A shape moved at the edge of the lantern light—stepping into the halo with the calm of someone who owned it.

  It was Benson. A man who looked like he expected good news but got dogshit instead.

  He appeared much older than when Ralphie had last seen him. More lined. More carved from weather and responsibility. A rifle hung across his back, but his hands were empty.

  His eyes found Nigel first.

  For a second—just a flicker, relief cracked through the granite of his expression.

  “You made it back,” Benson said.

  Not a question.

  Nigel didn’t smile. “Barely.”

  Benson’s gaze shifted—and locked onto Ralphie.

  The hardness there changed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Benson muttered. “Ralphie.”

  The sound of his name hit harder than the wind.

  Ralphie straightened unconsciously. “Sir.”

  Benson huffed. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. Not after you snuck past my east perimeter at fourteen.”

  Despite everything—the blood, the tent, the smell of iron—Ralphie almost felt the ghost of embarrassment.

  “You said I couldn’t outrun your scouts,” Ralphie said quietly.

  “And you couldn’t,” Benson replied. “You just picked the one night I had a broken light.”

  Nigel shifted, tension still coiled in him. “We didn’t come to trade stories.”

  Benson’s eyes sharpened immediately. “I can see that.”

  His gaze dropped to the blood on Nigel’s sleeve.

  Then to Ralphie’s hands.

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  Then to the infirmary tent.

  “Who?”

  “Blanka,” Nigel said.

  Benson’s jaw flexed once. He didn’t react dramatically. Didn’t curse. Didn’t ask how.

  He just nodded once.

  “Marla’s the best we’ve got,” he said. “If she’s breathing, she’s got a chance.”

  Ralphie watched Benson’s face carefully. There was no accusation there. No territorial suspicion.

  Just a calculation.

  “How bad?” Benson asked.

  Nigel hesitated. That told Benson everything.

  “Gate held?” Nigel asked instead.

  “South post took damage,” Benson replied. “But it held.” His eyes cut briefly to Ralphie. “Your brother’s old diversion trick still works.”

  Ralphie blinked. “You saw that?”

  “I see everything that happens near my fence.”

  A guard jogged past them, carrying a crate of ammunition. Lanterns shifted. Someone shouted that the north line was clear.

  Benson listened. Measured. Filed it away.

  Then he stepped closer to Nigel.

  “You shouldn’t have had to run that route,” Benson said quietly. “It’s getting worse out there.”

  “We didn’t have a choice,” Nigel replied. “We needed antibiotics.”

  Benson’s eyes flicked to the tent again.

  Understanding dawned.

  “You found them?”

  Nigel nodded once.

  A long breath left Benson’s chest. Not dramatic. Just human.

  “Then it was worth it.”

  Silence settled between them. Not hostile but tense… Heavy.

  Ralphie spoke before he could stop himself.

  “They tracked us.”

  Benson looked at him sharply—but not dismissively.

  “How many?”

  “At least a dozen drones. Two ground scouts. Something else in the treeline.”

  That got Benson’s full attention.

  “Something else?”

  Ralphie swallowed. “It didn’t move like the others.”

  Benson studied him for a long moment—not like a stray. Not like a liability.

  Like a witness.

  “We’ll sweep at first light,” Benson said. “Double watch tonight.”

  Nigel’s shoulders remained tight. “We won’t stay long.”

  Benson’s mouth twitched slightly.

  “You say that every time.”

  “This time I mean it.”

  “You always do.”

  The corner of Benson’s eye creased—not a smile, but close.

  Then his expression hardened again.

  “You’re inside my perimeter,” he said evenly. “Which means you follow my rules until you leave.”

  Nigel bristled automatically.

  Ralphie felt it—old friction.

  But Benson didn’t escalate.

  “You know I don’t run a prison,” Benson continued. “But I don’t run chaos either.”

  His gaze shifted to the infirmary tent.

  “If she pulls through, you’ll have daylight to rest.”

  And then, quieter—

  “If she doesn’t… We’ll handle it with respect.”

  The words weren’t cold.

  They were practical.

  Nigel’s jaw worked, but he nodded once.

  Benson turned slightly toward Ralphie.

  “You grew,” he said.

  Ralphie blinked. “I had to.”

  A long look passed between them—something unspoken about boys becoming soldiers too fast.

  Benson finally stepped back.

  “Welcome home,” he said.

  Not warmly.

  Not softly.

  But honestly.

  Then he walked toward the perimeter without another word, already issuing low commands to the guards.

  Nigel stood there a moment longer, breathing hard.

  Ralphie glanced at the tent.

  At the fence.

  At the forest beyond.

  Home.

  It didn’t feel safe.

  But it felt known.

  And for tonight, that was enough.