A World of Masks
The Lifeline Cooperative was no longer a sanctuary; it was a hunting ground. Anja's small alcove in the mending bay, once a refuge for focused work, now felt like the center of a spider's web. To the outside world, she was still the diligent girl decrypting the enemy's secrets, her face illuminated by the cracked screen of the data slate. But her true work happened in the moments she looked away from the code.
Every sound was now a potential clue, every conversation a possible lie. The rhythmic clang of Niran's hammer was the steady beat of a loyal heart, but a quiet, murmured conversation between two deckhands became a potential conspiracy. The friendly wave from Kael as he mended his nets sent a pang of suspicion through her—was his kindness genuine, or a mask? The flotilla, her home, had transformed into a labyrinth of secrets, and she was tasked with navigating it blind. The weight of Jaya's command was a constant, cold pressure on her soul: Observe. Listen. Trust no one.
The Efficiency Audit
Her cover story, devised with Jaya, was simple and plausible. Anja was conducting an "efficiency audit" to identify vulnerabilities in their systems and routines that the scavengers might have exploited. It gave her the authority to be anywhere, to ask anyone questions, without raising immediate alarm. Her first interview was with Malik, the grim-faced foreman of the salvage yard and the man responsible for the failed generator.
She found him in his workshop, a chaotic space that smelled of grease and frustration, surrounded by the dissected corpse of the great generator.
"I'm trying to map our weaknesses," Anja said, keeping her voice neutral and professional. "The generator failing during the attack… that was our biggest one. I need to understand exactly what happened."
Malik let out a grunt of disgust, wiping his hands on an already black rag. "What happened is the machine was a century old and running on prayers and scavenged parts. It was tired. It died." His defensiveness was a thick wall.
"I know you did everything you could," Anja said, softening her approach. "I'm just looking for anomalies. Anything out of the ordinary in the days before it failed that might point to a structural weakness."
Malik stopped, thinking. He seemed to appreciate that she wasn't laying blame. "There was… one thing," he admitted, his voice low. "My diagnostic kit. A specialized set of tools for the fuel injectors. It went missing two days before the final breakdown. I thought one of the young apprentices had misplaced it." He frowned, the memory clearly unsettling him. "But then it turned up the next morning, back in its case, right where it should have been. Nothing was broken, but I had this strange feeling… like someone had been using it."
He looked at Anja, his eyes clouded with a suspicion he hadn't allowed himself to form until now. "You need a specific key to even open that kit. Only me and my senior tech have one."
A Grieving Family
Her next task was the one she dreaded most. Tomas's family was in mourning, their dwelling marked by a simple white cloth hanging over the door. Anja found his wife, Elara, sitting with her two grown sons, their faces carved with a grief that felt as raw as an open wound.
"I'm so sorry for your loss," Anja began, the words feeling hollow and inadequate. "Tomas… he saved us all. He was a hero."
Elara's eyes, red-rimmed and full of a quiet anger, met hers. "He was a husband. A father. And he was right. He said Rupa's leadership was letting us drift, and he paid the price for it."
Anja's heart ached with sympathy, but the huntress inside her had a mission. "I need to understand what happened at the breach," she said gently. "Jaya needs a full report. Tomas was concerned about security. Did he notice anything… unusual? Anyone asking questions about the perimeter patrols on that side?"
One of the sons, his face a younger, harder version of his father's, scoffed. "Everyone was asking questions. People were scared. Tomas was just the only one brave enough to say what we were all thinking."
"He was talking to a lot of people," Elara added, her voice weary. "Giving voice to their fears. That new mender, Soraya's husband, what's his name… Omar. He was at our dwelling the night before the attack. He was a good listener. Filled Tomas's head with ideas about how the patrols were wasting fuel, how a stronger voice was needed." She trailed off, a shadow of confusion crossing her face. "It was strange. Omar was always so quiet before. Suddenly, he had a lot of opinions."
An Act of Mending
While Anja hunted for the community's hidden enemy, Rupa set out to mend its most visible wound. She made her way to the small dwelling where Tomas's family sat in mourning. The air inside was heavy with the scent of herbal tea and the profound, suffocating silence of grief.
Tomas's wife, Mira, a woman with a face as weathered and proud as her late husband's, sat on a low stool, her hands lying still in her lap. His eldest son, Leo, stood by the opening, his arms crossed, his young face a mask of cold fury. He turned his back pointedly as Rupa entered.
"Mira," Rupa began, her voice quiet. "I have no words that can ease this. I only came to offer my sorrow, and my gratitude. Your husband was a hero."
Mira looked up, her eyes dry and hard. "He was a fisherman," she said, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. "He died because he was forced to hold a spear instead of a net. Your war did this."
The accusation, a direct echo of Tomas's own dissent, hung in the air. Leo turned, his eyes blazing. "She's right. He warned you. He said you were spending our strength chasing shadows, and now he's gone."
Rupa did not flinch. She did not offer excuses or justifications. She simply met their grief with her own, her leader's mask stripped away. "You are right," she said, her voice thick with an honesty that seemed to surprise them. "He did warn me. And he was right to be cautious. He loved this place enough to question me, to demand better for it."
She stepped forward, placing a small, carefully wrapped parcel on the table—her own ration of dried fish from the emergency stores, a precious and deeply personal offering. "I cannot bring him back," Rupa said, her gaze meeting Mira's. "I can only honor him. Tomas's stand saved us. He saved your son. He saved my children. His name will not be remembered as a dissenter, but as the man who plugged the breach. He was the anchor that held when the line broke."
The words, the same sentiment Hakeem had offered her, were a balm. Mira's hard expression finally crumbled. A single tear traced a path down her cheek. Leo looked away, but the rigid fury in his shoulders seemed to lessen. The wound was not healed, but in the shared, quiet acknowledgment of Tomas's true legacy, the mending had begun.
The Innocent Eye
That evening, Anja found Sami on the school barge, helping Leela sort salvaged books. He was quiet, but his earlier, feverish fragility was gone, replaced by a steady, watchful presence. She sat with him, the simple, honest comfort of his company a relief from the day's paranoia.
"The data slate is like a big puzzle," she told him, a half-truth to explain her distraction.
Sami nodded, carefully wiping grime from a waterproof book cover. "Like Papa's engine diagrams." He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. "I saw something weird a few nights ago. Before the attack."
Anja's breath caught, but she kept her voice calm. "Oh? What did you see?"
"I couldn't sleep," Sami said, his eyes focused on his work. "So I was looking out at the water. I saw someone over by the old communications mast on the far pontoon. They had a little light."
"Who was it?" Anja asked, her heart beginning to pound.
"I'm not sure. They were too far away," Sami said. "But it was weird. Because they weren't fixing it. They were just… touching the wires. Like they were listening to something." He finally looked up at her, his expression puzzled. "I thought that whole system was dead."
Anja stared at him, the pieces clicking into place with a horrifying certainty. The missing toolkit, which could be used to tamper with a generator. A quiet man suddenly full of loud opinions, stoking dissent. Someone listening to a dead communications system in the middle of the night. The traitor wasn't just feeding information out. They were receiving it. They had a handler.
The wolf was not alone.