The forest was grey with the first light of dawn. I sat with my back against a moss-slick root, knees pulled to my chest, watching the embers of our fire pulse like a slow heartbeat. My watch. The last one. Everyone else was still lost to sleep — Al sprawled against a root, one arm thrown over his face; Kiran curled in a tight ball near the dead fire, his glasses askew; Lira wedged between two rocks like she was trying to disappear; and Titus, taking up more space unconscious than most people did awake, his breathing a low, steady rumble. I'd been sitting here for hours, letting my attenuation drift through the hollow, checking the edges of our shelter for any ripple of intent or movement. Nothing. Just the forest waking up around us — birds testing the air, something small rustling through the underbrush, the smell of damp earth and woodsmoke clinging to my skin.

I pushed to my feet, my joints complaining after the long stillness. The pendant swung against my chest as I stepped over Kiran's outstretched leg and crouched beside Al. His face was slack in sleep, the scar over his eyebrow a pale line in the grey light. For a moment I just watched him breathe — the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers twitched like he was reaching for something even in dreams. I touched his shoulder. "Al." His eyes opened immediately, fully awake, no groggy transition. That was a survival reflex I recognized. He blinked at me, the silver of his eyes catching the first pale light, and I felt the bond hum between us — warm, steady, we're still here.

"Time to move," I said quietly. He nodded, sitting up in one fluid motion, running a hand through his black hair. I moved on to the others. Kiran took a shake and a muttered "five more minutes" before his brain caught up with his mouth and he sat up, shoving his glasses back onto his nose. Lira came awake like a startled bird — eyes open, body tensed, cataloguing the space in a single heartbeat before she relaxed. Titus just opened his eyes when I said his name. Stared at me for three full seconds. Then stood up without a word, rolling his shoulders, ready.

"Alright," I said, standing at the center of the hollow as the others rubbed sleep from their faces and stretched. The fire had gone cold overnight, just ash and charred wood. "Here's what we need today. Food. More water. Intel on the other contestants. And we need to figure out if we're buying anything from the Memory Market." I let that hang. The word memory sat heavy in the air. No one spoke. "One rule. No one goes alone. We move in pairs or trios. Always."

Titus cracked his neck, a sound like rocks grinding together. "Split into pairs, then. Cover more ground." His voice was low, matter-of-fact. "Lira and me. We'll scout the eastern edge of the market. See who's set up stalls and who's watching from the shadows." Lira nodded, already braiding her hair back with quick, efficient movements. "I can move through the crowd without drawing attention. Titus can look like he's browsing while I listen."

"Kiran and I will take the river," I said. "We need clean water, and I want to see if there's a pattern to how the stalls are laid out." I looked at Al. He was already watching me, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're with me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he said. The bond flickered — warmth, amusement, the echo of his voice inside my chest even when his mouth was closed. I felt my face heat and turned away before anyone could notice, bending to scoop up the empty canteens. We agreed on a rendezvous point — a stone fountain at the market's center, cracked and dry, easy to find — and a time: three hours. If anyone didn't show, the others would come looking. No exceptions.

"Stay sharp," Titus said, his eyes sweeping over all of us. It wasn't a warning. It was a promise. He and Lira melted into the trees first, heading east, their footsteps swallowed by the forest floor. Kiran adjusted his glasses and looked at me. "River's west. About a quarter mile. I mapped the terrain while I was on watch." Of course he did. I nodded, and we set off, Al falling into step beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as we moved through the grey morning light.

The forest thinned as we walked, the ground sloping down toward the sound of running water. I could smell it before I saw it — clean, cold, the mineral tang of stone and silt. The river was wider than I expected, maybe thirty feet across, grey-green water sliding over smooth rocks. I crouched at the edge, dipping a canteen in, watching the current. Behind me, Kiran was already scanning the banks, muttering under his breath — calculating distances, angles, possible ambush points. Al stood a few feet away, his head tilted, listening to something I couldn't hear.

"There's a stall upstream," Al said quietly. "Just past that bend. I can feel it — someone's watching from behind the canvas." I straightened, water dripping from the canteen. "Friendly or hostile?" He considered for a moment. "Waiting. They're not moving toward us. They're just... watching." I looked at Kiran. He met my eyes and gave a small shake of his head — your call. I held the cold canteen against my chest and let my attenuation drift upstream, feeling for the shape of the presence Al had sensed. It was there — a tight knot of attention, patient, waiting. Not hostile. Not yet.

"We fill the canteens first," I said. "Then we decide whether we're buying or just looking." Al's eyes met mine, and I felt the bond carry something unspoken — trust you. I let myself feel it for a second, that warmth in my chest, before I turned back to the river and lowered the second canteen into the current. The water was cold enough to ache my fingers. I held on anyway.