Sage

The early morning quiet of camp is broken by the rhythmic crunch of boots on dirt. Reeves strides into view, flanked by two of his men. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a distinct air of purpose in his steps that immediately puts me on edge.

We knew he’d be coming today, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

I’m outside my “office,” sorting through my notes for the day, when Dash steps into view. He comes from the supply shed, already watching Reeves like he knows this won’t be good.

Reeves stops a few feet away, his gaze sliding over me like I’m part of the scenery. Instead, he directs his attention squarely at Dash.

“Got a situation,” he says, his tone clipped, like he expects us to fall in line without question.

Dash’s stance shifts, arms crossing as he plants his feet. “What kind of situation?”

Reeves tilts his head, smirking faintly. “Dispute with another camp. Their leader’s a woman—armed, hostile, and refusing to talk to anyone but another woman she deems reliable and strong. She’s already dismissed my camp’s women as soft and useless.”

Dash glances at me, his expression sharp, like he’s already working through the angles. “And?”

Reeves gestures lazily toward me, finally acknowledging my presence. “Figured your wife might fit the bill. She’s got a reputation around here for holding her own.”

I stiffen, both at his dismissive tone and the way he talks about me like I’m a commodity.

Dash’s voice hardens. “You need her help, you talk to her directly.”

Reeves scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’m talking to you because I respect you, man to man. I know you’ll want to keep an eye on her. Can’t blame you for wanting to protect what’s yours.”

The words hang in the air, and my jaw tightens.

Dash doesn’t budge. “If she goes, I go.”

Reeves smirks like he expected nothing less. “Figured you would.”

Before either of us can respond, a voice cuts through the tension.

“I’ll go, too.”

We both turn to see Greg approaching from the far side of camp, his expression composed but with that careful neutrality that always makes me wary.

Dash narrows his eyes. “Greg—”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Greg interrupts, his tone calm but deliberate. “It makes sense to have another set of eyes. Someone who can report back to the camp.”

My stomach twists. On the surface, his reasoning sounds logical, but there’s something about the way he says it, the way his gaze lingers a little too long on Reeves and his men, that sets me on edge.

Dash’s voice sharpens. “And you think that should be you?”

Greg shrugs, his expression measured. “Why not? I’m not tied up in the pipeline project, so I won’t be missed. And it’s smart to send someone who understands the bigger picture.”

I raise an eyebrow. “The bigger picture?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Greg meets my gaze, his tone almost patronizing. “We’re not just dealing with camp disputes anymore, Sage. The Accord’s influence isn’t going anywhere. Someone needs to understand how they operate.”

It’s a carefully crafted answer, but I know what it really means: Greg isn’t loyal to the camp—he’s loyal to his own ambitions. And this? This is his way of cozying up to the Accord, of getting closer to something he’s been quietly chasing for weeks.

Dash’s jaw tightens, his gaze cutting between Greg and Reeves. Letting Greg come along means keeping an eye on him, but it also means bringing someone with his own agenda into an already volatile situation.

“Fine,” Dash says eventually, his tone clipped. “But you follow instructions. No freelancing, no wandering off.”

Greg nods, his expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Reeves chuckles, clearly enjoying the tension. “We leave in an hour. Don’t keep us waiting.”

As Reeves and his men walk away, I let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation settling heavily in my chest.

Dash places a hand on my back, steady and grounding. “You okay?”

I nod, but the unease lingers. “Greg’s up to something,” I say quietly.

Dash’s expression hardens, his gaze following where Greg had disappeared. “Yeah. But we’ll handle it.”

The tension still hums in the air as Dash and I walk back toward the lean-to to pack. His hand rests at the small of my back, steady but protective, like he’s already bracing for whatever lies ahead.

“Reeves calling me reliable and strong is a first,” I mutter, trying to inject a little humor into the heaviness.

Dash’s lips twitch in a faint smile. “Wish we could’ve have a recorder at that moment so we could play it back again and again.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Inside the lean-to, we pack quickly, keeping our movements efficient and our thoughts to ourselves. The familiarity of Dash pulling together supplies while I fold clothes makes the whole situation feel more grounded, though my stomach twists with unease.

When we’re done, we make our way to Branson’s shelter. He’s already waiting, sitting at his desk and poring over maps while Mara leans against the wall, her arms crossed.

Branson looks up as we enter, his eyes narrowing. “What’s this about?”

Dash doesn’t hesitate. “Reeves is dragging us to their main camp. There’s a dispute with another group, and he thinks Sage is the only one who can mediate.”

Branson’s jaw tightens, his gaze flicking to me. “And you’re agreeing to this?”

“It’s not exactly optional,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “But Dash is coming, and so is Greg.”

Mara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Greg? Really? What’s he playing at?”

“Something,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “He gave all the right reasons, but… let’s just say his motives feel a little too convenient.”

Branson lets out a low grunt, leaning back in his chair. “You sure about this?”

“No,” I admit, meeting his eyes. “But if this can keep things from boiling over between the Accord and this other camp, it’s worth trying.”

Branson considers for a moment before he says. “The other camp must be Alicia’s group.” Branson gives a begrudging smile. “She’s tough. Always has her rifle in hand. She’s got a group of mainly women, so my guess is Reeves wants the women.”

“Where is there camp? Why haven’t we heard of them?” Mara asks.

“They are about ten miles north of the Accord camp, which makes them about fifteen miles for us. They don’t wander much.” Branson explains.

Mara pushes off the wall, pacing a few steps before turning to me. “What’s your gut telling you?”

“That this could go south fast,” I say. “But if it does, Dash and I can handle it.”

Dash’s expression doesn’t waver. “We’ll stay alert. Greg won’t do anything without us noticing, and Reeves won’t make a move without tipping his hand.”

Branson doesn’t look convinced, but he nods. “Fine. I’ll keep things running here while you’re gone. How long do you think you’ll be away?”

“A week, maybe less,” Dash says. “Depends on how messy the situation is.”

Branson leans forward, his elbows on the desk. “Stay in touch. I’ll have runners ready in case you need backup.”

Mara steps closer to me, her voice dropping. “You need to stay sharp, Sage. These people? They don’t play by the same rules we do.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

She hesitates, then pulls me into a quick hug. “Don’t let Reeves push you around,” she mutters in my ear. “And don’t let Greg worm his way into anything, either.”

I pull back, giving her a small smile. “You’re starting to sound like Branson.”

“Good,” she says, smirking. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

Branson stands, his gaze steady as he looks between Dash and me. “Be careful. Both of you.”

“We will,” Dash says, his tone firm.

With that, we head toward the meeting point near the edge of camp. Reeves and his men are already there, waiting beside the horses. Greg arrives a moment later, looking smugly prepared.

Dash gives me a quick glance, his expression unreadable but grounding. I nod back, steeling myself.

As we start toward the Accord’s camp, I can’t help but feel like this is the start of something that won’t be easy to come back from.