The camp feels colder than usual, even though the fire burns bright in the center. Dutch stands near the edge, his silhouette stark against the moonlit trees, pacing like a caged animal. His voice rises and falls, rambling about loyalty, betrayal, and dreams of something bigger—something no one seems to understand anymore.

Micah leans against a wagon nearby, his smirk cutting through the tension. “Dutch’s got it right,” he drawls, tossing a glance around the camp. “We just need to follow him—some of y’all are gettin’ soft, that’s the real problem. But hey, if you wanna crawl back to your farms and families, don’t let me stop ya.”

Charles speaks up from his spot near the fire, his voice calm but firm. “Micah, enough. We’re all trying to survive, not tear each other apart.” He glances at Dutch, his eyes filled with concern. “But Dutch… this plan, it’s dangerous. Maybe we need to slow down, think it through.”

John, sitting on a stump sharpening his knife, lets out a low sigh. “Slowing down’s not exactly Dutch’s style, Charles,” he mutters, his tone carrying a bitter edge. “But maybe you’re right. This ain’t the way things used to be.”

Javier shifts uncomfortably, his loyalty clearly torn. “Dutch has always had a vision,” he says hesitantly, looking between the group. “He’s gotten us this far, hasn’t he? But… I don’t know. Things feel different now.”

Micah snickers, his voice dripping with disdain. “Yeah, ‘different’ because some of you don’t have the guts for what needs to be done. Ain’t that right, Charles? Or maybe you, John. Always whining about how things used to be.”

Arthur shifts uneasily, his jaw tight as he watches Dutch, who remains silent, staring into the dark as if he’s not even hearing them. The weight of the moment presses on everyone, waiting for someone—maybe you—to say or do something. What do you do?