He watched her hands more than her face.
Reika Sato was quiet, precise, and sharper than she let on—same as her power.
She didn't waste movement. Every time she lifted her fingers, tiny crystalline shards of glass formed like water freezing midair, then snapped forward in thin, controlled arcs. Her accuracy was almost unnatural.
She wasn't flashy like Denzel. She didn't bark orders or boast. But she hit what she aimed at—every time.
And no one in camp was paying attention to her tier.
But Yuren was.
B-Rank. Mid-range attacker. Minimal stamina cost. High control ceiling.
Perfect second power.
It had been twelve days since the Fall.
Two days since he'd confirmed Titan Grip was successfully copied.
And now? The ten-day timer had reset.
He was eligible again.
One more copy.
The problem wasn't proximity.
He was already in range. He spent half his patrol shifts with Reika. He ate when she ate. Walked perimeter with her twice a day. Helped clean her glass shards off trees and crates.
The issue was morality.
Gerrard had died. Yuren didn't choose to take from him—it just happened.
But Reika?
Reika was alive.
Sharp. Guarded. Maybe even starting to trust him.
So why did he feel like he was about to steal something?
They were walking the north edge of camp, just the two of them, dusk settling around them like smoke.
She glanced at him sideways. "You're quiet today."
Yuren shrugged. "Didn't sleep much."
Reika nodded. "You're not the only one. Chloe and Denzel nearly came to blows over ration storage."
"Let me guess," he said. "He wanted to lock it up."
"And guard it with only his guys." She gave a humorless smile. "She told him to choke on it."
They walked a little farther.
"You ever think about what's coming?" he asked.
"The next group?"
"Yeah."
"All the time."
Reika stopped near a stone ridge and crouched, tracing her fingers across the dirt.
In a heartbeat, a dozen tiny shards of glass formed at her fingertips.
She didn't fire them. Just watched them shimmer.
"You think we're gonna make it?" she asked, not looking at him.
Yuren didn't answer right away.
He was too focused on the way her hands moved.
The muscle memory. The breath control. The micro-adjustments. That's what it would take to master it after copying.
He already felt the faint hum in his fingertips.
His body was absorbing the shape of it. Learning the weight. Like holding a violin for the first time—awkward, but full of potential.
He closed his eyes.
And somewhere in the quiet beneath the wind and birds—
It clicked.
The tension.
The tiny flicker inside.
Replication succeeded.
That night, he didn't sleep.
Instead, Yuren walked to the far edge of camp and raised one hand.
He focused.
Glassshot.
It wasn't instant. The shards formed slowly, unevenly. The angles were wrong.
They cracked as they formed.
The first one snapped in half before he could fire it.
He tried again.
Better.
But not perfect.
He grinned despite himself.
Power copied. Now comes the hard part.
The sixth morning came with birds falling silent.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just gradually enough that Chloe noticed first.
Yuren heard her mutter it under her breath as she scanned the jungle from a lookout post made of woven branches and salvaged rebar.
"The birds stopped singing."
No one took it seriously until Reika's glass trap triggered.
It was barely audible from camp—a crack, like a dry twig snapping under pressure.
They rushed to it in a group. Chloe, Denzel, Reika, Tyrell, and Yuren. Half the camp followed a few steps behind, whispering.
At the far edge of the perimeter, just inside the brush, they found the shards—a spray of broken crystal embedded in tree bark, like shrapnel from an invisible mine.
And something else.
Footprints.
Not dinosaur. Not beast.
Human.
The camp swirled with theories before sundown.
"It's one of ours."
"No—it's someone from another group who got separated."
"They're watching us."
"Then why haven't they come in?"
"Maybe they want to see what we do first."
"Or maybe they're planning to take what we've built."
Yuren stayed quiet. But his mind was already spinning.
This wasn't the next Fall. That was still eighteen days away.
Whoever was out there had either survived alone this long—or was part of a splinter group.
Neither option was good.
Chloe tried to keep the peace. Denzel didn't bother.
"We find them, we take what they've got," he said. "Or they come back later with friends and cut our throats. That's how it works out here."
Chloe's voice was ice. "Not if we show them we're not a threat."
"You think that stops people anymore?" he snapped. "You trust a stranger in a world where half of us can burn down a forest by sneezing?"
No one had an answer.
That night, Yuren stood alone at the outer rim of the clearing.
He'd started calling it The Ring — a circular perimeter he walked twice a day. At first to practice Trace Sense, then to train his grip, and now… to test his new power.
He reached out.
Concentrated.
Glass shimmered into the air—just one shard, no bigger than a thumbnail. It hovered unsteady in front of his palm.
He pushed it forward.
It spun out, jittering, and embedded itself in a tree trunk with a thok.
Still not clean. Still not as fast as Reika.
But it was his.
He pulled his hand back—and froze.
A movement trail.
Right at the edge of Trace Sense's range. Human stride. Light tread. Slow.
Someone had just walked past.
Yuren turned on instinct.
Nothing.
Just darkness and brush.
But the trail was fresh. Five seconds ago. Still warm.
He raised his hand and formed another shard.
"Come out," he said quietly. "I know you're there."
A pause.
Then—
A whisper. From behind him.
"You shouldn't show your hand so early, Kai."
Yuren spun around, but no one was there. The brush was undisturbed. No trail behind him.
The voice had come from the wrong direction.
He stepped backward, heart pounding.
Trace Sense was going haywire. Trails converging, bending, looping wrong.
Was that… intentional misdirection?
Whoever this was—they were masking their movement. Using some kind of ability to confuse his tracking.
That wasn't possible with anything B-rank or below.
Yuren clenched his fist.
This wasn't a random survivor.
This was a player.
And he'd just let them see too much.
Morning hit like a bruise—hot, swollen, and restless.
The camp moved slower now. Not because they were tired, but because they were watching each other. Too much silence. Too many missing rations, altered patrol routes, and half-lies passing for truth.
And Yuren hadn't told anyone what happened the night before.
Not yet.
He stood over the same spot where the trail had shimmered—just at the edge of Trace Sense's reach. His vision pulsed faintly as he scanned it again.
Still bent. Still wrong.
The footprint trail had doubled back on itself… but not in a mirrored way. More like a pattern deliberately corrupted—as if the person knew what he was using to see them.
That shouldn't be possible.
Only Reika, and maybe Chloe, even knew he had Trace Sense at all.
Which meant whoever had whispered to him last night?
They were experienced.
And they knew how to play with tracking powers.
"Anything?" Chloe's voice broke the quiet behind him.
Yuren didn't flinch. "Not a beast. Someone was here. Human. Skilled."
She stepped closer. Her eyes flicked around the treeline.
"We've had eyes on every patrol. Unless they're hiding in trees or teleporting, they'd have to come from outside."
"That's what I think."
She narrowed her gaze.
"Alright," she said. "Then it's time we stop waiting."
He looked at her.
"I want you to lead a scout team," she said. "Small. Quiet. No Denzel. I don't trust him outside the walls if he smells fresh blood."
Yuren didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."
"You'll pick who goes with you. Two others, max. Keep it lean. Reika's suggested some possible trails worth checking… but don't engage anyone unless you have to."
Yuren glanced at her. "You're letting me choose?"
"You've got instincts. People listen to you more than you think."
He didn't say anything, but he filed that away.
The more Chloe trusted him, the more dangerous it would be if she ever found out what he could really do.
He picked Reika first.
Not just because she was useful—her glass-shard strikes were fast, clean, and silent—but because he needed to stay close to her. Training her power, even after copying it, was like learning an accent by living with a native speaker. Every day around her made him sharper.
He considered Tyrell.
But instead, he picked Mason—a C-rank with a weird heat-sensing ability. Useless in combat, but perfect for recon and detecting hidden movement.
The three of them headed out by late morning, armed with only what they could carry and a shared promise not to die stupidly.
By early afternoon, they found it.
A false camp.
Just over a ridge. Low ground. Smart placement.
And clearly not abandoned.