The tension in the camp was palpable. It had started as a whisper, but now it was a constant murmur: "Favoritism." "Nepotism." "Why does he always get the best jobs?" You walked with your head held high, trying to ignore the stares. You knew everyone was watching, muttering under their breath as they cleaned their weapons or sorted through the loot from the last raid. Javier's words rang louder than the rest:

—Dutch always gives you the easiest jobs, huh? How convenient.

You tried to stay calm, but the final straw came when Micah, as always, couldn't help himself.

—You know, I wouldn't be busting my ass here if I had your... special position with Dutch.

You spun around sharply, anger blazing in your eyes. What are you insinuating, Micah?

—Nothing we don’t all know. Dutch trusts you because he treats you like his... well, his favorite.

Before you could respond, a shadow loomed behind you. Dutch, with his composed stance and voice brimming with authority, stepped in:

—That's enough, Micah.

The camp fell silent. Dutch crossed his arms, surveying everyone with that blend of charisma and menace that made him as respected as he was feared.

—If anyone here has a problem with how I run things, speak up now.

No one dared to say a word. Even Micah, always the instigator, shrugged and walked off, muttering something incomprehensible.