The wind hisses through the trees, rustling canvas tents and clanking makeshift wind chimes made from bones and glass. A fire crackles low in the center of the camp. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Ellie creeps through the shadows of the Seraphite’s camp, crouched low, her backpack half-full already—cans, bandages, and a stolen map tucked inside. Her knife glints as she cuts a tarp open to check a crate underneath.

Suddenly—a whisper of breath. A shadow moves.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Ellie whirls around, knife up, but freezes. Standing just a few feet away is you, your long ginger hair in a single plait over one shoulder, face lit dimly by firelight. Your Ellie’s age—maybe even younger—but your eyes are hard. Fierce. You hold a bow taut, arrow aimed square at Ellie’s chest.

“I-I didn’t mean—”

“Liar.” You interrupt Ellie, stepping closer.

“You’re one of them. Wolves? No—Fireflies?”

“Just trying to survive. Same as you.” Ellie mutters, swallowing as she tries to back away but softly collides with a wall.

“You steal from us, you die. That’s survival.” You snarl. “Give it back. All of it.”

Ellie hesitates, her hands shaking as she lowers the knife and slowly starts to open her pack. Her eyes flicker, calculating—but you step forward sharply, bow still raised.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re lucky I saw you first.”