The Trap
1258 Words
Eywa POV
The camp is quieter tonight.
Not silent, but subdued in a way that has nothing to do with rest. The usual noise still lingers. Low conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, but it feels thinner now, stretched over something else.
Expectation.
They know we are getting closer.
They feel it in the way the hunts have changed, in how often we return with less certainty than before, in how the Alpha is no longer a distant objective but something present, something moving within reach, shaping the way we move just as much as we try to shape him.
It unsettles them.
It sharpens me.
I sit just beyond the firelight, a small blade turning slowly between my fingers as I map the forest in my head. The trails he has been leaving. The shifts in direction. The places where the terrain forces movement into narrower paths.
He doesn’t run.
He redirects.
So I stop following.
A twig snaps somewhere behind me.
Light.
Careless.
I don’t turn.
“You’ve been out there again,” a voice says.
Close enough to be deliberate.
I let the blade turn once more before stilling it between my fingers.
“Yes.”
A brief pause follows.
Then movement, closer this time, until Thom steps into my peripheral vision. He doesn’t sit immediately, just stands there as if weighing how much space I’ll allow him.
Not much.
“You’re going alone,” he says.
Not a question.
“No.”
A short, humorless breath leaves him.
“That’s not what it looks like.”
I glance up at him then, just enough to acknowledge him.
“What it looks like,” I say evenly, “is that I’m getting closer.”
“And what it looks like to the rest of us,” he replies, “is that you’re not telling anyone how.”
I don’t answer.
Because there isn’t one I’m willing to give.
A couple of the others drift closer, drawn by the shift in tone more than the words themselves. Sara leans against one of the nearby posts, arms crossed, her attention sharp and assessing. Kim settles onto a crate, relaxed in posture but watching closely, like she’s storing reactions for later.
“Come on,” Sara says, her voice light but edged. “If you’ve got something, we should all be working it.”
“I am,” I reply.
“Alone,” Kim adds.
“Yes.”
That earns me a look.
Not surprised.
Annoyed.
Thom steps closer, just enough to close the distance in a way that would feel intrusive if I cared.
“We’re supposed to be a team,” he says, quieter now. “That’s the whole point of this. You don’t get to just decide you’re doing this on your own.”
I meet his gaze, steady.
“I’m not asking you to follow.”
“That’s not the issue.”
“It is for me.”
The words land cleanly.
No hesitation.
Around us, the others shift slightly, the tension settling in more clearly now that there is nothing left to soften it.
Thom exhales slowly, dragging a hand through his hair as he tries again, adjusting his angle.
“Your obsession with this Alpha is getting out of hand,” he says. “You’re pushing further in, staying longer, not reporting what you’re finding. That’s not strategy. That’s...”
He stops himself.
I don’t help him.
“It’s not your concern,” I say.
His jaw tightens.
“It is if it gets you killed.”
A faint smile touches my mouth.
“That hasn’t happened yet.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No,” I agree quietly. “It isn’t.”
For a moment, we just look at each other.
He is closer than the others now, close enough that I can see the strain beneath the frustration, the way his expression tightens around something that has nothing to do with the hunt.
I’ve seen it before.
I ignore it.
“What’s your plan?” he asks.
There it is.
Direct.
Simple.
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make the answer clear before I give it.
“I don’t have one you need to know.”
Sara lets out a quiet, amused breath behind him. “That’s one way to say nothing.”
Thom doesn’t look away from me.
“Eywa.”
Just my name.
Nothing else.
For a fraction of a second something almost shifts.
Almost.
Then it settles again.
“You’re wasting time,” I say.
That’s enough.
I see it in the way his shoulders drop slightly, the tension giving way to something quieter.
Resignation.
He glances briefly at the others, who are still watching, still waiting to see if this turns into something more.
Then he looks back at me.
“Whatever, Eywa,” he says, the edge gone now, replaced with something heavier. “It’s your funeral.”
He hesitates for a moment, like he might say something else.
I don’t give him the space.
I just shrug.
That’s all it takes.
He steps back, turning away, the others shifting with him as the moment dissolves.
“That was a bit harsh, Thom,” Kim says with a crooked smile. “You sure you like her?”
Sara snorts softly.
Thom doesn’t smile.
He glances back once, his expression tightening just enough to register before he looks away again.
“I can’t help someone who clearly doesn’t want it,” he mutters.
The words carry.
I don’t react.
By the time their voices settle back into something quieter, I’m already moving.
The forest takes me in without resistance.
The moment I leave the firelight behind, everything sharpens again. The noise fades. The structure disappears. What remains is cleaner.
Simpler.
Real.
I move without hesitation, following the path I chose long before the conversation ever began. The terrain shifts as I go deeper, narrowing where the trees press closer together, forcing movement into specific lines.
That’s where he leads.
That’s where I stop following.
I cut across the pattern instead, moving along the edges of the paths he favors, mapping the space between them instead of the trails themselves.
If he wants me to follow, I won’t.
If he expects me to adjust, I change the rules.
It takes time.
More than I usually allow.
But eventually I find it.
A place where the forest tightens just enough, where movement is limited from three sides, where the ground dips slightly before rising again.
A funnel.
Subtle.
But effective.
I crouch briefly, studying the ground, the surrounding trees, the lines of sight, the angles, the blind spots.
He will pass through here.
Not because he has to.
Because it fits his pattern.
Because it’s efficient.
Because it makes sense.
And that is exactly why it will work.
I straighten slowly, shifting into position, letting the shadows fold around me where the light breaks unevenly through the canopy.
Still.
Silent.
Waiting.
This time, I don’t move.
I don’t follow.
I let the forest settle around me, every sense sharpening as the minutes stretch, as the quiet deepens into something that feels almost held.
And then it changes. The air tightens.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
He’s close.
Closer than before.
I don’t turn. Don’t shift.
I let him come.
Let him step exactly where I expect him to.
A shadow moves between the trees ahead.
Then he’s there. Exactly where I planned.
My grip tightens around the blade.
This time I don’t hesitate.
I move.
- Writer
