The fire was slowly dying.
The single flame had shortened, its voice a feeble, weakened crackle, like ragged breathing in the cold air. It cast uneven shadows that flickered on the faces of the seven survivors, emphasizing the profound silence that had settled upon the group.
The young woman—Nour, the one Samer had propositioned—had been staring at the scar etched into Samer's cheek for some time. It wasn't a look of idle curiosity, but the focused, critical gaze of a mind desperate to anchor itself to something tangible in a world stripped of all meaning.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low, addressed to the fire as much as to him.
"Your wound… is it old?"
Samer did not reply immediately. He reached up, his fingers tentative, and traced the line of the scar with his index finger, pressing lightly as if the minor pain were a necessary reminder of his continued, physical presence.
"Relatively old."
He paused, then offered a short, humorless laugh—a dry rasp in the cold air.
"Looks a bit like the Joker's mouth, doesn't it? Though only one side."
No one laughed. The tension in the circle tightened palpably.
Elias lifted his eyes toward Samer, his expression unreadable. The others subconsciously braced their bodies.
Samer took a deep, shuddering breath, a long exhale that sounded as if it had been trapped within him for years.
"A girl gave it to me."
Nour finally turned her attention fully to him.
"How?"
He hesitated. For the first time since their awakening, Samer sat completely still, his nervous energy momentarily suspended.
"Robbery."
One flat word. Then he elaborated, his gaze fixed on the dying embers.
"A pharmacy. Late night. I was looking for… you know."
He didn't need to specify drugs. The context, his behavior, and his agitation had already built the unspoken truth.
The fire sputtered, a sharp, validating crack.
"She was alone."
He paused again, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, forcing the others to lean in slightly to catch the chilling words.
"I wasn't conscious. Not in the usual way. But I wasn't asleep, either."
At this point, the quality of the air perceptibly shifted. The focus of the group sharpened from general anxiety to specific, moral dread.
He did not use the word rape. He did not need to.
He only said:
"She tried to stop me."
He raised his head, looking directly into the pathetic flame.
"She smashed a glass bottle… and she struck me here." He pointed to his cheek. "Then she ran."
He offered no sequel. He did not mention the police, or lack thereof. He did not claim consequence or rehabilitation.
No one asked.
The silence that followed was not one of empathy. It was a silence of ruthless, immediate evaluation.
Then, the anomaly occurred.
The fire, which had been on the verge of extinguishing, suddenly flared. Not violently, but with distinct, undeniable clarity.
The flame rose higher. A noticeable, immediate warmth spread outwards.
Rami, the silent observer, was the one who spoke, his voice low with genuine shock.
"Did… did anyone else see that?"
Samer looked at the renewed fire, his face pale beneath the renewed light. For the first time, he looked truly, deeply terrified.
Elias stated the hypothesis in a tone of lethal calm.
"You confessed. And the fire rewarded you."
No one smiled. No one felt relief.
But everyone understood the message. The system required a specific form of payment: Moral disclosure.