Drip of Confessions

Snowmelt continued to transform the shelter's surroundings into a muddy, slush-laden mess. The orchard's once-frozen rows now sported trickles of water, revealing half-buried debris from the harsh winter. Although the sun remained weak in a dull sky, the air felt marginally warmer. Survivors toiled cautiously along the thawing grounds, a guarded optimism creeping through them—until fresh fears arose about the threat of Jace's group, fueling new tensions.

It happened in the late morning. Fiona had just concluded her daily medical rounds, checking on minor injuries and distributing the meager antibiotics they had salvaged. Stopping by the newcomers' bunk area—a cramped corner partitioned off by tarps—she found the woman rummaging in a worn-out duffel. Worry etched her brow, as though bracing for a scolding about ration theft or infiltration. Instead, Fiona offered a reassuring smile, hoping to ease some of the tension.

"Just checking if you need anything," Fiona said softly. "Bandages, antiseptics for your partner's ribs…"

The woman nodded, murmuring thanks. During the brief conversation, Fiona's gaze flicked to a small packet of personal effects the newcomer had pulled from the bag: a battered photograph with frayed edges, the image warped from water damage. At first glance, Fiona noticed it showed a handful of people posed in front of a boarded-up building. Something about it tugged at her memory—she'd heard rumors about Jace's group once occupying a large store or facility.

Trying to be polite, she averted her gaze, but curiosity stirred. "Is that…?" she ventured, uncertain how to ask.

The woman, startled, tucked the photo closer. A flash of alarm passed over her face. "It's nothing—just an old picture from—back when I was with those 'ruthless leaders.'" Her voice quavered with an admission that maybe she shouldn't have revealed.

A chill passed through Fiona. Ruthless leaders. The same phrase the newcomers had used repeatedly. She gently extended a hand, wordless reassurance that she meant no harm. "May I see it, please?" she asked, voice careful. "It might help us know more… keep us safe."

Reluctantly, the woman surrendered the battered photo. Fiona studied it in the dim overhead light, eyes widening. Though water stains obscured much detail, she could make out five or six individuals standing in front of what looked like a once-bustling store entrance. The second figure from the left—tall, a cunning grin, a distinctive jacket. Even half-faded, the face struck an eerie chord. Jace. Next to him, a woman with dark hair—likely Ellie. In the background, glimpses of scavenged rifles. A swirl of adrenaline hit Fiona. So the rumors are true…

Trying to keep her voice calm, she handed the photo back. "Thank you. We, um, appreciate any details you can provide about them." The newcomer's face flickered with guilt or fear. Fiona left quietly, a tempest of thoughts swirling as she headed to find Leila.

Within an hour, hushed whispers about the photo spread. Fiona hadn't intended to stoke panic, but several watchers overhead saw her hurry to the main hall with an urgent expression. Word that a battered snapshot depicted Jace's old group fanned the embers of dread. "So Jace is alive?" watchers muttered among themselves. "And Ellie too, maybe?" The orchard watchers turned jumpy, scanning the tree line as if expecting Jace's band to storm in any moment.

Tamsin, drawn by the commotion, cornered Fiona. "Show me the photo," she demanded, half-expecting to see a clear image. But Fiona had no copy—only the memory. "It's definitely Jace, though," Fiona insisted. "That coat, the grin… I'd heard stories from older members. It matches the descriptions." Tamsin's face hardened, anxiety merging with frustration. "Then we're dealing with more than just random scavengers."

Fiona found Leila in a hallway near the storage rooms, scanning a ledger of the newly missing items, face taut with tension. She looked up, noticing Fiona's haunted expression. "What is it?" Leila asked, voice tight.

Fiona took a breath. "I saw a photo… from one of the newcomers. It shows Jace. Likely Ellie, too. It's old, battered, but definitely them. We suspect that's the band the refugees fled. They're alive, Leila."

At that name, a shadow flickered over Leila's eyes. She froze, the ledger slipping from her grip. A wave of emotion roiled beneath her stoic facade—anger, betrayal, fear. For a split second, her mask cracked. "Y-You're sure?" she whispered, breath shaky. Fiona nodded somberly.

Despair flashed across Leila's face. She scrambled to pick up the ledger, voice trembling. "So the rumors… they're more than rumors. He survived, after everything." Her heart hammered, recalling Jace's once-beloved face turned traitor, orchestrating her near-death in that old timeline. The repressed nightmares threatened to spill out in daylight.

Fiona gently touched her shoulder, eyes reflecting sympathy. "Leila… talk to me. This is big. We need a plan, or at least to share the burden."

Leila recoiled as though scalded, eyes wild. She forced a mask of composure back into place, lips pressed thin. "We'll keep watch, coordinate watchers. I'm fine." The last words rang hollow, a desperate attempt to retain control. "We must not panic the entire shelter." She stormed off, ignoring Fiona's protest.

Later that evening, as the sky dimmed to a bruise-hued twilight, Leila retreated to a lesser-used corridor near the orchard-facing side of the compound. She needed solitude to quell the swirl of fear. Her mind reeled with images: Jace's cunning grin, Ellie's mocking eyes, the betrayal that nearly cost her life. If they truly lead a band fixated on revenge, we're all in danger…

She sensed footsteps behind her—quiet, steady. She recognized them before turning. Kai. He approached softly, concern etched into his expression. Clearly, Fiona or another survivor had mentioned the photo's discovery, the confirmation of Jace's reemergence.

"I heard," he said gently, stopping a few feet away to give her space. "Fiona told me about the photo. I'm sorry, Leila."

She swallowed, trying to tamp down her racing heartbeat. "It's… nothing we didn't suspect," she managed, voice trembling. She hated how vulnerable she sounded. If Jace was truly out there, he might come for her. The entire community could pay for her old conflict. That possibility gnawed at her sense of safety.

Kai stepped closer, his voice low and warm. "You don't have to shoulder this alone. Let me help, or at least talk it through."

A swirl of emotion—gratitude, longing, and fear—crashed inside her. For a split second, she nearly let him in, let the tears and confessions pour out. But the memory of Jace's betrayal snapped her back. She stiffened, tears prickling her eyes. "I can't trust anyone blindly," she snapped, the words sharper than intended. "Last time I did—" She clamped her mouth shut, choking on the rest of the sentence: they nearly killed me.

Hurt flickered in Kai's gaze, though he masked it quickly. "Leila, I'm not Jace," he said softly. "You know that."

She swallowed, regret lancing her chest. She did know—but fear overshadowed that knowledge. In the half-lit corridor, she turned away to hide the tears threatening to spill. "Just… don't push me," she forced out, voice faltering at the end. "I can't—"

She realized with a hollow pang how her words must wound him. But the protective shell around her heart refused to crack fully. Freed from the conversation's intensity, she forced her feet to move, storming off down the corridor. Each step echoed with guilt and dread. She couldn't stand letting him see how deeply shaken she was.

In her wake, Kai stood motionless for a moment, the corridor's lamplight casting shadows across his features. His chest felt tight with both empathy and sorrow. He wanted to bridge the distance, show her that trust could be rebuilt, that not everyone would betray her. But her words echoed: "I can't trust anyone blindly." He understood the scars that Jace's actions had left on her, but it pained him that she felt forced to remain so guarded.

Later that night, watchers discreetly circulated the news that Jace and Ellie were indeed rumored to be alive, commanding some scavenger band fixated on "revenge." Suspicion soared: had the missing supplies been smuggled to Jace's group? Was infiltration the reason behind stolen honey, nails, or bandages? The orchard watchers doubled their vigilance, scanning the tree line as the final snow drifts melted. Tamsin debated implementing new ID checks for leaving or entering the compound, pushing for stricter screening that might quell infiltration attempts.

Yet beneath these logistical concerns lay a deeper emotional current. Leila's unwavering facade showed hairline cracks, especially in the presence of Kai, who quietly hovered, ready to support her if she let him. The memory of Jace's betrayal, however, overshadowed any path to closeness. She snapped at him in fear of vulnerability, only to regret each stinging word once alone in her bunk. The cyclical nightmares returned with new vengeance, draining her rest night after night.

The battered photo confirmed that Jace's old group still lurked out there, fueling communal anxieties, while Leila's composure began to erode under the mounting weight of her dread. Kai's offer of comfort collided with her terror of trusting again, leaving them both locked in a painful dance of closeness and distance. Outside, the thaw continued, dripping water in rivulets along muddy paths—yet inside the shelter, a deeper freeze took hold in Leila's heart, shaped by old wounds she could not yet relinquish.