The fire crackled low, its orange light casting flickering shadows across the cold, grainy sand. Around it, the Cohort had taken unusual places, segregated, silent, and simmering with unspoken tension.
Joseph and James sat together, their heads leaning in, their voices low and sharp. They were arguing about Damien again, whether he could be trusted, and whether the visions were real. But as always, James eventually nodded along, accepting Joseph's word as gospel. It didn't matter if he believed it, only that Joseph said it.
A short distance away, Damien sat cross-legged beside the Grey Monk. The two of them didn't speak, wrapped in their own silence. Nearby, the girls had clustered together, forming a quiet circle of their own. Damien had no idea what they were whispering about, and frankly, he didn't care.
