I woke slowly.
Not the kind of waking where your eyes open and that's it—but the kind where your body negotiates first. Limbs heavy. Thoughts delayed, like everything had to pass through something thicker before reaching me.
For a few seconds, I didn't move.
The ground beneath me felt firmer than I remembered. Or maybe I just noticed it more. My shoulder pressed into it at an angle that wasn't comfortable enough to ignore, not uncomfortable enough to fix immediately.
I considered shifting.
Didn't.
Then the smell reached me.
Warm. Oily. Clean in the way fire-cooked food always is. It cut through the fog behind my eyes.
Fish.
My stomach reacted before I did.
I pushed myself up, one hand bracing against the thin padding. My arm trembled slightly—not weakness, just leftover strain. The kind that lingers after pushing past what your body politely recommends.
I didn't like that.
The tent fabric brushed my shoulder as I leaned forward and stepped out into the morning.
Light came first.
Not harsh—just present. The kind that tells you the day has already begun without you.
Voices followed.
Low. Casual. Already moving.
They were awake.
Of course they were.
"Good morning," I said, my voice rough at the edges.
The air was cooler than expected, brushing my face, slipping under my sleeves. The fire from last night had burned down to embers—still alive, but no longer demanding attention.
I lowered myself onto a nearby seat.
The ground here was uneven, packed dirt with small stones that shifted faintly under my weight. I adjusted once, then again, before settling.
Still not comfortable.
Good enough.
Noi stood near the fire, focused.
She held a pan at an angle, oil gathering to one side. A piece of fish rested in it, skin down, edges crisping. The surface shimmered as heat moved through it. She sprinkled something over it—thyme, by the smell, and something sharper beneath.
"How was your night?" she asked without looking up.
She flipped the fish.
Clean. Controlled.
Too clean.
"It was fine…" I said, pausing as I reached for the rest of the thought. It didn't come cleanly. "I think."
That didn't sound convincing.
I let it stand anyway.
I shifted slightly, turning toward Yoru.
He sat a little apart from the fire, cup in hand, posture relaxed but not loose. The kind of stillness that comes from awareness rather than comfort. Steam rose faintly from his drink.
Beside him, Bao was writing.
Head lowered, pen moving steadily across paper. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Whatever he was putting down had already been arranged in his mind.
I envied that.
"Where did you catch the fish?" I asked, accepting the cup Yoru handed me.
The heat seeped into my fingers.
Grounding.
"Salmon," Noi said instead. "And I bought it."
She slid the cooked piece from the pan onto a tray. It landed with a soft, final sound.
Done.
"Went to the village with Yoru. We were about to send a message and get breakfast."
Another piece went into the pan.
Immediate sound—sizzle, sharp and alive. Oil snapped outward in tiny bursts before settling again.
I lifted the cup and took a careful sip.
Bitter.
Strong enough to pull me the rest of the way awake.
I almost winced.
"How are you feeling?" Bao asked.
His pen stopped. He looked up—not sharply, just enough.
"Better now," I said, lifting the cup slightly as if it explained everything else.
It didn't.
But it was close enough.
He nodded once.
"Aid should be arriving in an hour or two."
Then his gaze dropped back to the page. The pen resumed.
Like the interruption had already been accounted for.
"Happy Crimson Day, by the way," Noi said.
There was a smile in her voice now.
I paused mid-sip.
"…What?"
She glanced back. "Look at the sky. You almost missed it."
I set the cup down beside me and pushed myself up. My legs protested slightly—not pain, just stiffness that had settled overnight.
I ignored it.
I stepped out from the edge of the campsite and tilted my head upward.
And stopped.
The sun was there.
Morning-bright. Steady. Familiar.
And beside it—
The moon.
Not faint. Not fading.
Present.
That alone felt wrong.
Its color didn't belong to morning. Pale, layered—pink, orange, something softer at the edges. Like it hadn't fully decided what it wanted to be yet.
The sky held both.
Not blending.
Not competing—at least, not yet.
"It almost looks like sunset," I murmured, squinting slightly. "Or… another sunrise."
The words didn't quite fit.
But they were close.
Something in my chest loosened.
A small smile slipped through before I could stop it.
I didn't expect that.
"If you like that," Noi said behind me, "you're going to enjoy the rest of the day."
Enjoy.
I wasn't sure that was the right word.
She handed me a plate as I turned back.
The heat reached my fingers immediately.
"Thank you."
I sat again, adjusting the plate on my lap. The fish flaked slightly as I pressed into it. Steam rose, carrying the scent upward—rich, clean, touched with whatever she had added earlier.
I took a bite.
The outside resisted just enough before giving way. The inside was soft—almost too soft—heat spreading quickly across my tongue.
For a moment, nothing else mattered.
That felt… dangerous.
"Why?" I asked after swallowing.
Noi didn't answer immediately.
She had already turned, walking toward the bound figure at the edge of the campsite.
They were awake now.
Sitting upright. Back supported against a pack. Bandages wrapped cleanly where there shouldn't have been bandages needed in the first place.
They looked… calm.
Too calm.
I didn't trust that.
"It is because," the prisoner said, voice steady, "in every three hours, the hue of the red deepens."
I paused mid-motion.
"…What?"
"In every three hours," they continued, "until finally, by forty-eight, the moon settles into an intense red."
The campsite shifted.
Not physically.
Attention did.
Everyone turned toward them.
"What?" Noi said. Her expression tightened—confusion, but something sharper beneath it.
"He is correct," Bao added, then paused slightly. "Or she is correct."
They glanced between us, almost amused.
That annoyed me more than it should have.
"What is your name anyway?" Noi asked.
A beat passed.
"Camero."
The name landed—and then fractured.
Noi laughed first. Not loud, but immediate. Yoru followed, quieter, controlled. Even Bao's shoulders shifted slightly, a breath escaping him that almost counted.
I didn't get it.
That bothered me.
"Bold of you to assume," Bao said after a moment, still writing.
"Wait—why are you laughing?" Noi asked, turning slightly.
"His name means 'will never be yours,'" Bao said. "I find that funny."
A pause.
Oh.
That—
That was actually a little funny.
I exhaled through my nose.
"…Why were you laughing?" I asked Noi.
She paused, then smiled—small, contained.
"The name Camero is gender neutral," she said. "It fits too well."
For a second, nothing moved.
Then the laughter came again—quieter this time. Not enough to break the morning, just enough to ripple through it.
Camero sighed.
Not offended.
Just… tired.
They continued eating.
I found myself watching them longer than I meant to.
Black hair, falling cleanly despite everything. A face that didn't settle into anything easily defined. Calling them male felt incorrect.
But so did the alternative.
That—
That again.
I didn't like that.
That thought pressed against something else—
Something that didn't belong here.
I lifted the coffee again, cutting it off before it could form fully.
Bitter.
Grounding.
I looked back up at the sky.
The sun hadn't moved much—but the moon felt different already. Not brighter.
Closer.
That wasn't possible.
Right?
Two lights.
Same space.
Too long.
The thought drifted toward Heiwa before I could stop it.
I exhaled slowly, letting it pass.
Not now.
My hand moved to my pocket, pulling out the watch. The metal felt cool against my skin, its familiar weight settling into my palm. I flipped it open.
Time moved normally.
Or at least—it looked like it did.
I didn't trust that either.
From what we had been told, that wouldn't last.
An hour.
Maybe two.
I closed it with a soft click.
For a moment, nothing demanded anything.
The fire crackled faintly behind me. The pan hissed as another piece of fish met heat. Someone shifted. Fabric brushed. A cup was set down.
It felt—
Simple.
Too simple.
Like a camping trip.
Like this was all it was.
A quiet morning. Good food. A strange sky.
The kind of moment people later pretend was normal.
I looked up again.
The colors hadn't deepened yet.
But they would.
And when they did—
This wouldn't feel like this anymore.
I knew that.
I just didn't know how bad it would get.