glancing at Branson. “They’re watching, and they want us to know it.”

Branson nods, scratching his jaw thoughtfully. “They haven’t crossed any of our actual boundaries yet, but they’re close enough that it’s only a matter of time before someone gets careless. Or worse, they provoke us on purpose.”

I swallow, feeling the weight of his words settle heavy over me. It’s more than just the proximity of the Accord men—it’s the way their presence amplifies every vulnerability we have, every reminder that our safety here is far more fragile than we’d like to believe.

Dash’s eyes flick to mine for a brief second, barely perceptible, but enough to let me know he’s aware of the unease that’s tightening around me like a vice. He turns back to Branson, voice a shade softer as he asks, “Any word on their rotation? How often they’re switching out men?”

Branson shakes his head, frowning. “No solid intel on that yet, but I’m working on it. We need to figure out a pattern, find any weaknesses.”

I shift, trying to focus on the strategy, but the nerves coil tighter as Mara adds, “It’s not just the physical boundaries. They’re… intimidating people, even if they’re doing it in a way that no one can call out.” She glances at me, a faint flicker of worry in her eyes, and I realize she’s noticed how tense I am. There’s an unspoken understanding there, a reminder that none of us are immune to feeling cornered.

I force myself to stay still, to keep my breathing even, but my mind spins with the questions I can’t voice here. How much more control will they press for? How close will they creep before we lose the thin buffer that’s left?

As Branson and Dash keep discussing strategies, I feel a mix of protectiveness and helplessness churn in my gut, fighting to surface. Whatever it takes, I’m determined that we’ll keep each other safe, even if it means adapting to this shadow of threat that feels more suffocating each day.

Dash

As the meeting wraps up, the tension’s still hanging thick, stretching everyone’s nerves thin. I glance at Sage; she’s holding steady, but I can see the weight pressing on her shoulders, her fingers clenched a little too tight around the edge of her coat. That’s when I make the decision.

“Branson, Mara,” I say, keeping my voice even, “Sage and I will be unavailable the rest of the day.” There’s a pause as Branson raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but he doesn’t question it. Mara, on the other hand, looks between Sage and me, her confusion slipping into something like amusement. I see Sage start to open her mouth, maybe to ask me what I’m talking about, but then she closes it, giving me that same look of trust she’s had since this all started.

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She pulls Mara aside to ask her to cancel any sessions planned for today, then turns back to me, curiosity and a hint of wariness in her eyes. “So, where are we going?” she asks as we leave the others behind, our steps taking us down a quiet path out of camp.

I wait until we’re far enough away from anyone’s ears. Then I stop, turning to her. “You need a day off, Sage,” I say, keeping my tone firm but gentle. “Time to actually breathe, without everyone else’s stress on your shoulders.”

She tilts her head, eyebrows knitting together. “Dash, I’m fine,” she insists, a little defensively, her arms crossing in that way she does when she’s holding something back. “I haven’t really taken a day since being in camp. And honestly? I’m not sure I’d know how to take one even if I wanted to.”

I shake my head, giving her a faint smile. “Look, I heard you telling someone an analogy months ago,” I say. “You said that on airplanes, they explain that in an emergency, you put on your oxygen mask first before you help anyone else with theirs. You can’t be there for anyone else if you’re running out of oxygen.” I step a little closer, lowering my voice. “And right now, you need to focus on your own mask. I don’t need you to be ‘fine’—I need you to actually take a breath.”

She hesitates, looking away, and I can see the walls she’s built starting to waver. “But what would that even look like?” she asks, her voice softer, almost vulnerable. “There’s so much to do, and I’m supposed to be…” She stops, her eyes finally meeting mine. “I’m supposed to keep it together.”

I rest a hand on her shoulder, grounding her. “You don’t have to keep it all together every second, Sage. Not with me.” Her eyes search mine, and I can see the exhaustion there, the weight she’s been carrying alone for too long. “So, let me take some of it today. Just for a few hours, alright?”

Finally, she nods, the tiniest hint of a smile breaking through. “Alright,” she says, her voice steadier. “Fine, what did you have in mind?”

I grin, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before we keep moving. “Let’s take a walk and figure it out as we go.” I don’t let go of her hand.

Sage

The quiet of the woods wraps around us, thick and cool beneath the canopy, and I can feel myself starting to let go of the tension I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Dash’s hand stays around mine, steady and grounding, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push. He just lets me walk, lets me breathe.

After a while, I break the silence. “I didn’t realize how much I’d been holding in. The Accord… it’s like they’re draining the air in camp. And every time I try to do something about it, I just feel… smaller.”

Dash gives a nod, his gaze on the path ahead. “You don’t have to carry that alone,” he says simply. “Not all on you.” He pauses, then adds, “People don’t expect you to be made of stone, Sage.”

I give a weak laugh. “Feels like everyone’s counting on me to keep it together, though. I’m the therapist, right? The ‘calm one.’”

He stops, turning to face me, his eyes holding steady on mine. “You’re human. You don’t have to pretend you’re fine when you’re not.” He reaches up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle. “Not with me, anyway.”

The tenderness in his gesture catches me off guard, and I look down, a warmth creeping up my cheeks. “I don’t know if I’d even know how to let go,” I murmur, barely a whisper.

Dash gives a small chuckle, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Good thing you don’t have to ‘know how.’ Just… be here. Let me take some of the weight today.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Deal?”

I nod, a strange relief settling over me. “Deal.”

We walk in silence after that, just listening to the forest around us. It feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of us, and for once, that smallness is comforting.

After a while, we find a patch of sunlight by the edge of the stream, and we sit down, side by side. I close my eyes, letting the sounds of water and birdsong fill me, slowly easing the noise and stress that’s been clinging to me for so long.

Dash sits close, our shoulders brushing, and after a moment, his hand slips back into mine. I let myself lean into him, just a little, the warmth of his arm against mine.

He glances over, his voice quiet. “Feels good out here.”

“Yeah… it does,” I say, surprised by the feeling of peace creeping over me.