Season 1, Chapter 5 - Eve

The arrow left the bowstring with a whisper.

The sheep dropped before it could bleat, collapsing into the snow in a spray of red against white. James lowered the bow, breath misting in the frigid air. The tundra stretched endlessly around him, a wasteland of ice and silence broken only by the wind cutting across the frozen lake.

He crossed the distance in long strides, boots crunching through the snow, and grabbed the carcass by its hind legs. The trek back was methodical, the sheep's body leaving a dark trail across the frozen lake. His house emerged from the white. A large, wooden cabin. It was robust and isolated, standing alone across the ice. Exactly how he needed it.

Inside, the air was still. Dust-free. Dark except for the torches mounted on stone walls, their flames casting long shadows across a single table in the center of the room.

James dropped the sheep near the door and moved to the table where his supplies waited.

Atop the table lay vials filled with gunpowder spread evenly across a padded cloth, a dozen fire charges arranged in a cascading row, and arrows with their tips wrapped in paper.

And Mary, his axe, leaning against the table's edge, double-bladed and perfectly balanced. He lifted it, turning the weapon slowly in the torchlight. The steel was smooth, razor-sharp, the edge so clean it caught his reflection... a bandaged face, cowled gaze, the faint orange glow behind them.

Fresh. Unbloodied.

Not for long.

James set the axe down and began gathering the supplies, methodically packing them into his satchel. The house was silent except for the crackle of fire. No voices. No footsteps. Just him and the weight of what came next.

Planning. Preparation. Theatre.

It was unbecoming, really. All this careful arrangement, this performance of strategy. As if the outcome wasn't already decided. As if they deserved the courtesy of his patience.

A muscle twitched in his neck.

They'll have their chances. Every single one of them. To see. To understand. To recognize what they're building and who doesn't belong in it. But they'll keep smiling and nodding, pretending everything is fine while casting him aside like refuse. That's when they'll learn.

"We're a community," they pretend.

"Everyone's welcome here," they lie.

His grip on the satchel strap slacked, and he felt the faint dampness of perspiration against his palm.

Tomorrow, they'd gather at their little stage. They'd vote. They'd decide who got to lead them into their pathetic future. And they'd do it all thinking they were safe. Thinking they mattered.

James looked down at Mary one last time, the metal gleaming in the firelight.

"What a joke."

* * * The morning air smelled like smoke and dew. People moved between tents and huts with bowls in hand, voices low and easy. The camp had settled into its routine, the kind of normalcy that felt almost possible again.

Toni stood near the center, hands cupped around his mouth. "Attention, everyone! Big announcement!"

Wren stepped forward, adjusting her glasses. It had only been two days since they'd decided on an election. Two days of uncertainty festering into impatience, everyone waiting for someone to take charge of the situation.

"Right. So. Tomorrow. We're holding the election tomorrow."

The murmurs started immediately, rippling through the gathered crowd like wind through grass.

Nyla's glowing eyes widened. She looked at Flint, then back at Wren. "That's... that feels so soon."

"Soon is good," Flint said from where he stood, arms crossed. "Sooner we settle this, sooner we move forward."

Wren nodded. "We'll need to set up a proper space for it. Stage, seating, the whole shebang. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

"Where?" Moss asked.

"Maybe the clearing under the tree line, across camp. The hill overlooks it. Should work."

Within the hour, the camp had mobilized. Axes bit into wood. Logs became planks. The clearing transformed as people hauled lumber and stone, voices calling out measurements and instructions.

Callum worked near the edge, lifting planks without a word. When Wren approached to help with the same stack, he shifted away, carrying his load toward the opposite side. She watched him go, gaze heavy, but said nothing.

The stage took shape slowly. Moss and Silas constructed the frame while Iris directed placement from above, wings spread for balance as she perched on a beam. Toni and Shew assembled rows of seating, their banter light despite the weight of what tomorrow meant.

Near the tree line, Rain stood holding an armful of tulips and roses, petals bright against their ashen hair. The others were deeper in, clearing foliage and brush to widen the space.

Purple smoke swirled, and Nyla materialized beside them.

Rain glanced over, startled, then smiled faintly. "Hey."

"Hi." Nyla's voice was soft. She looked at the flowers, then at the half-built stage. "It's really happening."

"Yeah." Rain's grip on the stems tightened. "Tomorrow."

"Are you scared?"

Rain hesitated. "A little. You?"

"A lot." Nyla wrapped her arms around herself. "But... the election will fix everything, right? Once there's a leader, things will settle down. People will feel safe again."

Rain nodded slowly, though their expression was uncertain. "I hope so."

"Me too."

They stood together in the quiet, watching the camp work. The stage rose against the hillside, solid and deliberate, a promise of resolution.

Rain looked down at the flowers in their hands. "I was going to plant these around the site. Make it look nice."

"That sounds perfect," Nyla said, and for the first time that morning, she almost believed it.

In the trees above, James watched. He'd been there since they started, positioned in the shadows where the understory thickened. From here, he could see everything. The stage. The podium. The rows of seats arranged in neat lines. The hill behind it all, sloping down toward the clearing.

Perfect.

His eyes traced the distances, calculating angles and sight lines. Where the charges would go. How the blast would spread. Where he'd stand when it happened. They'd built it themselves. Gathered the materials, set the stage, arranged the seating. All of it for him.

This is too good.

Movement caught his eye. Below, near the edge of the site, Shew paused mid-step. Their mismatched eyes swept across the tree line, tail flicking with unease. They turned slowly, gaze passing over the shadows where James stood.

James didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Shew's brass lens glinted in the light. They stared for a long moment, head crooked, as if sensing something just out of reach. Then Toni called their name, and Shew turned away.

James exhaled slowly, a smile pulling at the edges of his bandages. Excitement.

The work continued below. Voices called out, tools struck wood, and slowly the clearing transformed. What had been wild forest was now organized, a proper stand. Rows of seating faced the stage. The podium stood against the hill, waiting. Above it all, the ground rose like a natural gallery, tree line dark against the morning sky.

By midday, the structure was nearly complete. People stepped back to admire their work, wiping sweat and dirt from their hands. It looked official. Important. Like something that mattered.

* * * Iris found Shew near the supply chest, organizing fishing line with that careful precision they always had. She leaned against a post, wings folding tight.

"So," Iris said. "Tomorrow."

Shew glanced up. "Yeah. Feels fast."

"Wren's doing the right thing, honestly. Getting it over with." Iris tilted her head. "You know who you're voting for?"

Shew's claws paused on the line. "I... don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

"Really?" Iris raised an eyebrow. "Wren or Flint. It's not exactly subtle, or two sided."

"I know, but..." Shew's tail flicked. "They're both right about different things. Wren wants to keep us together, but Flint's not wrong that we need to be ready for threats."

"Threats like James."

The name hung between them.

Shew's shoulders tensed. "Do we have to do this again? Aren't we on the same page?"

"I've been thinking about what you said. At the village." Iris crossed her arms. "You might've been right. A little. Maybe he was desperate, or... I don't know. But I can't shake it, Shew. I can't stop thinking about what might've happened, or what could."

Shew's tail flicked. "What do you mean?"

"The meeting. Everyone screaming at each other. Flint ready to arm up. Rain terrified." Iris's voice tightened. "And all of it because of him. Even if he didn't mean to, he's tearing us apart."

"He hasn't even done anything, Iris. He just left!"

"We could've been set ablaze!" Iris's wings flared slightly. "His house was right there. If the wind had shifted, even an inch, if we'd been slower putting it out..."

Shew opened their mouth to respond, but Fate's voice threaded through their thoughts first.

Fear makes people see threats everywhere.

"That's not fair," Shew said aloud, sharper than intended.

Iris blinked. "What's not fair? I'm telling you what I saw..."

Shew froze, realizing the mistake. "I just... I mean, you're putting intentions on him that we don't know he has. That's not fair to him." A quick recovery.

Iris studied them, suspicion flickering across her face, but she let it go. "Maybe. But we both saw what happened at that meeting. The way people talked about him. Like he was already guilty.

"I know." Shew's voice softened. "I know it's bad. But jumping to conclusions won't help anyone."

"And ignoring the danger won't either."

They stood in tense silence, the argument circling back to where it always did. Neither willing to budge, neither able to convince the other.

Finally, Iris sighed. "Look. Let's just... table this until after the election. Maybe once there's a leader, things will calm down."

"Yeah," Shew agreed quietly. "Maybe."

Iris pushed off the post, starting to walk away, scarf trailing behind her. Shew watched her go, chest riddled with frustration.

She cares for you. She's afraid.

"I know!" Shew said, their emotions getting the better of them.

Iris stopped and turned back. "Know what?"

Shew's eyes widened, tail going rigid. "I... I just mean, I know. That you're worried. I get it."

Iris stared at them for a long moment. "Right. You said that already."

"Yeah. Sorry. Just... thinking out loud."

"Uh-huh." Iris's goggles caught the light as she studied them. "You good?"

"Fine. Just tired."

Iris didn't look convinced, but she shrugged. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

She walked away for real this time, and Shew exhaled slowly.

You must be more careful.

"No kidding," Shew muttered under their breath. "It's fine... I guess the usual banter is just getting the better of me."

Then why does it feel like conflict?

"Because caring and being right aren't the same thing."

Shew gathered the fishing line and started walking, needing to move, needing to think. Fate's presence hummed at the edges of their mind, curious and patient.

This camp is fractured.

"Tell me something I don't know," Shew muttered, then caught themselves. Their eyes darted around, checking if anyone was close enough to hear. No one. Good.

Tomorrow will bring clarity. Though not the kind they hope for.

Shew nodded slightly, keeping their mouth shut this time.

They passed the election site, where the stage stood finished and waiting. Near the podium, Flint stood with Nyla, his posture rigid, arms crossed.

"Again," Flint said. "Show me."

Nyla's hands glowed faintly purple as she demonstrated her teleport, appearing a few feet away, then back. Her movements were precise but hesitant, like she was being graded.

"Faster," Flint pressed. "If something happens tomorrow, you need to be ready. No hesitation."

"I know," Nyla said quietly, hiding away the pressure they felt behind a lowered gaze.

"Just a few more times."

Shew slowed their pace, watching from a distance. Fate's voice returned, softer now.

He means well.

"Does he?" Shew thought back.

He is afraid. Like the winged one. Fear makes people control what they can.

Shew's tail curled. Flint wasn't wrong to want Nyla prepared. But the way he hovered, the way he pushed, it felt less like protection and more like possession.

She does not resist.

"Maybe she doesn't know how."

Nyla teleported again, this time quicker. Flint nodded approval, but there was no warmth in it. Just expectation.

Shew turned away, continuing their walk. The camp buzzed with election energy, people preparing, talking, hoping tomorrow would fix things.

Do you believe it will?

Shew didn't answer.

* * * The afternoon sun slanted through the trees as Wren knelt beside one of the benches, adjusting its position for the third time. Nyla hovered nearby, purple smoke wisping faintly from her shoulders as she straightened a row of seats.

"Does this look even?" Wren asked, stepping back to examine their work.

Nyla leaned in, glowing eyes narrowing. "I think so. Maybe move it a little to the left?"

Wren nudged the bench with her boot. "Better?"

Nyla clapped, "Perfect."

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that didn't need filling. Wren grabbed a broom and started sweeping debris from around the podium while Nyla organized scattered tools into a neat pile.

"Are you nervous?" Nyla asked suddenly, her voice small.

Wren paused mid-sweep. "About tomorrow?"

"What else, silly."

Wren leaned on the broom handle, considering. "A little. But mostly I'm just ready for it to be over. One way or another."

"What if..." Nyla wrapped her arms around herself. "What if people vote for Flint?"

"Then Flint leads." Wren shrugged, trying to sound casual. "And I'll support him. That's how this whole thing works."

"But he's so..." Nyla trailed off, searching for the word.

"Intense?" Wren offered with a small smile.

"Yeah."

"He is. But he cares. That's what matters." Wren resumed sweeping. "People are scared, Nyla. They want someone who makes them feel safe... I can't fault them for that."

Nyla looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together. "I just want everyone to stop being afraid."

"I'm right with you."

They continued working, arranging and tidying until the site looked almost ceremonial.

Footsteps crunched behind them, deliberate and heavy.

"Heard about Callum."

Wren turned to find Flint standing at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, embers flickering faintly at his temples. His posture was rigid, coiled. Ready.

"Yeah? What about him?" Wren asked, keeping her voice even.

"Heard he snapped at you." Flint stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. "Walked away from you when you tried to talk to him. That true?"

Wren straightened her posture, anchoring herself to the deck. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Camp talks." Flint gestured vaguely behind him. "People notice things. Especially when one of the only humans here is acting like a lit fuse."

"He's going through something," Wren said carefully. "People struggle. That doesn't make him dangerous."

"Doesn't make him trustworthy either." Flint took a step forward. "And the fact that you can't even get him to listen to you? That's a problem."

Wren set the broom aside, stepping down from the podium. "Not sure I get what you're trying to suggest."

"I'm saying this is what your diplomacy gets you." He took another step forward. "Soft leadership. People who won't listen. People who can't be trusted. And you just keep making excuses for them."

"Callum isn't a threat," Wren shot back, heat rising in her voice. "He's struggling. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Flint's hands clenched. "Because from where I'm standing, you're so busy being understanding that you can't see when someone's becoming a problem."

"What are you talking about? He's a person, he's a part of this camp."

"You're too soft." Flint's voice dropped lower, almost a growl. "That softness will get people killed."

Wren's feathers ruffled, wings shifting with agitation. "And your paranoia is unbecoming of you, you know."

"Paranoia?" Flint laughed, bitter and sharp. "We have someone who burned his own house down and disappeared. We have people picking sides. We have fear spreading through this camp like wildfire. And you want to talk about paranoia?"

"We need a leader who brings people together, not one who treats everyone like an enemy!"

"We need a leader who protects!" Flint's voice rose, embers flaring brighter. "Not one who protects our enemies. Clearly, you don't know what threats are."

"James isn't here!" Wren threw her hands up, frustration breaking through. "He's not here, and you're making everyone afraid of each other! Suddenly we're just supposed to fight everyone that scares us now?"

"If that's what it takes to keep us safe? Yes." Flint glanced at Nyla, who had been sinking into the background. "If I have to choose between an arsonist and us? I'd choose us."

The words hung between them.

Behind them, people had started to gather. Moss and Silas stood near the tree line, watching. Iris perched on a low branch, wings folded firmly. Rain hovered at the edge, eyes wide. Even Toni had appeared, expression torn between concern and uncertainty.

Nyla had shrunk back against one of the benches, trying to make herself smaller, purple eyes darting between Wren and Flint like she was watching something break that couldn't be fixed.

Wren's chest heaved, breath coming fast. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're so focused on threats that you're turning us into what you're afraid of."

"And you're so focused on holding hands that you won't see danger until it's too late." Flint's posture was hardened, flames dancing across his knuckles now. "Tomorrow, people are going to choose. And they're going to choose someone who actually protects them."

"From what?" Wren demanded. "From you?"

Flint stared at her for a long moment, something dark and wounded flickering behind the anger. Then he turned away, shoulders rigid.

"We'll see tomorrow," he said, voice low.

He walked past the gathered crowd without looking at anyone. Nyla hesitated, glancing at Wren with an expression that might have been apology, then disappeared in a swirl of purple smoke, following him.

Wren stood alone at the center of the clearing, chest stiff, hands shaking slightly. The crowd dispersed slowly, murmuring among themselves. Sides had been decided.

Toni approached cautiously. "Mom..."

"Not now," Wren said quietly, voice strained. "Just... not now."

She turned away from the stage, from the podium, from all of it. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

* * * The crowd dispersed slowly, voices low as people drifted back toward their huts and tents. Moss and Silas walked together in silence, boots crunching against dirt, neither quite sure what to say.

Finally, Moss broke the quiet. "That was... intense."

"Yeah."

They walked a bit further before Moss continued. "They both made good points, though. That's the problem."

Silas glanced at him. "You think so?"

"Wren's right that fear's making everyone turn on each other." Moss gestured vaguely back toward the election site. "But Flint's not wrong either. We can't just hope everything works out, right?"

Silas's veins pulsed faintly beneath his skin. "Fighting each other won't protect us from anything."

"So what, we just wait? Build some more fences and hope?" Moss's voice held frustration, not directed at Silas but at the situation itself. "I spent all day hammering posts into the ground. For what? To feel like I'm doing something?" He shook his head. "At least Flint has a plan. Even if it's aggressive."

Silas went quiet, shoulders hunching slightly.

Moss noticed. "You okay?"

"Just... Just all sorts of tired."

"You've been pretty tired lately," Moss said, slowing his pace. "Quieter. Is this about Callum? I heard he was pretty harsh at the dock."

Silas's expression stiffened. "He was. But it's more than that."

"Want to talk about it?"

Silas hesitated, claws flexing at his sides. "Sometimes I wonder if people see me and just... expect certain things."

Moss frowned. "Expecting?"

"Like maybe I'm supposed to be more like Flint. Aggressive. Ready to fight." Silas looked down at his hands, at the multicolored veins running beneath blackened skin. "But I don't want that."

"Then don't be," Moss said simply. "You don't have to be anything you're not."

"Don't I?" The question came out quieter than intended.

Moss stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "No. You don't." His tone was firm, genuine. "That's what this election is about, right? Choosing who we want to be. Not who we're afraid we have to be."

Silas met his eyes, something uncertain faded into in his expression. He wanted to believe that. Wanted to think tomorrow would bring clarity instead of more questions about what he was supposed to be.

"Tomorrow things'll settle," Moss continued. "Though, it does feel like we've all been banking on that lately."

"Yeah," Silas said softly. "Seems like it."

They reached the split where their paths diverged, Moss toward his hillside bungalow, Silas toward his own space. The sky had deepened to purple, stars beginning to emerge.

Moss paused. "You voting tomorrow?"

Silas looked at him, then away. "I don't know yet. You?"

"...I don't know either." He chuckled.

They stood in the fading light for another moment, that shared uncertainty hanging between them like a question neither could answer.

"Night, Moss."

"See you."

They went their separate ways, and the camp settled deeper into darkness.

* * * Iris dropped from the sky, wings folding as she landed beside the half-finished pumpkin patch. Toni sat cross-legged in the dirt, poking at a vine that had started creeping the wrong direction.

"Shouldn't you be prepping for the big day?" Iris asked, settling onto the fence post.

"This is prepping," Toni said. "Stress gardening. Very productive."

Iris snorted. "Right. Because pumpkins are critical to democracy."

"They could be." Toni leaned back on his palms. "What about you? Done cloud surfing?"

"For now." Iris adjusted her goggles. "Saw the whole Flint-Wren thing. That was rough."

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that felt heavier than it should.

"So," Iris said, forcing lightness back into her voice. "After the election settles things, we're still doing the jungle landing spot, right?"

Toni glanced up. "You serious?"

"Dead serious. I need a place to refuel without flying all the way back here. You in or not?"

"Obviously I'm in." Toni grinned. "You'd get lost without me anyway."

"I have a great sense of direction, thank you."

"You thought north was toward the ocean last week."

Iris kicked at him lightly, wings ruffling. "That was one time. And, in all fairness, I was using the map you made."

Toni laughed, and for a moment, the tension from earlier seemed distant. Just two people talking about plans. About the future. About things that felt safe to imagine.

"We could set up a lookout tower," Toni said. "Something tall. Maybe add storage for supplies."

"And a landing platform," Iris added. "Something sturdy. I'm not crashing into trees every time I visit."

"No promises."

Iris smiled, then let it fade. She looked toward the center of camp, where Wren's hut sat quiet and dark. "You should probably check on your mom."

Toni's expression shifted. "Yeah. Probably."

"Go on ahead." Iris hopped off the fence. "I'll keep an eye on things."

Toni stood, brushing dirt from his pants. "Aye aye."

"I'll catch you later."

He found Wren in her hut, pacing between the table and the window. Her glasses were off, set aside, and her hair was more disheveled than usual. But her posture was straight, shoulders set. Not defeated. Determined.

"Hey hey," Toni said from the doorway.

Wren turned, blinking like she'd forgotten anyone else existed. "Oh. Hey."

"You okay?"

"Fine." She waved a hand dismissively. "Just thinking."

Toni stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "That was pretty intense earlier."

"Flint has a flair for drama." Wren picked up her glasses, turning them over in her hands. "Can't say I handled it much better."

"You stood your ground. It was heroic."

"Yeah, well." She slid the glasses back on. "Lot of good that did."

Toni leaned against the wall, watching her. "He's just scared. Like any of us."

Wren let out a short laugh, bitter but not unkind. "Scared. Right. The guy made of fire is scared."

"Being fire doesn't mean you're not afraid of burning."

That made Wren pause. She looked at him, really looked at him, and something softened in her expression. "When'd you get so wise?"

"Had a good teacher."

She shook her head, smiling faintly. "Don't give me that. You've always been smart. I just talk louder."

Toni pushed off the wall, moving to sit on the edge of the table. "You know you're going to win tomorrow, right?"

"I don't know that."

"I do! You made your case to everyone, we all heard you."

Wren sighed, rubbing her face. "What if I don't, though? What if people vote for him, and I've just... made everything worse by trying?"

"Then you tried." Toni shrugged. "That's more than most people do."

"Very inspiring."

"I'm serious." Toni's voice was quieter now. "You care. That matters. Even if people don't always see it."

Wren looked at him for a long moment, then crossed to where he sat and ruffled his hair with more force than necessary. He squawked, batting her hand away.

"Rude," he said.

"I'm your mom. It's my job."

"You're the worst."

"Learned from the best."

They stayed like that for a while, the banter fading into something comfortable. Outside, the light dimmed, dusk settling over the camp like a blanket. The sounds of evening took over: distant voices, the crackle of fires being lit, the rustle of wind through leaves.

Wren moved to the window, looking out over the camp. "Tomorrow's going to change things."

"Yeah."

"For better or worse."

"For better," Toni said, standing beside her. "It has to be."

Wren didn't respond, just nodded slightly. The two of them stood there in the fading light, shoulder to shoulder, watching the camp settle into night.

"Thanks," Wren said quietly.

"For what?"

"Being here."

Toni bumped her shoulder with his. "Where else would I be?"

Neither of them had an answer to that.

They shared a bowl of mushroom stew later, passing it back and forth on the porch. It was the last of the food stores, mushroom stew for the third night in a row, because someone had forgotten to restock after the stage building took all day.

"We really need to go hunting tomorrow," Toni said, scraping the bottom of the bowl.

"After the election," Wren replied. "Add it to the list."

They turned in not long after, the camp quiet around them, both pretending tomorrow was just another day.

* * * The camp settled as night deepened. Fires dimmed to embers. Voices faded into silence. One by one, the lights in huts and tents went dark, leaving only the moon and stars to illuminate the clearing. The election site stood empty, waiting. A monument to tomorrow's promise.

But the night wasn't finished with it yet.

James moved through the darkness like he belonged there, boots silent against the earth. He carried a satchel across his shoulder, heavy with purpose. The stage loomed ahead, pale wood gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

He climbed first, making his way up the hillside to where a massive oak stood at the tree line's edge. From here, the entire clearing spread below him. The stage. The podium. The rows of seating arranged in perfect lines.

James knelt at the base of the tree, wedging the first charge into the thick brush. His fingers worked the fuse carefully, threading it through the undergrowth where it would stay hidden until the moment it mattered.

The hillside charges came next. Positioned along the slope where he'd stand tomorrow, looking down on them all. He moved methodically, each placement calculated for maximum effect.

At the base of the hill, he crouched beside the stage's support beams. The TNT fit snugly between the wood, hidden from view unless someone knew to look. He secured it with string, then pulled a small vial from his satchel. Gunpowder, fine as dust. He sprinkled it carefully into the cracks between planks, brushing it deeper with his fingers until it disappeared into the grain.

Two under the podium. The center of attention. Where both candidates would stand tomorrow, promising safety and leadership and all the lies people needed to hear.

The rest beneath the seating. He worked the gunpowder between the gaps, connecting each charge with invisible threads of black powder. Close enough to the crowd. Far enough apart to ensure coverage.

James stood, surveying his work. Below, the clearing lay peaceful. Innocent. Ready.

Tomorrow, the secrecy ends. No more shadows, no more watching from the trees. He'd deliver his ultimatum in full view, reveal what he truly thought of them and what they'd built.

They'd be given a choice.

Accept his terms, and he'd have what he wanted. Refuse, and he'd take it anyway. With Mary. With fire. With whatever it took.

The thought steadied him, cold and certain. Either path led to the same destination.

Though if he was honest, he hoped they'd refuse.

He turned to leave when a voice cut through the darkness.

"What are you doing here?!"

James froze. His hand moved instinctively toward Mary's handle before he recognized the voice.

Callum stood at the edge of the clearing, silhouetted against the distant glow of dying campfires. His eyes were wide, frantic, darting between James and the stage.

"You're going to get caught," Callum hissed, stepping closer but keeping distance. "If someone sees you..."

James straightened slowly, brushing dirt from his hands. He adjusted his glasses, and when he spoke, his voice was almost amused. "You almost sound pressured."

Callum's mouth opened, closed. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

James studied him for a moment, then let out a soft laugh. "Relax, Callum. No one's awake. They're all tucked in, dreaming about their big important election." He gestured casually toward the stage. "Besides, I'm just taking a walk. Needed some air."

"At the election site?" Callum's voice was strained. "In the middle of the night?"

"Best time for it." James leaned against one of the support beams, posture loose, almost lazy. "No crowds. No questions. Just peace and quiet."

The casual tone caught Callum off-guard. He'd expected... what? Hostility? Threat? Not this easy, almost conversational James who seemed completely unbothered by being caught.

"So," James said, tilting his head. "Did you notice?"

"Notice what?"

"After our talk." James's sunglasses caught the moonlight. "You saw how they really were, didn't you?"

Callum's throat worked. "I don't..."

"Flint." James's tone stayed light, almost sympathetic. "Using you as proof that Wren's too soft. Ammunition in his little campaign speech." He shrugged. "Pretty rude, honestly. Even for him."

"That's not... they were just..."

"Just what?" James pushed off the beam, taking a step closer. Still casual, still relaxed. "Just scared? Just protecting their own?" He spread his hands. "Come on, Cal. You've been here since the beginning. You've worked. You've helped. And the moment things get tense, who becomes the example of what's wrong?"

"They didn't turn on me."

"Didn't they?" James's voice held something almost like genuine curiosity. "Where were they after the meeting? When you walked out? Did anyone follow? Did anyone check on you? I mean, honestly, how did I manage to speak to you that long that day..."

Callum's eyes darted away.

"They gossiped instead," James continued, voice still light but pointed. "Made you the subject of camp drama while they picked sides and came up with a precious election." He shook his head, almost rueful. "And you still want to defend them. That's loyalty, I guess."

"What do you want me to say?" Callum's voice cracked, frustration bleeding through. "That I'm angry? That I feel like I don't matter?" His hands trembled. "Fine. You're right. Is that what you want to hear?"

"I just want you to see the truth," James said simply. The lightness stayed in his voice, but something underneath it had shifted. "That's all I've ever wanted."

Callum stared at him, that growing fire breaking through. "Then tell me. Why are you doing any of this? What is any of this even about?"

The question hung in the air.

James's posture changed. The casual lean disappeared. His shoulders straightened, and when he spoke again, the lightness was gone. His voice dropped to something flat. Cold. Plain.

"I can give you that answer tomorrow."

The shift was immediate and jarring. Callum took an involuntary step back.

James watched him for a moment longer, then turned slightly. "Go back. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you'll understand everything."

"James..."

"Go."

The word was firm. Final.

Callum held his gaze for another moment, then turned away. His footsteps were hesitant at first, then faster, retreating into the darkness toward his tent.

James watched him go, satisfaction curling at the edges of his expression. He was close. So close to being convinced completely. Tomorrow would finish it.

He looked back down at the stage, at the carefully hidden charges, at the hill where he'd stand when it all came together.

Tomorrow.