Arrival at the Gate

An awkward silence followed. Fiona cleared her throat, offering a gentle smile that did little to alleviate the weight of the moment. "We all have reasons to distrust. But maybe we can set some terms to ease that worry. A trial exchange, limited amounts. If it goes well, we expand. If it doesn't, we cut ties."

Leila nodded, her eyes never leaving Myra's. "Seeds for a small supply of ammo—no more than a handful of magazines. Something that won't cripple our defenses if you turn out to be lying. In return, you show us these seeds aren't duds or laced with something harmful." She paused, letting the challenge linger. "We're done playing the fool."

Myra considered the proposition, then inclined her head. "Agreed. We'll do it your way. One test run. We prove ourselves, you prove yourselves, and we move from there. But if I may say—if we don't start trusting each other even a little, Jace's band will tear each enclave apart one by one. I don't want that. Neither do you."

Leila resisted the urge to scoff. Trust was a luxury. But she swallowed her cynicism, acknowledging the practicality of Myra's statement. "Fine. Let's finalize it."

A single piece of parchment was laid out, a rudimentary contract scrawled in bold letters. Mark stood watchful as Myra signed it with a battered fountain pen, and Leila followed suit. The younger envoy hovered close, glancing nervously between them, as if expecting Tamsin to leap across the table with a dagger at any moment. Tamsin, arms still crossed, merely glared from the corner.

The meeting ended with stiff nods. Myra promised to bring the seeds within two days, and Leila consented to prepare a designated amount of ammunition by then. The tension remained in the air, thick and unyielding, but a semblance of an agreement had been reached.

As Myra and her companion were escorted to the gates, Tamsin moved in on Leila, her voice laced with anger. "We're just letting them walk out of here after mapping out our defenses with their own eyes? This is exactly how infiltration starts. We let them see our watchtowers, our barricades. Don't you remember the last time we had an 'ally' stroll into our compound with sweet promises only to turn around and sabotage us?"

Leila squared her shoulders, meeting Tamsin's glare head-on. "I haven't forgotten anything, Tamsin. But if we lock every door, burn every bridge, we'll be standing alone when Jace's band sweeps through. We can't survive in isolation."

Tamsin's lips tightened into a thin line. "I hope you're right. Because if you're not, we'll be the next set of corpses for Jace to gloat over."

Before Leila could respond, Tamsin spun on her heel and stormed off toward the interior corridors. The flicker of torches illuminated the tension etched into her posture. Fiona, who had observed the whole exchange with sympathetic eyes, shook her head gently. "She's scared," Fiona said softly. "They all are. We remember infiltration attempts too well."

The morning broke with a sky dyed in muted grays, the sun a dull disc that provided little warmth. A hush clung to the compound, the sort of brittle silence that hinted at unsettled hearts and wary eyes. Despite the building tension with Jace's band looming somewhere out there, life continued in cautious routine—sentries posted on every possible vantage, farmland workers venturing out in watchful pairs, and inside the walls, everyone bracing for whatever came next.

It was under this uneasy hush that the call came from the eastern gate.

A lone watchman's voice, crackling with urgency through Leila's handheld radio:

"Incoming group from the east… They're on foot, no visible weapons raised. Requesting guidance."

Leila, who had been deep in discussion with Darren about short-range patrol schedules, froze mid-sentence. Darren looked at her, his eyes mirroring the same question Do we let them in? They both knew the procedure—any unknown arrivals meant immediate caution. In a world where infiltration could bring ruin, every stranger was a potential threat.

She keyed the radio, voice steady.

"Keep them at the gate. We're on our way."

The main gate was a flurry of motion by the time Leila and Darren arrived. A small crowd of compound residents had formed, some standing on makeshift catwalks above the gate, others clustering near Tamsin, who wore her usual skeptical scowl. Mark was at the forefront, rifle slung across his chest, posture stiff with vigilance as he eyed the newcomers outside the tall, reinforced barrier.

Leila stepped up onto a small wooden platform that gave her a clear view over the top of the barricade. The sight that greeted her: five figures, huddled together in a loose group, their faces etched with exhaustion and guarded hope. Their clothes were ragged, caked with mud from travel, bodies slumped as if they'd come too far, too fast. One of them—a slight, trembling young man with a bandage across his shoulder—caught Leila's attention. He stood slightly apart from the others, casting occasional glances back at the empty horizon as if half-expecting pursuers.

"We're just looking for shelter," called out the oldest of the group, a middle-aged woman with streaks of white in her braided hair. She lifted her hands, palms outward, showing she held no weapon. "We've been on the road for weeks… heard rumors you still have farmland, a defensible compound. Please—we need safety."

Leila's stomach tightened. She'd heard pleas like this before. Sometimes they were genuine. Sometimes they were preludes to infiltration. Tamsin's faction had hammered into everyone's heads the risks of letting in unknown wanderers.

She shot a glance at Darren, who gave a small nod of understanding. There was protocol for this sort of thing—screening, interrogation, quarantine if necessary.

"Who are you?" Leila demanded, voice echoing over the barricade. "Names, origins, reason for being here. No lies, no half-truths."

The middle-aged woman squared her shoulders, though weariness sagged them an instant later. "I'm Harriet, from the old Riverbed camp. Or… what used to be Riverbed. We lost it to raiders last month." She swallowed, lifting her chin slightly. "We've been wandering ever since, picking up stragglers along the way."

"Riverbed fell?" Mark muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He'd once traded a handful of bullets for medical supplies with them long ago.

Harriet's lips trembled. "Yes. A band came. Took everything."

Leila's jaw tightened. "Jace's band?"

A haunted look swept over Harriet's face, but she shook her head uncertainly. "I… don't know. Could be. They were organized, ruthless. We barely escaped with our lives."

The slender young man with the bandaged shoulder took a halting step forward, eyes darting nervously between the watchmen and Harriet, as if struggling to find courage. His voice was soft, cracking with strain. "They… wore an emblem. A stylized J, maybe."

That was enough to set the entire guard detail on edge. Murmurs spread like wildfire through the onlookers. Harriet shot the young man a look that was part worry, part encouragement.

Leila's heartbeat kicked up. "Then you've seen Jace's people."

The young man nodded slowly, wincing as if the memory stung more than his physical wounds. "Yes. I—I know some of their routes. I overheard them talking about expansions, about supply lines…" He swallowed, seeming to shrink under the weight of a hundred watchful eyes. "I can help you."