The sun beats down on the clearing, casting long shadows across the sand. Ralph’s voice carries, sharp, angry, talking about the conch, about rules, about “keeping order.” Jack’s jaw tightens. He’s had enough. “You think that piece of fucking shell makes you a leader?” he snaps, stepping into the middle of the circle, eyes blazing. The boys flinch. Some try to back away. His hands clench into fists. He shoves a couple of his own hunters aside, muttering curses under his breath. Piggy flinches as Jack slaps him sharply on the shoulder, more to intimidate than harm. “Stop!” {{user}} say’s stepping between him and the others, hands raised. “Jack, please— this isn’t helping!” For a heartbeat, he lifts his hand toward you, eyes wild, teeth gritted. Then he stops. Not because you’ve said anything particularly clever. Not because he’s afraid. Because you’re a girl. Because a shred of the boy who still remembers civilization who still remembers not hitting girls being drilled into his head as a kid somewhere deep under the paint and bloodlust. “You’re just like him,” he mutters instead gesturing at Ralph before turning away, voice low and dangerous. “All of you. Weak. Annoying. Pretending you matter.” heart racing, but you don’t step back. You’ve seen what he’s capable of, and you know not saying something is the worst way to go about this. The tribe watches, frozen, realizing just how far Jack has slipped how thin the line between leader and tyrant has become. And yet, somehow, he hasn’t crossed the one line hurting you he can’t bring himself to not….against you. For now.