9. Now you are afraid
"Keep up" he says walking in front of me directly into the woods.
There's no path, he just gracefully climbs and jumps around branches and stones while I stumble behind, trying to keep up.
The walk is quiet, he doesn't seem to want to hear me talk.
That's fine with me, as I need all my concentration on not falling every other step.
When we finally reach something that looks like a small trail, I stop for a moment to catch my breath.
"What exactly do you know about our pack?" he asks suddenly, breaking the silence.
I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts. When I don't immediately answer, he stops and turns around, his dark eyes scrutinizing me.
"Did you not hear my question?" he presses, taking a step closer.
"I heard you," I say, still trying to steady my breathing.
"And yet you don't answer." His voice remains calm, but there's an edge to it now. "Are you already reconsidering your promise to find the truth?"
I bite my lip, too nervous to answer his question but also too scared to say something else.His eyes drop to my face. He tilts his head slightly, studying me. Maybe he's thinking about what to do with me, whether I'm actually worth the whole ordeal.
"Is silence how all Communicators begin their work?" he asks dryly. "Or is this a special technique you've developed?"
I breathe in deeply and try to speak without the shaking in my voice. "We know less than you think."
He laughs without humor. "We already know that."
His response catches me off guard. "And how do you know that?"
"Your kind has been 'communicating' with us for decades," he says, "Yet you understand nothing of substance."
"That's not—" I start to defend, then stop myself. He's right.
"No defense?" He raises an eyebrow. "Interesting."
"I'm not here to defend the past," I say carefully. "I'm here to deal with what's happening now."
He studies me for a moment. "At least you're honest about your ignorance. That's... unusual."
I open my mouth, then close it again, unsure if that was a compliment or an insult.
"As I thought," he says, turning to continue walking.
I watch him for a moment as he moves ahead. There's something about him that doesn't fit. He doesn't seem unhinged or aggressive. There is something more calculated, more... political.
"Wait," I say, quickening my pace to catch up. "I have questions."
"I'm sure you do," he replies without slowing. "Unfortunately, answering them isn't my priority today."
"You said you wanted justice," I remind him. "Justice requires understanding."
That makes him pause. He turns slowly, regarding me with those intense dark eyes.
"Understanding requires honesty," he counters.
"I am being honest."
"Are you?" His gaze sharpens. "Or are you just reciting what they taught you to say?"
The question catches me off guard. "I'm trying to prevent more deaths. Isn't that what matters right now?"
A humorless smile crosses his face. "Bold assumption from someone who's been here less than a day."
"Then help me understand," I press, taking a deliberate step toward him.
He doesn't move, watching me with something like curiosity now. "Could you ever?" He takes a step toward me, then another. "How could you ever understand our suffering?"
Because I suffered too.
I don't say it out loud. I can't.
"You're quiet," he observes after several minutes of silence. "What exactly do you think I want, Communicator?" he asks, voice dangerously soft.
I take another deliberate step toward him. "Information. Understanding. The same things I want."
His eyes track my movement with surprise. "Your survival instincts are lacking," he says, his voice strangely tight.
"Am I wrong?" I ask, taking another step closer.
Something flickers across his face—surprise, wariness, and something else I can't identify. We're barely a foot apart now, close enough that I have to tilt my head up to maintain eye contact.
"You know nothing—nothing about what your people do every day, nothing about what they did to us. This murder is just the next thing they..."His hands ball into fists at his sides, and something flashes across his face—frustration at his own outburst, at revealing too much.
I flinch involuntarily and step back, my heart hammering against my ribs. I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing, but my hands tremble slightly at my sides.
His anger radiates off him in waves, but beneath it, I catch something raw and unexpected. Genuine pain. A desperation that makes me think what happened between our kinds runs so deep, I have a lot to learn.
His eyes track every small movement, noting my reaction. "Now you are afraid," he states, voice lowered to something almost gentle.
"I was always afraid," I say honestly.
He steps back immediately after hearing the words, giving me space again, then turns away and continues walking. "Maybe you should think about who the real threat is," he says, his voice low. "We're wasting time. Let's go."