A Set Stage

Leila let out a slow breath. "I know. But we can't let fear paralyze us. A small exchange is better than nothing, especially if it helps us keep the farmland going. Jace may be an immediate threat, but starvation is a slower, equally lethal one."

Kai joined them, gaze flicking between Leila and Fiona. He'd witnessed Tamsin's outburst from a distance. "It's done now," he said simply, though the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes. "We watch them, they watch us. The difference is, we have to assume they might lie. That's why the limited scope is good. If they betray us, we lose only a fraction of our ammo."

Leila nodded, turning her gaze toward the compound's walls. The sun was sinking lower, painting the sky in dusky oranges and purples, a beautiful backdrop that felt oddly incongruous with the dread in her chest. She tried to quell the swirl of anxiety gnawing at her insides. Seeds for ammo. A simple trade, yet it signaled so much more—a precarious trust in a world built on betrayals.

The day wound down with watchers rotating out for the night shift. The courtyard, once bustling with negotiations, fell silent but never fully restful. People whispered about the rival settlement's envoy, about Tamsin's warnings, about how quickly this alliance—if it could be called that—might unravel if even a hint of treachery surfaced.

Leila found a moment of quiet near the newly fortified southwestern wall, a vantage point that overlooked the farmland. She leaned against the stacked sandbags, scanning the fields bathed in twilight. The farmland was crucial to their survival, and if Myra's seeds were truly hardy strains, it could secure a future that didn't rely on endless scavenging. But if Tamsin was right, if this was another infiltration scheme…

She heard the light tread of boots on gravel and turned to see Kai approaching. His expression was pensive, as it often was these days—caught between caution and the desire to hope for something better. He stopped an arm's length away, crossing his arms over his chest as he surveyed the farmland alongside her.

"Think we made a mistake?" she asked quietly, not looking at him.

He didn't respond immediately. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of freshly turned earth and the distant tang of smoldering wood. Finally, Kai sighed. "I think not doing anything is the bigger mistake. If we let fear rule, we'll starve out or get picked off by Jace. At least this way, we have a chance to strengthen ourselves before it all goes to hell."

Leila let out a bitter chuckle. "Optimistic, as always."

A faint smile tugged at Kai's lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I wouldn't call it optimism. More like calculated risk. We're gambling seeds for a minimal amount of ammo. If they betray us, we lose only a portion of our stockpile, not everything. If they're honest, we gain a sustainable food source. Seems worth the gamble."

She nodded, letting his words settle. Tamsin's faction, with their paranoia, might see it as a betrayal of the compound's safety. But from a strategic standpoint, it was the best course left to them.

Silence stretched between them, charged with the undercurrent of tension that had pervaded every breath they took for the past few weeks. Jace's threat hung over them like a guillotine. The seeds might help them in the long run, but war loomed in the short term. A war that wouldn't be won by seeds alone.

Kai turned his head slightly, watching her with that level, unreadable gaze. "You're sure about this. Even with Tamsin breathing down your neck?"

Leila exhaled, the weight of leadership pressing on her shoulders like an invisible burden. "No, I'm not sure. But I can't let Tamsin's fear become our policy. We need allies, resources. We need every edge if Jace truly mobilizes his full force. And if that means taking a risk on seeds that might be worthless or a trick, then… so be it."

Kai shifted, his hand almost brushing hers against the sandbag. She didn't move away, but neither did she close that minuscule gap. There were bigger gaps still unspoken between them—gaps built from heartbreak and caution.

He nodded. "We'll keep watch. If they try anything, we'll know."

She finally turned to look at him, meeting his gaze. "Yes. We will."

As night descended fully, the compound buzzed with a subdued energy, a mixture of hope, fear, and lingering distrust. News of the deal spread among the survivors—some found a glimmer of optimism in the prospect of better crops, while others echoed Tamsin's warnings about letting potential enemies into their circle, even if only for a trade.

Leila withdrew to her quarters, but sleep refused to come easily. She paced the small confines of her room, thoughts racing. Seeds for ammo. A precarious bargain in a world where betrayal was as common as sunrise. The specter of infiltration loomed in every quiet corner, fueled by memories of older deceptions that nearly destroyed them. If the seeds were real, they might hold the key to surviving the next winter; if they weren't, or if the envoy reported back to Jace about the compound's defenses, it could spell a disastrous new infiltration attempt.

Before finally sinking onto her bed, she scribbled notes in a worn journal: lines about supply distribution, potential farmland expansion, watchtower rotation schedules. Somewhere between the practical bullet points, her mind drifted to Jace—how cunning he was—and Ellie's strategic brilliance. They'd exploit every shred of internal division. Tamsin's paranoia was practically a feast for someone like Ellie. A wedge waiting to be driven deeper, fracturing the unity that held the compound together.

Leila closed the journal with a snap, running a hand over her tired eyes. Dawn would come soon enough, and with it, the next wave of vigilance and planning. At least now they had a chance—no matter how slim—of bolstering their supplies with the seeds. That chance might save them from hunger if war dragged on.

But until Myra returned with the promised seeds, every second was a spin of the roulette wheel. Would the seeds arrive? Would they be good? Or would Thornbridge's envoy turn traitor, delivering the compound's secrets to Jace?

Deep in the night, the compound settled into a restless quiet. Guards patrolled the fences, their lanterns bobbing like will-o'-the-wisps against the darkness. The farmland lay silent, dark shapes of reinforced barricades looming like sentinels. Occasionally, a watchman would shout a challenge into the shadows, only to receive no answer but the wind.

Leila found herself awake longer than she intended, stepping onto the northern rampart one last time before attempting rest. The breeze carried an undercurrent of damp earth and the faint tang of decay from far-off battlefields she hoped would never reach their doorstep.

From her vantage point, she could see the entire courtyard below—people bunkered in tight groups, huddled fires near storage barns, the distant flicker of torches along the main gate. Everything in her demanded control, demanded that she find a way to protect them, even from themselves. Tamsin's faction, Myra's seeds, Jace's impending assault—it was too much, too fast.

A quiet step behind her made her tense, but she recognized the measured footfalls as Kai's. He always had a way of appearing when her mind churned the hardest. They stood side by side, neither speaking for a long moment, both scanning the horizon for signs of the threat that lurked just beyond their vision.

He broke the silence first, voice pitched low. "We'll see if Myra keeps her word."

Leila nodded, arms folded tight across her chest. "If she does, Tamsin will still suspect sabotage. If she doesn't, we lose precious ammo and gain nothing but humiliation."

Kai exhaled softly. "Sometimes, there's no perfect choice."

She knew that intimately. War didn't care about neat solutions. Every path led to risk. Jace had taught her that cruel lesson once before, and now she was living it again.

They stood there until the sky darkened fully, the stars emerging faintly overhead. Even the moon's glow seemed reluctant, as if the night was too thick with unspoken dread for it to shine.

Eventually, she whispered, "We'll hold. We have to."

Kai didn't question it. He just stood with her, letting the hush of the compound wrap around them like a tentative shield. The seeds might save them from starvation, the ammo might keep the bandits at bay, but beneath it all lay the deeper truth: alliances were fragile, trust even more so. And if Tamsin's paranoia was justified, then the entire compound might be standing on the precipice of another infiltration disaster.

Yet, in the hush of the starlit yard, hope clung stubbornly. A faint, flickering thing. Maybe Thornbridge was genuine. Maybe seeds for ammo would forge a bond strong enough to weather the storm. Maybe Jace and Ellie weren't unstoppable.

Leila clung to that hope, even as she prepared for the worst. Because that was all she could do: fight, plan, hope, and brace for the day Jace arrived to finish what he had started.