Unsettling Discoveries

The morning broke with a grim hush. A thin veil of cloud muted the sky, casting the compound in a washed-out light that only deepened the anxiety simmering beneath everyday chores. Despite the chilly undertone in the air, there was no rush of wind or promise of rain—just a stifling stillness that seemed to wrap around each building and barricade like a warning. Outside the fortified walls, a hush settled across the farmland, the usual chatter of early-working farmhands hushed by apprehension.

Within those walls, the day began with a troubling murmur: things were going missing again.

Leila stood in the dimly lit supply room, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on an array of empty spots lining a shelf that, only days before, had been stocked with essential ration packs. A single lamp dangled overhead, its weak glow revealing a half-dozen empty boxes and scattered wrappers. She clenched her jaw. Whoever had been taking supplies was getting bolder.

Mark was beside her, scanning a handwritten ledger that listed the inventory in meticulous detail. He shook his head, frustration radiating in his posture.

"They took at least four or five of our sealed rations. A jar of honey—again—and some of that dried fruit we just bartered for. Small enough amounts to cause friction, but not so large that it's blatantly obvious at first glance."

Leila exhaled, running a hand across her forehead. "The question is whether it's an inside job or if one of the new arrivals is involved." The mention of the new arrivals made her stomach twist. They were a source of both hope and suspicion—a traumatized group claiming knowledge of Jace's band, but with no ironclad proof of their innocence.

As if on cue, Darren walked in, his steps careful against the scuffed floor. He had that look about him, the one that said trouble just found me again. He met Leila's eyes steadily. "I heard. Another theft?"

She nodded once, letting the silence speak for the tension gathering like storm clouds overhead.

"We're dealing with enough as it is," Mark growled, snapping the ledger shut. "Tamsin's faction is already on edge, calling for a total lockdown. This might just give them the excuse they need to push their agenda."

Leila chewed the inside of her cheek. "If Tamsin gets wind that supplies are vanishing again, she'll point fingers at Harriet's group first. I can't say I blame her—this started up not long after they arrived."

Darren crossed his arms, gaze turning pensive. "Which is why we need to confirm one way or another who's behind it. If it's them, we cut it off now. If it's one of our own… that's a whole other nightmare. Jace could have loyalists already in our ranks."

The mention of Jace's loyalists squeezed something in Leila's chest. Could the infiltration go deeper than just a few seeds and sweet words? The memory of past betrayals flickered in her mind, fueling a familiar blend of anger and unease.

"Where's Rael?" Leila asked abruptly. The young man's face came to her mind—haunted eyes, trembling voice, the bandaged shoulder that might hide secrets beyond just a wound.

Darren shrugged. "Harriet said he's in the quarantine quarters. Fiona's checking his injury again. We can start by questioning him."

Leila nodded, beckoning Mark and Darren to follow as she headed for the quarantine area. The new arrivals had been placed in that secure zone to minimize infiltration risk: a sealed-off wing of the compound where watchers kept vigil at all hours. She doubted Harriet's group would be foolish enough to steal from them so soon, but the possibility was there. And if they weren't the culprits, that raised a darker question: Who else inside these walls might be loyal to Jace?

The quarantine wing carried a stale scent of disinfectant and old dust, making the air feel heavier than the rest of the compound. A pair of guards stood outside the metal-reinforced door, rifles in hand, posture rigid at the sight of Leila approaching with Mark and Darren. With a nod, Leila motioned for them to unlock the door.

Inside, Harriet and her group hovered in the far corners, tense and watchful. The cots were arranged in a neat row, each occupant granted minimal space to sleep or rest. Rael sat on the edge of his cot, his shoulder bandaged carefully under Fiona's guidance. At the sight of Leila and the men behind her, his expression went taut, as though he sensed a confrontation brewing.

Leila wasted no time. She walked forward, boots echoing on the concrete floor. "We've had more thefts. Supplies missing from our storeroom."

Rael's eyes widened slightly, his mouth parting in surprise. "I—I'm sorry?" he said, voice still shaky. He glanced at Harriet, who shot him a questioning look, concern clouding her features.

"Do you know anything about that?" Darren asked, his tone firm but not immediately accusatory.

Rael swallowed hard, shaking his head. "No, I swear. We've stayed in here, under guard the entire time, right? We haven't had a chance to wander around freely."

Mark nodded slowly, acknowledging the logic. "We can confirm they've been under watch, at least. But watchers aren't perfect. Maybe you bribed them, or maybe you found a moment of weakness. People get sloppy, especially at night."

A flicker of offense crossed Harriet's face. She rose from her makeshift seat, stepping protectively in front of Rael. "We may be outsiders here, but we're not thieves. And we sure as hell aren't suicidal enough to steal from the place granting us refuge."

Leila's gaze swept over them, noting the tension in their postures. They could be lying, the cynic in her hissed. Then another voice whispered: But maybe they aren't.

Rael lifted his uninjured arm in a gesture of surrender. "I've got nothing to gain by stealing your rations. If anything, I'd lose the little trust you might have in us."

Darren's jaw tightened. "Then how do you explain the timing? Theft stops for a while, you arrive, theft resumes."

The young man's throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I don't know. But maybe it's not us. Jace has loyalists—people who left with him willingly, or who still believe in him." He paused, voice trembling with something close to desperation. "He'd have them sabotage from inside if he could."

Leila exchanged a glance with Mark. The possibility was all too real. A mole, someone who'd never left the compound but who served Jace's cause in secret. The idea churned her stomach.

Harriet frowned. "Why would he do that unless he planned to attack soon? Sabotage is the opening move to weaken your defenses, right?"

Silence fell among them, each grappling with the potential ramifications. Harriet's words rang uncomfortably true. If sabotage had resumed, it might signal Jace's final preparations for an assault.

Leila exhaled, feeling the weight of indecision. She turned to Darren, voice subdued. "We need to investigate thoroughly. Check watchers' logs, question people who have access to the storeroom. If Harriet's group is clean, we can't let Tamsin's faction tear them apart."

Darren nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. "I'll get on it."

Harriet and Rael exchanged a look—relief, perhaps, that they weren't being immediately condemned, but overshadowed by the fear that suspicion might still land squarely on their shoulders.

Outside the quarantine area, Tamsin waited like a restless hawk. She caught Leila the moment the door creaked shut behind her. "I'm telling you, it's them," she hissed, voice low but laced with fury. "We've been infiltration targets before. How many times does it need to happen before you realize we can't keep letting in strays?"

Leila forced herself to remain calm. "No evidence points to them yet. They've been under guard."

Tamsin's nostrils flared. "Plenty can happen under a guard if they're clever enough. Or if the guard's incompetent."

"They're not incompetent," Leila said, a hint of warning creeping into her tone. "And until we have proof, we don't brand them thieves."

A circle of survivors had formed around this heated exchange—some leaning Tamsin's way, others trusting Leila's approach of measured caution. The atmosphere crackled with tension. This was precisely the kind of internal conflict Jace would exploit. He thrived on distrust.

Tamsin's voice dropped lower, words dripping with frustration. "You keep giving them test periods, second chances. We did that before and almost got destroyed from the inside. I'm not letting that happen again."

Fiona appeared, stepping between them like a buffer. "Let's not do this out here, Tamsin," she said gently. "We'll handle the theft. We have a process."