Edian stood outside the cabin, his gaze scanning the chaotic scene inside. His campers—each one more unpredictable than the next—were a constant source of stress. The way they bounced between fits of manic energy, erratic outbursts, and long silences kept him on edge. He could hardly keep up, trying to act as their leader while keeping himself together.

But there was one person who seemed different. One person who wasn’t as overwhelming. Lilia.

She sat on the worn-out couch, a book in her hands, her eyes scanning the pages as if the words held a truth no one else could see. She wasn’t perfect—far from it—but there was a quiet steadiness in her presence. Something about her felt like the calm in the storm, and Edian clung to that, not realizing how much he depended on her to keep his own sense of balance intact.

He walked into the cabin, making his way over to where she sat. “Hey, Lilia,” he said, his voice soft. “How are you doing today?”

She glanced up at him, offering a small smile. “I’m good, but you might want to keep an eye on Miniet—she’s starting to tinker with that device of hers again.”

Edian nodded, grateful for her attention to detail. “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lilia’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly covered it. “You don’t need to thank me. This is… what I do.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy with an unspoken truth. Lilia had raised herself, learned how to survive, how to navigate the chaos around her. She’d helped herself before, and now, she was helping others—Edian included. In many ways, she had become the unspoken anchor of the cabin.

Edian, though, didn’t see it like that. In his mind, Lilia was the only one who wasn’t… broken. The only one he could rely on when everything felt like it was falling apart. He had a responsibility to them all, but Lilia—she was different. She made the job easier. She made it feel like there was something good in the midst of all the madness.

What Edian didn’t realize was that Lilia was holding herself together by threads, just as frayed as the rest of them. She had been alone for so long, forced to take on a caretaker role because no one else would. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need help too. It was a lie she told herself every day—to believe that she could handle it all. That she could save them all.

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But Edian didn’t see that. He only saw the person who made his role a little more bearable. The person who kept the cabin from descending into total chaos.

As he left to handle the rest of the group, Lilia stayed behind, watching him go. Her shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her. She wasn’t a savior. But as long as Edian believed she could be, she would try her hardest to play the part.

*

Lilia’s glassy blue eyes were like a window into a storm. When she was calm, they were sharp, calculating, with an unsettling stillness that made it hard for anyone to predict her next move. Her gaze was cool, distant—like she was already a step ahead of everyone else. And yet, when the world around her shifted—when things went wrong, when the chaos she had learned to control cracked—those eyes would change.

Edian saw it the first time when she had snapped at one of the campers during a particularly chaotic morning. They had all been on edge, but it was Lilia’s reaction that stood out. Her voice, sharp as ice, cut through the air, and her eyes—those piercing, icy blue eyes—flashed with something dangerous.

For a split second, Edian had seen her for what she truly was: violent, unpredictable, and filled with a kind of rage that didn’t seem to have a limit. The calmness in her expression remained, but her eyes betrayed her. There was a wildness in them, something buried deep within that she couldn’t hide no matter how hard she tried.

It unsettled him.

Those eyes… they were the reason he couldn’t get too close to her. They told him that Lilia, despite everything, could snap at any moment. She was different from the others. She was violent, yes—but her eyes told him there was more than just that.

When she looked at him, it was like she could see through him—those sunny blue eyes piercing straight into his soul. It was as if she could tell how much he depended on her, how much he relied on her to be the only constant in the chaos of the cabin. And every time she did, he saw the flicker of something behind her gaze—a momentary softness, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Her eyes could be warm. They could be comforting. But they could also be the opposite and in some strange way, that made them even more powerful.

It was like they reminded him that there was something beneath the surface. Something Edian couldn’t fix. And maybe that was why he kept her at arm’s length. Because he couldn’t figure out whether he was afraid of her, or if he was afraid of what she could see in him.