Jason started hearing the name before he noticed the change.
At first it blended into the background noise of the city the way certain words did when spoken often enough that they stopped standing out. He caught fragments as he passed through streets and doorways, half-phrases exchanged between people who assumed the listener already understood the context.
"…Scarlett won't touch it."
"If Scarlett says no, it stays no."
"…used to be worse before she took over."
Jason didn't stop walking. He never did when he overheard things like that. Pausing invited attention, and attention was rarely worth the cost.
Still, the repetition lodged itself in his mind.
By midmorning, the city felt subtly different. Not tense in the way it did when something immediate threatened the walls, but alert—like a body adjusting its posture after realizing it had been slouching for too long.
Jason returned to the outer ring early, boots tracing familiar routes. The damaged supply path held, but only just. The temporary reinforcements creaked under strain, stones shifting in ways that suggested patience rather than stability.
A group of locals worked nearby, reinforcing markers and redirecting foot traffic. They paused when Jason approached, offering nods instead of thanks now. Gratitude had settled into expectation. That worried him more than open desperation.
"You heard?" one of them asked.
Jason didn't slow. "Heard what?"
The man jerked his chin toward the city center. "Guilds are talking."
"They always are."
"Different this time," another voice cut in. "Name's coming up."
Jason stopped then, turning slightly. "What name?"
They exchanged glances.
"…Scarlett."
Jason filed it away without comment and continued on.
He spent the next few hours doing what he'd been doing for days inspection, reinforcement, correction. No heroics. No grand gestures. Just work that made the next step safer than the last.
His body protested, but less sharply than before. The strain was familiar now, mapped. He took breaks when needed, forced himself to drink water even when he didn't feel thirsty.
When the system nudged his awareness, he acknowledged it without checking.
I know, he thought, not sure who the thought was directed at.
By early afternoon, the outer ring had grown louder. Not busier louder. People talked more openly now, voices carrying tension that had finally decided it was allowed to surface.
Jason retreated toward the inner streets, preferring the controlled chaos of the market to the fragile calm near the walls.
He found Charlotte near a cloth stall, examining fabric with a critical eye. She looked up as he approached, unsurprised.
"You're earlier today," she said.
"Finished what I could," Jason replied.
"And?"
"And it's still a problem."
She nodded as if that had been the expected answer. "It always is."
They walked together without discussion, falling into step easily. Jason noticed that Charlotte didn't match his pace exactly she adjusted just slightly, staying half a step behind. It wasn't deference. It was observation.
"You've been noticed," she said after a moment.
Jason glanced at her. "By who?"
"By people who count patterns instead of outcomes."
"That narrows it down," he said dryly.
Charlotte ignored the tone. "Guilds are discussing the outer ring more seriously now."
Jason frowned. "Because of me?"
"Because of the situation," she corrected. "You're just the visible part."
He didn't like that distinction. Visibility carried weight he hadn't agreed to shoulder.
They stopped near the edge of the square. Charlotte rested her hand briefly against the stone ledge beside them, grounding herself.
"You've heard the name," she said.
Jason didn't ask which one. "Scarlett."
Charlotte studied his expression. "What do you know?"
"Nothing useful," Jason said. "Which usually means something important."
Charlotte's lips twitched faintly. "She leads one of the larger guilds operating in the Wasteland. Not the biggest. Not the loudest. The most… consistent."
"Consistent how?"
"She doesn't lose people unnecessarily."
Jason absorbed that quietly.
"Her father died in a ruin expedition years ago," Charlotte continued. "Before she took control. Before the guild mattered."
"And now?"
"And now," Charlotte said, "people pay attention when she says something isn't worth the cost."
Jason leaned against the ledge, arms crossed. "Sounds reasonable."
"It is," Charlotte replied. "Which is why it's dangerous."
He turned to her. "Dangerous how?"
"Because when reasonable people refuse to act," she said, "others try anyway."
Jason exhaled slowly. That aligned uncomfortably well with what he'd been seeing.
"Does she know about the route?" he asked.
"Yes."
"And?"
"She hasn't intervened."
Jason straightened. "Yet."
Charlotte met his gaze. "Yet."
They stood in silence as the market flowed around them. Somewhere, metal rang sharply as a vendor tested a tool. A child laughed, high and unburdened.
Jason pushed away from the ledge. "I don't want a guild taking over."
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because then it's not help anymore," he said. "It's control."
She didn't disagree. "And if they don't?"
"Then people get hurt."
Charlotte nodded slowly. "That's the shape of it."
They parted shortly after, each pulled back into their routines.
Jason spent the rest of the afternoon doing work that didn't draw attention hauling, repairs, tasks that let him think without being watched too closely.
But even there, the name followed him.
"…Scarlett's people were seen near the east road."
"…if she steps in, it'll change things."
"…means the guilds finally care."
Jason returned to the inn near dusk, fatigue settling deeper than usual. Mira eyed him as he entered.
"You've got that look again," she said.
"What look?"
"The one that says you're standing where lines cross," she replied.
Jason snorted softly. "Didn't know there were lines."
"There always are," Mira said. "You just don't see them until you trip."
Upstairs, Jason sat on the edge of his bed and finally let himself check.
Condition: Strained
Vitality: 12
Strength: 9
Agility: 10
Perception: 11
Recovery: Ongoing
Still holding.
Barely.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, mind turning over what Charlotte had said.
Consistent.
Doesn't lose people unnecessarily.
That wasn't heroism. That was policy.
Jason closed his eyes.
Somewhere in the city, decisions were being weighed by people who didn't know his name and didn't need to. Somewhere beyond the walls, ruins waited with the same patience they always had.
And somewhere between those two pressures, Jason continued walking..
not toward power, not toward safety,
but toward the narrow space where people decided what loss they were willing to accept.
He didn't know yet that the space was shrinking.
Only that names had begun to gather weight.
And sooner or later, they would collide.