The smoke from the fire mixed with the metallic scent of monster meat sizzling over the improvised grill. The crackle of burning wood blended with the distant hum of insects and the whisper of wind threading between the trees. Marcus leaned closer to the flames, turning a piece of meat with careful, almost mechanical movements. The last rays of sunlight painted the forest in gold and ash-gray, but his mind was elsewhere, still tangled in the hunt they had barely survived.
"We almost had them," Marcus muttered, breaking the long silence. "We eliminated the monster, but Duke and Victoria managed to slip away."
John lay stretched against a fallen log, hands behind his head, looking infuriatingly comfortable. His calmness felt like sandpaper against Marcus's nerves.
"Well… at least I managed to shoot Duke," John said, a crooked half-smile forming. There was a sharp, mocking glint in his eye. "Think about it. The only reason we didn't finish them was because something from outside the plan barged in. And we still killed three monsters. Not bad."
Marcus lifted his eyes from the fire. Something inside him tensed. John's ease wasn't soothing; it was unsettling, like watching someone walk across thin ice without caring if it cracked.
"'Not bad' isn't enough, John," he snapped. "You know that. Everything was lined up. Movements synced, attacks calculated. And then that monster comes out of nowhere… and by the time we dropped it, they were gone."
John shrugged, a lazy gesture that somehow felt like an insult to Marcus's frustration. A loose strand of hair fell over his eyes.
"I saw the situation too late," he said casually. "They outpaced us. Outguessed us. If we'd kept pushing, we would've screwed everything even worse. And that's the point: we didn't do anything wrong. Luck just kicked us in the face."
Marcus stopped tending the meat and set it aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The fire popped, sending sparks into the fading sky.
Then he looked at John.
"How do you do it?" Marcus asked, brow furrowed. "Seriously. How are you so calm when things fall apart? How does none of this get under your skin?"
John shifted slightly, crossing his arms like the question didn't weigh anything at all.
"Calm isn't the word," he said. "I just… shove it away faster than most. If something goes wrong, I put it aside. If something hurts, I put it aside. If something doesn't go how I want… same deal. I throw it in the same pile."
His tone carried no drama, no self-pity. Just an almost careless practicality.
"Dwelling on what already happened is wasted energy, Marcus. And I'm not donating energy to stuff I can't touch anymore. What's the point? Why keep circling around something you can't change? If we screw up today, we keep moving tomorrow. If we do something we don't like… then it stays where it happened. Like a backpack full of stones. You drop it and keep walking. Even if it used to be yours."
That last line came out lower, quicker, as if he didn't want to hear himself say it. But he didn't stop.
"People love to say you have to 'learn from the past.' Sounds deep. Epic, even. But for me? Looking back too much just slows everything down. I breathe, I focus on what comes next, and I move without carrying dead weight. What happened is gone. What matters is what's ahead. And what's ahead doesn't get better if you keep dragging old trash behind you."
He tightened his jaw for just a second. Something flickered in his eyes—an idea rising before he shoved it right back down.
"So that's it. I turn the page. Even if it's sloppy. Even if it's half-written. I turn it anyway. Spending too long looking backward freezes you in place. And if you freeze, you get eaten."
He shrugged lightly.
"My advice? Don't let the past stick its fingers into what you're doing now. Or into what's coming next."
Marcus exhaled sharply through his nose, almost annoyed by how simply John said things that should have been complicated. He stared at him, waiting for some crack in that composure.
"And you think that's healthy?" Marcus asked, eyebrows drawn into one straight line.
John tilted his head toward him and smiled with idle amusement, like Marcus had asked whether fire was hot.
"Healthy? No clue," John replied. "But it works for me. That's enough."
Before Marcus could argue back, he shifted the topic.
"And about Victoria… she's not coming back," Marcus said, poking the meat again. "She's smart. If she keeps hunting tonight, her odds of reaching top three are huge. She doesn't need to risk anything."
John let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"You really don't understand clan Transformers," he said. "Yeah, they're smart. But their pride? That weighs more than a Titan carcass."
Marcus frowned. "You're exaggerating."
"I wish I was. People like Victoria don't process retreat like normal folks. To them, running is losing. And they don't tolerate losing. They need the scales balanced, or they can't breathe right. 'A good chance at top three'? Not enough. They need total control, absolute certainty. Otherwise they implode."
Marcus stared into the fire for a long moment, unsure if he wanted John to be right or wrong.
A rustle of branches snapped both of them out of their thoughts.
Liora, Rylan, and Emma stepped through the trees, moving with the fatigue and quiet triumph of people who'd been working for hours. Emma arrived first, something metallic gleaming in her hand. With a mischievous grin, she dropped five fifteen-centimeter monster claws on Marcus's crude table. He picked them up briefly before returning his attention to the group.
Marcus looked to Liora.
"How many did you get?"
"Twenty-one," she replied. No pride, no theatrics. Just a clean, solid answer. "We split into two groups to cover more ground and pile up points. We regroup when possible for safety, but even so… we'd need a miracle for any of us to reach the top."
Rylan stood behind her, silent and severe as usual, leaning slightly on his weapon as his eyes scanned their surroundings. His tension was subtle but constant, like a bowstring ready to snap.
Emma knelt beside the fire, tossing in branches to stir up the flames.
"Intense day," she said cheerfully. "But we got a good haul. Now we wait."
Time passed. Darkness thickened. The fire shrank.
Then soft footsteps approached from the shadows.
Adrián emerged like a ghost materializing out of the night, breath tight, shoulders stiff, eyes fixed on the ground. Marcus and John both straightened.
"The silent explorer returns," John murmured.
Marcus sat up. "Adrián. Did you check the zone? Any sign Victoria was still there?"
Adrián gave a short nod.
Then shook his head.
Nothing.
Liora stepped forward. "Did you find anything at all?"
He gestured northward: old tracks. Faint. Then crossed his hands. Trail lost.
Rylan let out a frustrated exhale.
Emma lowered her gaze.
John smirked faintly. "Shocking. The mystery remains mysterious."
Marcus frowned. "So… nothing useful. No fresh signs."
Another small shake of Adrián's head.
Liora wiped sweat from her forehead. "So we still don't know if they moved far, changed direction, or if they're waiting to ambush someone."
John slouched deeper. "Meaning we know exactly as much as before. Which is nothing."
Marcus stared into the glowing embers.
"At least they're not on top of us. That's something."
Adrián sat beside the fire, barely making a sound. No words from him tonight, but the exhaustion in his posture was enough. He'd pushed himself to the limit, and he had found nothing.
A heavy silence settled over the group.
They didn't know if Victoria was regrouping.
They didn't know if she was hunting.
They didn't know if she was circling them right now.
They knew absolutely nothing.
Marcus swallowed hard.
"Tomorrow we decide our next move. And we do it with caution."
Adrián lifted his head once and nodded, barely. Enough.
The group sat quietly, surrounded by whispering trees and the fading crackle of the fire. In a world full of monsters and uncertainty, the flames were the only thing still alive, defiant against the darkness closing in around them.