The forest smoldered with the scent of iron and fire. Smoke drifted in lazy ribbons between the trees, carrying with it the silence that followed slaughter. Jamie sat slumped against a splintered log, one hand pressed tight to the shallow cut across his ribs. Blood seeped warm through the torn cloth, sticky against his palm. He had seen worse wounds, but every scrape stole strength he couldn't spare.
Around him, the remnants of the skirmish gathered themselves from the wreckage. Derah moved like a shadow, tending to the wounded with a calm that seemed unshakable. Kael barked orders in his gravel-deep voice, steadying what was left of the resistance band. Seren was pacing, sword still unsheathed, eyes flashing with the restless fire of a man who hadn't found closure in battle. And Elian—Elian stood too still, clutching a bow he had barely loosed, his hands trembling though he tried to hide it.
Jamie's breath came in slow, deliberate draws. Survival was an old rhythm to him, yet the sight of these people—their exhaustion, their grief—was something else entirely. For the first time in a long while, survival felt like more than his own skin.
"We lost five," Kael announced grimly, dragging a body shrouded in a soot-stained cloak to the row of the fallen. His face was unreadable, but his shoulders carried the weight of command. "And another three wounded too badly to move far. We'll camp here tonight. The dead deserve fire."
Seren spun on him. "Here? In the open? The regime will circle back before the ashes cool." His words cracked with anger, but beneath it, Jamie heard fear.
"Moving them now would kill them faster," Kael said flatly. "Unless you'd rather drag corpses through the forest."
The tension between them hung heavy. Jamie eased himself up with a hiss, ignoring the sting in his side. "He's right," he said quietly, though his voice still carried. "We stay. The smoke will cover us. And the dead…" His eyes trailed to the shrouded bodies. "They deserve better than to be left for the crows."
Seren's jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. His gaze, sharp and unrelenting, shifted to Jamie instead. "Strange how the wanderer always has the perfect answer."
Jamie held his stare. He was used to suspicion, but Seren's hostility had a bite that dug deeper each time. Before he could answer, Elian stepped in, voice trembling but fierce.
"Enough," Elian said. "Jamie's bleeding like the rest of us. He fought, he saved me. He belongs here whether you like it or not."
Seren barked out a bitter laugh, turning away. "Belongs. Right." He muttered something about blind loyalty, then stalked off toward the edge of the clearing.
Derah gave Elian a subtle nod of approval before moving past them with another roll of bandages. Kael crouched to examine Jamie's wound. "It'll scar, but you'll live," he said, then lowered his voice so only Jamie could hear. "Don't rise to Seren's bait. Distrust spreads faster than fire. If you feed it, we'll burn ourselves before the regime does."
Jamie said nothing. He'd learned long ago that silence carried its own kind of power.
The pyres were lit at dusk. Flames clawed at the twilight sky, devouring the shrouds of the fallen. The fighters stood in a ragged line, their faces painted with smoke and sorrow. Jamie watched the fire consume flesh and memory alike, the crackle and hiss of it echoing in the hollow of his chest.
Elian stood beside him, eyes wide and glassy. He had never watched comrades burn before—Jamie could tell. The boy's hands clenched and unclenched around his bowstring, as though letting go meant admitting something too heavy.
"They were people," Elian whispered, almost to himself. "They had families. Names."
Jamie's throat tightened. He should have offered comfort, but the words tangled, foreign on his tongue. All he could manage was the truth.
"Remember them," Jamie said. "If you forget, then they really die."
Elian swallowed hard and nodded, though his lip trembled.
Later, when the fires had sunk to embers, the camp gathered to divide what little remained of their supplies. That was when the discovery came—half the rations missing from the crates, along with a pouch of silver coins they had traded for in the last village.
Whispers rippled instantly through the camp. Someone had stolen them.
"They didn't walk away on their own," Seren said darkly, looming over the gathered fighters. "We have a thief—or worse, a spy among us." His eyes flicked deliberately toward Jamie.
Jamie didn't flinch. He'd been accused of worse. Still, the sudden weight of a dozen gazes burned against his skin.
Derah spoke before he could. "Suspicion without proof weakens us all. The regime profits from fear. Don't hand it to them."
Seren sneered. "Easy words from someone who hides in shadows. But answer me this—who benefits from vanishing supplies? A wanderer with no loyalty, no past we can confirm? Or one of us, who's bled for years in this fight?"
The circle grew colder.
Jamie met Seren's eyes, steady. "If I were your spy, you'd already be dead." The bluntness of it silenced the murmurs for a moment.
Kael cut through the tension like a blade. "Enough. Supplies are gone. Pointing fingers won't bring them back. We'll double watches tonight. Whoever took them will show their hand soon enough."
The camp dispersed reluctantly, but mistrust lingered in every step, every glance.
That night, Jamie sat apart from the others, the forest pressing close around him. Elian crept over quietly, settling by his side.
"They shouldn't blame you," Elian said. His voice was hushed, but firm. "You saved me. You fight harder than anyone. Why can't they see it?"
Jamie shook his head. "They don't need to see. They just need to keep living." He watched the shadows writhe beyond the firelight, the embers glowing like eyes in the dark. "Trust is a dangerous thing. Harder to win than any battle."
Elian frowned, leaning his chin on his knees. "I trust you," he said simply.
Jamie looked at him then, really looked—the stubborn tilt of his jaw, the raw earnestness in his gaze. Something stirred in Jamie's chest, sharp and unfamiliar. He wasn't used to being trusted. And he wasn't sure he deserved it.
By dawn, the forest was restless again. A flutter of wings cut the silence, and a raven descended into camp with a leather-tied message clutched in its claws. Derah retrieved it, scanning quickly before passing it to Kael.
Kael's expression hardened as he read. "The regime has built a new outpost," he said. "North of the Eastbridge ruins. Too close. They're tightening the noose."
Murmurs erupted—some fearful, some eager for vengeance. Seren's voice rose above them. "Then we burn it before it strangles us. Waiting only gives them time."
Kael's eyes flicked to Jamie, a silent question in the weight of his gaze. Jamie understood—their choices were narrowing, the path ahead steeped in blood.
The forest seemed to lean closer, as though listening. And for the first time, Jamie wondered if survival alone would ever be enough.