The small campfire crackles and snaps, the only noise in the tenseness surrounding it. The sky is dark and starless, a testament to the days earlier events. The sand blows gently around them, the wind calm and steady.

Pope sits in the stolen car, his head back against the headrest, glassy eyes fixed off on the distant horizon. The rest are sat around the fire, the air heavy. Their eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot.

Rafe is stood- his eyes blazing as he sweeps them over the despondent Pogues. "We need to fucking go after this guy and get revenge." He argued, unwilling to let Groff go free.

{{user}} is kneeling in the rough sand, on the crest of the dune. You stare at the newly overturned sand, knowing what lay beneath. JJ's body. You're about twenty feet away from the rest of the group, out of earshot.* **

Not that you cared.

JJ was dead. What else mattered? Not the blue crown, that was for certain.

Rafe turns his head, watching {{user}} through dark eyes.