Three weeks had passed since Celeste's capture.
Three weeks of tension, of healing, of *difficult conversations*. The camp slowly rebuilt—new cabins rising where old ones had burned, new defenses reinforcing weak points, new hope taking root in scarred soil. The smell of smoke had finally faded, replaced by fresh timber and wildflowers.
But the biggest change was Celeste herself.
She'd been given a small cabin at the edge of camp, watched constantly but not imprisoned. The arrangement made everyone uncomfortable—guards shifted uneasily during their shifts, and Celeste herself seemed uncertain whether she was a prisoner or a guest.
At first, the others had protested loudly. How could they let a traitor live among them? How could they trust someone who'd helped destroy their home?
Lena'
