The fire crackles, lighting up the sea. It glows, so brightly that it might illuminate Ivy's corpse (if she had one). Instead, the flames only cast shadows across all of their faces.

Hubert brought a flask, its touch serving as a reminder that there are things far colder than the weather. He hadn't intended to drink from it, but just like the last time someone died under his watch, he finds himself sipping on it when he thinks no one's eyes are on him.

Usually, Clara is looking at Hubert. Tonight, she is too distracted by Mickey, who is sitting next to her. He still hasn't spoken, not even when he helped the other men set up the bonfire. She sits on the log next to him, squirming when she finds herself relaxing. She is used to feeling calm around Hubert, but not Mickey.

"I am sorry that this hurts you so immensely," Clara whispers to Mickey.

Mickey wants to respond, but he can't. He has never been good with words, and he certainly is struggling now. Mickey grabs Clara's hand off her lap and takes it in between both of his. He squeezes gently and then caresses her hand between his. Her skin is soft like cashmere, not like the war, not like anything he deserves. He waits for her to recoil, to jump back and screech at him, or even to slap him in the face. Rage is the Clara that he knows.

"You don't have to pretend to be someone you're not, just because I'm upset," he tells her, turning to stare into her warm eyes. "I actually like you for who you are, Clara Bennet."

Her cheeks burn bright red, her jaw agape. Strands of loose hair fall in her face, something that used to drive her husband wild. Is this the Clara Bennet that Mickey likes? One whose emotions are so strong that her whole body moves and feels them? One who isn't reserved, not like she's supposed to be?

"You come from a strange time, Mickey Gallego," she hopes he knows it too. She leans in closer. Her eyes go to Adwin, but thankfully he isn't looking at her. "Tell me something. Anything."

Mickey follows her gaze, making sure Adwin's eyes aren't upon them. Mickey has had enough of Adwin, origins aside. Anyone who is a friend of Tim is an enemy of Mickey. So, Mickey hushes his voice. "Sometimes the women wear pants."

Her eyes widen, and she stops herself from giggling.

Across from them, Flo wishes she had something to say. After all, she knows Ivy best of everyone, which is to say not at all. Rather than focus on the dead though, she finds her eyes darting across the group, looking for who might need her help most. Quite frequently, she lingers on Hubert's sips. His eyes have turned glossy and his cheeks a fluorescent pink.

She doesn't dare look at Tim, who is sitting next to Adwin. Tim keeps his hands buried in his hands, trying not to cry. This time, he isn't pretending. Someone is dead.

Tim gets up from his spot and walks over to the water. He rolls up his pant legs at the edge and steps inside. He tries to speak the language of an ocean without a tongue. There is a question in his mind, and he waits for an answer.

He feels his ankles begin to sting, and he recoils and jumps outwards. Tim looks down at his ankles. There is a ring of blisters above his socks, pink and red and purple in colour. He feels bile creeps up the back of his throat at the sight of it.

This is what the ocean wants to do to him. Next time he steps inside, it will act.

Adwin watches as Tim jumps out. He gets up from his spot and begins to head over. As he stands, Mickey glares.

Tim hears the crunch of his footsteps and drops the pant-legs over the blemishes. He turns around to stare at Adwin, acutely aware of the tears brimming in his eyes.

"Are you alright?" Adwin asks, stopping behind Tim. He hopes that the wind is too light to carry their words back to the campfire.

When Tim nods, he finds himself pausing. Every word must be perfect, every single moment must mean something. His heart thumps in his chest, in sync with the ocean beating against the shore. He feels the burn of his ankles everywhere. What can he say to keep himself safe? Does he even deserve it?

"No," Tim admits.

Adwin walks up to Tim, unsure if he should touch him or not. Comforting children when they skin a knee is easy, and though he may look it, Tim is not a child. This problem is not spilled milk. It is a war, threatening his family. It is everything he fears. "You don't have to be fine. Just know that this is not your fault."

Tim clenches his teeth together to prevent himself from bursting out in a fit of roaring laughter and tears. He begins to understand why Hubert is so unhinged.

"Everything in this whole place is my fault," Tim says, and he means it.

Like Adwin, Maverick is watching Tim. His jaw is wound tightly as he stokes the fire, only glancing up past his furrowed brow. Something about all of this seems off to him, whether Adwin is willing to admit it or not. He knows very little about who Tim was in his past life, and he realizes people know very little about him. They are all strangers marooned together.

Maverick tries not to judge people, he really does. Especially when he has tormented others for very little. Maverick worries that all of this suspicion is the result of aggression, built up over years of compliance. Even if he would like to be, he is not the hero. He is not even the protagonist in his own story.

"What are you thinking?" Alvaro asks him. He shuffles on the log, and the whole thing tilts.

Maverick manages to catch himself, just in time. He grunts as he dusts off his hands. "I think you're trying to send me flying into the fire."

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Somewhere in the forest, an owl hoots. The sound practically makes Maverick jump out of his seat.

Alvaro grins. "It's not your night, is it?"

"I am from the city," Maverick points out. "Nature has never really been my thing."

Even though he is unsatisfied, an unanswered question still on his lips, Alvaro lets the silence return. He's used to reading into the smallest gestures of people since in his profession it is rare to put all of one's cards on the table. Alvaro is not insatiable. He lusts, but he doesn't hunger. If Maverick would like to keep his secrets to himself, Alvaro will let him.

Still, he notices how Maverick's eyes linger on Tim.

"I don't trust it either," Alvaro whispers, praying to God that no one, not even Maverick hears him.

"Pardon me?" Maverick asks, turning to face him.

Alvaro simply shrugs.

He looks to Hubert, watching as the brunet sways on the log, nearly tipping over. Hubert tosses a flask in the dirt, and pulls another one out from the pocket of his jacket. He brings it up to his lips.

Flo is the only other to notice Hubert. The others have ears caressed by hushed tones, and fingers wrapped in soft touches. Flo, decidedly, does not need comforting in this moment. Instead, she looks for others to hold up.

Alas, she needs a partner to help Hubert home, and only one other person's eyes are on Hubert. Flo stands up and walks over to Alvaro. She grabs him by his sleeve and pulls him off the log. As he is dragged, (willingly, I might add) he winks at Maverick.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Alvaro asks.

Flo rolls her eyes. Really, he is thinking about the conclusion she has already reached. Together, they approach Hubert.

"Let's walk you home," Flo instructs. Without waiting for Hubert's response, she gestures for Alvaro to help lift him. And he does, propping him up.

Maverick, Clara, and Mickey all turn to watch them leave. Clara pulls her hand away from Mickey.

As the other three walk back to Hubert's house, he hiccups.

"I don't imagine that you were drinking for pleasure tonight," Flo looks over to Alvaro for support.

"Yeah," he continues. "Ummm... you buggin' out?"

"What?" Hubert asks, shaking his head. No matter how much he practices English, he'll never be able to understand all of their complex expressions. "I'm fine."

Flo steps a bit closer to them, so she is practically attached at the hip. "If you ever need someone to-"

"I said I'm fine," Hubert rips himself out of Alvaro's grasp. He stumbles forward up the hill, failing to catch himself. Then, he pulls himself up and drags himself away.

Flo moves to go after him, to ask him a question, to make sure he is okay, but she is blocked by Alvaro.

"Let him cool down," Alvaro tells her, certain he is making the right decision.

"He's hinky, at the very least," she says, pushing past him to go and grab Hubert.

She makes it there, Alvaro only a few steps behind, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Hubert Tremblay, you know, you ought to tell us what's the beef."

He can't tell if he is drunk or if she isn't making any sense. "Excuse me?"

"Just leave him be," Alvaro hisses, wrapping his hand around Flo's wrist.

She shakes her head staring him down.

Hubert's brow furrows. He stumbles up to Flo and Alvaro, towering over the blonde girl. He puts his hand on her cheek and leans down so that his lips are just next to her ear.

"This isn't the first time someone's died and it was my fault. I lost count after twenty."

Flo blinks. Hubert pulls back and walks up the hill.

~~~~~

Bev hated the fire. It drew in bugs, which nicked her on the little exposed skin she had, driving her up the wall. She ended up taking her hair down to cover more of her face, but it still wasn't enough. So, she had wandered away.

After all, the forest called. Beverly decided to answer.

Besides, Bev imagined Ivy as a forward woman. Certainly not one to sit around a fire late at night and whisper. No, Ivy loved to explore, from what little she gathered. The best way to serve her memory is to wander through the forest by the beach.

So, her feet step carefully over the logs, without one hand to steady her. Flo is going to need a longer glove, as the rot is beginning to creep up towards Bev's elbow. She has lost all the feelings in her fingers.

When Beverly steps forward, she hears the calling stop.

There is a figure, glowing white. Around the edges, the figure turns to smoke that billows out around them. Its radiance casts a shimmer on the trees. It reaches a hand forward, outstretched towards Bev. It is too far away from Beverly to touch her, but Bev finds herself matching her stance and leaning forward.

Then, it is gone.

~~~~~

I do not have the next chapter prepped yet, but I couldn't resist this! I'm so excited. Can you figure out which line, which I think changes the rest of the course of the book? It's my favourite.