A New Influx

The early morning haze clung to the compound like a weary guardian, its soft glow revealing the shadows of recent fortifications. Wooden spikes, sharpened to lethal points, lined the main entrance; tall watchtowers dotted the perimeter, each manned by vigilant sentries scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. The air smelled of damp earth and faint wood smoke, the remnants of a long night spent bolstering defenses against a threat that always seemed to loom just beyond the tree line. Yet on this particular day, the threat wasn't from Jace and Ellie or any raider band. It came from within—an anxiety that had settled into the bones of every survivor here, fed by the ghosts of past betrayals.

Leila stood near the compound's makeshift front gate, arms crossed, her breath visible in the chilly dawn. She wore her usual pragmatic gear: sturdy cargo pants, a worn jacket with patches from older fights, and her sidearm holstered at her belt. The tension in her posture was unmistakable, her eyes unwavering as she studied the approach of an envoy from a rival settlement. This was a day for negotiations, for forging a fragile bridge where old grudges and new fears might collide. She was no stranger to uneasy alliances—recent history had taught her how precarious trust could be when desperation colored every decision.

Mark and Darren flanked her, their expressions equally grim. Mark's fingers drummed restlessly against the butt of his rifle, while Darren's gaze swept the horizon, keeping watch for any sudden betrayal that might come from the woods. Behind them, a handful of compound residents formed a small but vigilant crowd. They stood with weapons at the ready, but none seemed eager to use them unless absolutely necessary.

The gates groaned open, revealing a pair of figures from the rival settlement known simply as Thornbridge. Rumors about Thornbridge had reached them weeks ago—stories of a group hardened by famine, shaped by internal power struggles. They were said to be neither friend nor foe, simply another piece on the board of survival. Yet Tamsin's faction had latched onto these rumors like a dog with a bone, certain Thornbridge was a trojan horse waiting to infiltrate and destroy them from within.

Leila squared her shoulders as the envoys stepped forward. The older of the two, a woman in her mid-forties with streaks of silver in her braided hair, carried herself with a cautious dignity. She wore a patchwork leather coat stitched with care, each piece telling a silent story of battles fought and lost. Her companion was younger, perhaps in his twenties, eyes darting with the kind of nervous energy that suggested he'd seen enough treachery to expect it around every corner.

"Leila," the woman greeted, inclining her head with a formality that felt almost antiquated in this broken world. "I'm Myra, representing Thornbridge. We come in peace." Her voice was steady, but the tension in her eyes betrayed her awareness of the loaded nature of that phrase.

Leila's voice, by contrast, was cool and controlled. "Peace is a strong word these days. But you asked for a meeting, so here we are."

They were guided into the compound's main courtyard, passing beneath the watchful gaze of archers perched along the battlements. The clang of metal echoed from somewhere inside, where Tamsin's faction was busy ensuring that no stone was left unturned in their preparations for betrayal—locked doors, hidden vantage points, ready ambush spots if things took a turn. The rival envoys couldn't help but notice; Myra's gaze flicked over the numerous fortifications, and a faint twist of her lips hinted at approval or perhaps a reluctant admiration for this group's readiness.

They gathered around a makeshift table set up near a semi-collapsed warehouse wall. Lanterns hung from metal hooks to dispel the lingering shadows, casting an uneven glow across the scarred wooden surface. Tamsin stood nearby, arms crossed, her brow etched with suspicion so palpable it felt like a tangible force. Fiona, ever the mediator, positioned herself close enough to step in if things became heated, her posture calm but alert.

Myra carefully laid out the reason for their visit: Thornbridge needed ammunition, even simple rounds, to fend off raiders who had been harassing their outer farms. In exchange, they offered seeds—unique strains salvaged from old research stations, rumored to be more resilient in the face of the changing climate. It was a modest proposition: seeds for bullets, an even trade or so they claimed.

Leila listened without speaking, eyes flicking occasionally to Tamsin, who hovered like a hawk ready to screech at the first sign of duplicity. The younger companion from Thornbridge fidgeted under the intense scrutiny from everyone, but Myra spoke evenly, describing the seeds' origins, how they had tested them in small patches to confirm their viability. With the damage the environment had sustained, seeds of any reliable variety were worth more than gold. If this was genuine, it could bolster the compound's failing farmland. But if it was a trick—a means to introduce infiltration or sabotage—then it could be a death sentence to trust these strangers.

At length, Leila spoke, her voice measured but carrying an undercurrent of tension. "We're short on ammo ourselves. If we give you what we can spare, we might compromise our own defenses. And we've had infiltration attempts before. People bearing gifts that turned out to be Trojan horses. You can't blame us for being cautious."

Myra nodded slowly, her hands splaying on the table in a gesture of openness. "Caution makes sense. I'd do the same in your position. But these seeds—" she paused, tapping a small cloth pouch at her belt "—could be the difference between starving in a few months or having enough to survive. And that's an edge both of us need."

Tamsin's voice cut through the subdued hush, dripping with suspicion. "How do we know you're not working with Jace? Maybe you're just here to worm your way in, feed them info about our weaknesses. Wouldn't be the first time."

The younger Thornbridge envoy bristled, the tension in his posture sharpening. Myra, however, remained calm. "We've seen Jace's brutality. He's burned settlements we once traded with. We've got no love for him or any savage out there. Thornbridge stands alone; we're no one's pawns."

Tamsin sniffed, unconvinced. "So you say."