Sage

The air smells faintly of smoke and pine, a mixture that usually feels comforting. Today, though, it sets my nerves on edge. The camp is too busy, too loud—every movement feels like it’s drawing attention, even though I know we’re doing everything possible to keep things under wraps.

Mara hands me a list, her handwriting neat despite the smudges of dirt on the page. “This is everything we’ve got in storage that can be stretched for a few weeks. It’s tight, but it’ll work as long as Alicia’s people bring in supplies.”

I scan the list, nodding, but my stomach knots. Alicia’s camp is supposed to bring enough to sustain their people, but what happens if they don’t make it? Or if something goes wrong? My mind races through the possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Mara clears her throat, drawing me back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I lie, folding the paper and tucking it into my back pocket. “We’ll split the housing team into shifts. Prioritize the east side for temporary quarters—they’ll need to stay contained until we’re sure everyone can integrate smoothly.”

Mara frowns, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “You’re really expecting trouble?”

“I’m expecting reality,” I say, trying to sound confident. “This isn’t just a handshake deal. It’s a whole new way of living for everyone, and that’s never simple.”

Mara hesitates like she wants to argue but doesn’t get the chance. Her eyes flick past me, and her posture stiffens. I follow her gaze to see Greg approaching, his rifle slung casually over one shoulder.

He moves like he doesn’t have a care in the world, but I know better. Greg isn’t stupid—far from it—and the way his eyes dart between me and Mara tells me he’s already suspicious.

“Sage,” Greg says, tipping his chin in greeting. His gaze lingers on Mara before settling back on me. “Looks like a lot’s happening today. Something I should know about?”

I force a casual smile, crossing my arms over my chest. “Just the usual. Winter prep, ration counts, housing repairs. You know how it is.”

Greg raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Seems like more than that. Branson’s been running people hard all week.”

“Winter’s coming fast,” I say, keeping my tone light. “And Branson doesn’t do anything halfway.”

He nods slowly, but the suspicion doesn’t leave his eyes. “You’d tell me if something big was going on, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” I lie smoothly, hoping my face doesn’t betray me.

Greg shifts his weight, glancing at Mara before fixing his gaze back on me. “You know Reeves always says, ‘It’s the quiet ones you’ve gotta watch.’ People start moving around too much, folks notice.”

My stomach twists, but I don’t let it show. “Good thing we’re not quiet, then.”

Greg chuckles, shaking his head as he turns to leave. “You keep things interesting, Sage. Don’t work too hard.”

I watch him walk away, his rifle swinging casually at his side. My shoulders stay tense until he’s out of sight.

Mara mutters a curse under her breath, breaking the silence. “That man is going to get us killed.”

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“Not if we’re careful,” I say, but even I can hear the doubt in my voice.

The sun dips low, casting streaks of orange and gray across the sky. The air cools slightly, though the weight of the storm clouds building on the horizon keeps it heavy. The camp is quieter now, most of the morning bustle winding down, but the tension hasn’t lifted.

I stand near the east edge of camp, watching as a group works on temporary fencing for livestock. Branson approaches, his usual steady presence a small comfort.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low.

I shrug, leaning against a wooden post. “Depends on your definition of okay.”

Branson crosses his arms, his gaze sweeping over the camp. “Greg sniffing around again?”

“Always,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “He’s too smart for his own good. If Dash’s plan doesn’t work perfectly, Greg’s going to figure it out, and then…”

“And then Reeves shows up on our doorstep,” Branson finishes for me. “I know.”

We stand in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling between us. The distant rumble of thunder fills the gap, low and steady.

“You trust Dash, don’t you?” Branson asks finally.

“I do,” I say without hesitation. “He’s… steady. Focused. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, you know he means it.”

Branson chuckles softly. “He’s got a way of making you believe he’s got it all figured out, doesn’t he?”

“He does,” I admit.

Branson tilts his head, his tone softer now. “You ever think we’re asking too much of him?”

The question catches me off guard. I frown. “Dash doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who cracks under pressure.”

“Maybe not,” Branson says, his voice thoughtful. “But even the toughest people have their limits. He’s juggling a lot right now—Alicia’s camp, the storm, keeping Greg in the dark. If something slips through the cracks…”

He doesn’t need to finish. The unspoken threat is clear enough.

My instinct is to argue, to remind him that Dash is the most capable person I know, but the words stick in my throat. Branson isn’t wrong. Dash carries more than anyone should, never letting anyone see how heavy it gets.

“He won’t let it slip,” I say finally, forcing confidence into my voice. “Dash doesn’t fail.”

Branson doesn’t push, but his eyes linger on me, filled with something I can’t quite name. Then he turns and walks away, leaving me alone with the uneasy churn of my thoughts.

The camp has grown quiet, most people retreating to their cabins. I wander toward the tree line, drawn to the cool night air and the distant rumble of thunder. The storm clouds loom closer now, their dark edges rippling with flashes of silent lightning.

I lean against the rough trunk of a pine, letting the cool bark press into my back. The weight of the day sits heavy on my chest, refusing to let go.

My thoughts drift to Dash, as they always seem to. He’s probably sitting by a map somewhere, calculating routes and double-checking plans, carrying this mission like it’s his sole responsibility. It’s what he does—steps into the hardest roles, takes the impossible situations, and acts like it doesn’t faze him.

But I know better.

The memory surfaces before I can stop it. Back at the Accord camp, Dash had been protective—sometimes to the point of frustration. I’d thought he was smothering me, trying to control a situation he couldn’t fix.

Now I see it differently. The way he stayed close, the care in his every movement—it wasn’t just duty. He felt something. For me.

The realization cuts through me, sharp and painful. Dash has been risking everything for me long before I ever noticed. And now, as he carries out this plan, the stakes are higher than ever.

A branch snaps behind me, and I whirl around, my pulse spiking. Mara steps out of the shadows, holding two steaming mugs.

“Relax,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she hands one to me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Long day,” I mutter, wrapping my hands around the mug.

Mara takes a sip from her own, her gaze following mine to the storm clouds. “You think Dash is ready for this?”

“He’ll make it work,” I say automatically, but my voice sounds flat even to me.

Mara doesn’t press, just nods. “You worried about him?”

“Yeah,” I admit softly.

Mara gives me a knowing look. “Dash doesn’t say much, but his priorities are pretty obvious. You’re at the top of that list.”

Her words settle into the cracks of my thoughts, and I know she’s right. Dash would do anything for me. That knowledge is as comforting as it is terrifying.

The thunder rolls louder, and the first drops of rain splatter against the dirt. Mara leaves after a while, but I stay, watching the storm inch closer. If Dash’s plan fails, Reeves will come for all of us.

And Dash—he’ll take the blame. He always does.

When I open my eyes, lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating the camp in brief, ghostly light.

The storm is here, and with it, our only chance to make this work.