The fire's glow painted the cabin in shades of gold and shadow, flickering across the rough walls, the uneven floor, and the faces of those who had survived so much already. Outside, the forest whispered with unseen life, the wind carrying a rustle here, a crack there—sounds that could belong to a deer, or something far worse. Within the wooden walls, however, the survivors finally had a fragment of space to breathe, to exist without immediate threat.
Meriem sat close to the fire, the warmth brushing her pale cheeks. She had changed since fleeing Casablanca—her eyes sharper, movements steadier—but tonight she looked fragile again, as if the day's flight and the ambush had hollowed her out for a few fleeting hours. Abderrazak sat beside her, close but not too close, crowbar resting against the bench. He didn't speak much, but his gaze followed her movements, flickering toward her whenever she shifted, ensuring she remained unharmed, still present.
Amal moved quietly, ladling beans into cracked tin bowls. "Eat while it's warm," she said softly, passing one to Soufiane first. Her voice carried the same calm she always did, but exhaustion seeped through the cracks he had learned to notice. He accepted the food silently, though his mind was elsewhere—on Abderrazak, on Meriem, on the fragile balance forming between them.
The man who had once joked about prison rations leaned toward Meriem, speaking in a low voice. She smiled faintly, and Soufiane's chest tightened. It wasn't exactly jealousy—he'd long since discarded that thought—but doubt. Doubt that Abderrazak, with all his sharp edges and recklessness, could be trusted with someone as fragile—and strong—as Meriem.
"You're staring," Amal murmured beside him.
"I'm just… keeping watch," Soufiane replied, eyes fixed on the fire.
Amal gave him a look that carried a knowing weight. "Keeping watch is one thing. Distrusting everyone is another. You'll burn yourself out if you don't let someone in."
He said nothing, letting the crackle of flames occupy the silence. But the faint, unexpected laugh that slipped from Meriem when Abderrazak muttered something under his breath cut through the quiet, a sound so rare it nearly startled him. Weeks had passed without it, and hearing it now was both comforting and disquieting.
After the meager meal, the group settled into uneasy silence. The fire became their center, their only comfort. Amal leaned against her pack, eyes fluttering closed despite the gnawing tension in her chest. Soufiane remained by the window, eyes tracing the forest's black expanse, scanning every shadow, every movement.
Behind him, Abderrazak shifted. "You should rest, too," he said quietly, voice calm but firm, eyes still on Meriem. "I'll take first watch."
Soufiane frowned. "You? You'll fall asleep after ten minutes."
Abderrazak smirked, a faint curve that didn't reach his eyes. "Then we'll see who lasts longer."
For a long moment, Soufiane considered refusing. But Meriem's fluttering eyelids and the way her small body sagged under fatigue spoke for themselves. If Abderrazak's vigilance could give her even a moment of safety, perhaps it was worth the gamble.
He settled near the fire, hand never leaving the machete's handle, muscles tense, posture rigid. Abderrazak moved to the window, crowbar across his lap, shoulders taut, eyes piercing the dark beyond the glass. Yet every few minutes, his gaze softened, returning to Meriem as if to reassure himself that she was still there, still breathing.
Soufiane saw it all—the moments of hesitation, the unspoken care, the man beneath the armor of cynicism. He realized that Abderrazak's sharp tongue and apparent detachment were shields. The softness he now showed wasn't weakness—it was dangerous, tender, and impossible.
The fire burned lower, shadows shrinking into the corners of the cabin. Meriem leaned back against the wall, drifting slowly into sleep. Abderrazak stayed silent, yet when her head slipped slightly, his hand twitched forward instinctively, stopping just short of steadying her before shaking his head at himself.
Soufiane's chest tightened. He knew bonds like these could fracture just as quickly as they formed. He knew that when survival, trust, and attachment collided, choices would have to be made—choices that could save or destroy them all.
Outside, the forest whispered its secrets. Somewhere in that dark expanse, unseen eyes might be watching. And inside, the cabin's fragile warmth couldn't erase the sense that danger was waiting—not just beyond the walls, but within the ties that were slowly knitting them together.
Soufiane tightened his grip on his machete. The fire dwindled. Shadows grew longer. And for the first time in days, the thought that survival might demand more than courage, more than endurance, pressed on him with chilling clarity.
The night was far from over.