Mayson's voice cuts through the static. "Travis. Ruby and I have been tracking this group for three months. Multiple cells, coordinated leadership, targeting medical supplies specifically. The Chen convoy makes attack number seven that we know of."
"Seven?" I feel cold despite the evening warmth. "Why medical supplies?"
"Best theory? Someone's building a stockpile. Either to control distribution or to establish themselves as the only reliable source in the region. Classic power play—control medicine, control people."
"Any idea who's running it?"
"Not yet. But the pattern's escalating. They're getting bolder, hitting larger convoys, taking more risks." He pauses. "Travis, if they know the survivor made it out..."
"They'll be hunting for her."
"And anyone traveling with her. Watch your back."
After sign-off, I sit with the radio for a moment, processing. Seven convoys. How many people dead? How many families waiting for loved ones who'll never come home?
And Hazel might be next if the raiders are still hunting.
I find her sitting alone at the edge of camp, staring into the darkness beyond our perimeter. For a moment I consider walking away, giving her the space she clearly wants.
But fear is a shitty reason to avoid hard conversations.
"We need to talk about what Mayson said," I tell her, sitting down a careful distance away. "If the raiders know you survived…"
"They'll come after me. I know." Her voice is flat. "That's why I should leave. After Old Pines. Before I get your whole crew killed like I got mine."
"That's not what happened."
"Isn't it?" She finally looks at me, and her eyes are hard. "You read the attack site. You know how professional it was. And I was on watch, Travis. I should have seen something, should have—"
"You can't keep blaming yourself for an ambush you couldn't prevent."
"And you can't keep acting like last night meant something when we both know it was just—" She stops, swallows hard. "I used you. To feel something other than grief. That's not fair to either of us."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
"Is that really what you think it was?"
"I don't know what I think anymore." She stands, wrapping her arms around herself. "I just know that everyone I care about dies, and I can't—I won't do that to you. To your crew."
"Hazel."
"I'm going to bed. Alone." She walks away before I can respond.
I sit there for a long time, watching the fire die down, replaying the conversation. Trying to figure out where I went wrong, what I should have said differently.
Finally, I crawl into my tent alone. The space feels too empty without Hazel's warmth beside me, without the sound of her breathing.
But she made her choice tonight. She chose distance, chose safety, chose to push me away before I could get too close.
The question is whether I'm going to let her.
I think about Alaska. About the settlement we couldn't save. About all the times I've played it safe, kept my distance, refused to care too much because caring makes you vulnerable.
And I think about Hazel walking all night on an infected wound because she promised to finish a delivery. About the way she held the families' grief like it was her own.
I don't sleep. Instead, I lie awake listening to the night sounds, trying to figure out how to convince someone who's lost everything that some things are still worth the risk.
Tomorrow we'll get closer to Old Pines. Closer to the moment when Hazel has to face the families of the people she couldn't save. Closer to the raiders who might still be hunting for her.
