A Night of Reckoning

The night had swallowed the last trace of light. No moon, no stars—only an oppressive blackness that pressed against the edges of the dying campfire. The flames had dwindled to a restless orange glow, casting long, wavering shadows across the faces of the six people who sat in a loose, uneasy circle. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the weight of words unsaid.

Taye sat apart from the others, his back against a gnarled tree trunk, his knees drawn up. He stared into the embers, seeing nothing. Christine had retired to her tent an hour ago, sensing the tension that coiled around the group like a living thing. Good. He didn't want her to witness this. She had seen enough of his pain.

Across the fire, Ryan shifted. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the ground. He had not spoken since dinner, when the silence had been broken only by the clink of spoons against bowls. Now, the fire crackled and popped, and the air grew thin with anticipation.