Chapter Text
The camp smells like damp wool and morning smoke. I wake to it pressing against my nose, a soft, choking blanket of routine. The brazier smolders low, orange sparks twisting in the fog like tiny spirits. A kettle rattles somewhere across the clearing. Someone coughs. Someone prays. Someone argues in a whisper about chores.
“Wake. Go, touch the day,” the Spawn whispers faintly, but today it’s different—softer. Approving. Almost coaxing. It lingers in the back of my mind as I sit up, almost like it's already aware of what I’m planning… or what I shouldn’t be planning.
My blanket is rough and still cold from the night. As I push myself upright, my vision swims for a moment—shadows collecting in the corners of the tent, forming half-faces that stare at me with empty sockets.
“You’re late,” one murmurs.
“No,” another corrects, voice smooth as melted tar. “They’re early. For him.”
The Spawn pushes the visions back with a warm buzz, like a familiar hand steadying my shoulder. They recede, shrinking into the folds of the tent.
Azure is already up, leaning against a crate, arms crossed, watching me like he always does. “You’re up early,” he says, tone neutral but knowing. His voice cuts through the remnants of the visions I had seen like sunlight.
I shrug, dragging my blanket off. “Yeah… couldn’t sleep well,” I mutter. Not entirely true. I’m buzzing too much, too aware of visiting Elliot today. Of what I’m doing. Of the rules I’m breaking just by wanting to see him. The Spawn hums faintly in the corners of my skull—approval? Warning? I can’t tell.
Azure raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment further. He’s used to me listening to things only I can hear by now.
I stretch my arms, feeling the stiffness in my shoulders. Someone stumbles past outside, muttering a prayer. A young one shoves open the gate flap, rushing by with a bucket of water. She nods politely to us, then averts her eyes; Azure is intimidating by presence alone, apparently. To me, he’s always been a giant bear with nothing to do but be kind.
“Let’s get going,” I say, grabbing my bag and lowering my voice. “Elliot should be at work.”
Azure’s expression softens with something between amusement and pity. “Lead the way.”
The path out of camp is familiar: thick mud, fog curling around tents, a child laughing somewhere in the distance. The laughter echoes strangely, splitting into two identical tones—one happy, one hollow, one clearly not real.
The Spawn murmurs with every step, “Watch. Observe. Prepare. Protect.”
Sometimes it’s a whisper. Sometimes a vibration. Sometimes a pulse that crawls under my skin. Today it feels… warm. Encouraging. Dangerous.
We pass Amarah’s tent. I don’t dare look closely, but a flash of movement inside reminds me that one wrong misstep could ruin everything. If the Spawn ever disapproves… Amarah would act. Swiftly. Brutally. To “correct my path.”
I know Azure noticed the way my steps hitch, but he says nothing.
By the time we reach the outer woods, the fog lifts slightly. I feel like I can breathe again.
We reach Builder Brothers Pizza long before noon. The smell hits first: dough, warm cheese, and something sugary burning slightly.
My chest loosens slightly, and I almost forget about the rules that me and Azure were breaking for a split second.
I push the thought aside and push open the door to the pizzeria.
Inside, the lights are too bright compared to camp. A neon sign buzzes. A kid slams tokens into an arcade machine just a bit too roughly. Someone complains that their drink is “all foam,” despite it clearly not being foam in the slightest.
Elliot is behind the counter, sleeves rolled, hair a little mussed, humming to himself. He’s wiping down the counter—preparing for another pizza, I assume—movements rhythmic and tired but peaceful. I stopped for a moment just to watch. My chest tightens in that familiar way—a soft, almost painful warmth.
Azure nudges me, and I shove my hands into my pockets.
“Hey,” Elliot says, looking up. His eyes flicker briefly to mine, a small smile tugging at his lips. I return it with ease.
“Morning,” I murmured back. A simple response, but it worked. It always works.
“You came again,” he says softly, almost conspiratorially. There’s a nervous excitement in the way he says it—as if he’s relieved, like my presence steadies him the way his steadies me.
His eyes flick to Azure. “Shouldn’t you be—”
I hold up a finger, grinning. “Shh! He got an off day!”
From what? The job Azure made up. We needed a way for Elliot to not question why he’s gone sometimes, so he came up with an excuse of working weekdays. It’s worked so far.
Azure leans on the counter, casual and impossible to read. “Busy day?” he asks, his usual opener.
Elliot shrugs, rolling dough with practiced ease. “Always. But it’s… nicer when you’re around.”
He glances at me when he says it.
My stomach flips.
The Spawn hums, low and approving: ”He notices. He trusts you. Keep him. Guide him to me.”
I slide behind the counter as he steps aside. I stand close enough to see the flour dust on his hands. The freckles on his nose. The faint marks on his wrist where grease burns healed.
“Let me try a slice,” I say softly, brushing my fingers against the edge of the cutting board.
He hands me one without hesitation.
The warmth of it, the smell, the small intimacy—it’s a kind of stolen normalcy that I feel like I’m abusing. The Spawn shouldn’t approve. It shouldn’t allow this, but it does. That alone is something that should worry me.
Azure watches us with that same neutral expression, but I catch the slight curve at the corner of his mouth. He knows what Elliot and I are. He knows every rule I’m breaking, that he could get me in trouble with Amarah for this.
But he doesn’t.
And I’m glad he doesn’t.
We linger awhile. Elliot talks about his coworkers—how Elise keeps burning breadsticks, how the manager yelled at someone for stacking boxes wrong, how a kid tried to pay with counterfeit money made of crayon. His voice is animated, expressive, alive.
He laughs at his own joke, and something in me shudders with affection.
At one point, I noticed flour on his cheek. I reach out before thinking, thumb brushing it away. He freezes for half a second, the sound of an oven going off blaring in the background.
Then he smiles, and Azure politely looks away.
I nearly choke on air.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. I lose track.
When Elliot turns to fetch something from the oven, a shadow flickers behind his shoulder—the Spawn, tall and faceless, bending over him.
Its head tilts slowly, as if curious about him.
As if considering him.
“Is he mine?” it whispers.
“No,” I whisper back, almost automatically.
It stares through me.
“Not yet.” I add.
I blink, and it’s gone. Like always.
Azure nudges me gently. “You okay?” he asks softly.
I nod. “Yeah,” I lied. “Just… him.”
The Spawn hums louder, like it’s pleased, vibrating at the edges of my thoughts: “Approval. Bond with it. Keep the seed safe. Guide him.”
I watch Elliot hum while he works, listen to his ranting about how the health inspector looks like a health hazard herself, the mess of orders piling up—and I laugh, pretending to be casual while tracking every detail. Every habit I can recognize. Every moment I can record.
Eventually, we step out into the afternoon sun. Elliot teases me about my awful sense of direction as we leave, and I laugh—really laugh.
The walk back is slow. Quiet. Tense.
“What if…” I begin, voice low, careful. “…what if Elliot could see the world like we do?”
Azure glances at me, surprised. “Like the Spawn?”
I nod. My heart hammers. “Just a little. Slowly. He might understand. Maybe even want to follow. Maybe he could—”
My voice fractures before I finish.
Azure watches me, calm. Patient. He always is. “You know you’d have to be subtle. Gentle. He can’t feel—he can’t find out. But if you really want to..plant the seed—only what he can handle, though, nightshade.” That nickname. That same nickname. Amarah sees it as a sign, but Azure just finds it..amusing.
The Spawn hums softly, thrilled. “Seed. Soil. Grow.”
My skin tingles, the sound vibrating in my chest.
When we reach camp, the gate guards nod stiffly. Inside, the world feels narrower again. Darker. Watched.
I pull out my journal as soon as we settle near the firepit. Ink scratches across the page as I write everything: his habits, smiles, jokes. I sketch the curl of his hair, the shape of his hands. The dimple when he tries not to laugh.
The Spawn murmurs beside me, approving: “Record. Plan. Protect.”
We’re taught to address every entry to the Spawn.
So I do.
Dear Spawn,
Amarah thinks he knows what’s best for me. That my path leads to Azure, always Azure, because that’s what the doctrine says. Azure is steady. Loyal. Predictable. He is everything Amarah thinks a partner should be.
But he doesn't see me. He doesn't see what you whisper.
Elliot is different. I didn’t expect to care like this. But I do. And the idea of losing him—of being forced away from him—feels like a trap I can’t breathe inside.
Yet there’s a loophole. A sliver of interpretation. If I guide Elliot toward you—carefully, subtly—then he isn’t an outsider. He becomes a possibility. A candidate. Someone Amarah can’t deny if he fits the doctrine as well as Azure.
I have to be careful. One wrong step and Amarah will punish me. Or worse—Elliot will walk away.
But I have a plan. A necklace. A symbol. A first push.
I think I can make this work.
Azure believes I can.
—Two Time.
I close the journal. No one else will ever read it. No one but the Spawn.
The camp is alive around me—shouts, laughter, quiet conversations. Shadows twist in the corner of my vision, distorted faces whispering my name.
“He’s lying,” one of the shadows hisses, its jaw splitting too wide, teeth too long. “Azure doubts you. Azure thinks you’re weak.”
Another shape flickers beside it—a taller, thinner smear of darkness with a voice like cracking ice. “Elliot will betray you. Outsiders always do.”
I grit my teeth and force my pen down harder into the journal as the whispers grow sharper, overlapping.
A third shadow crawls up the side of the tent pole like a spider, body bending at impossible angles. “Tell Amarah. Confess. Be cleansed.”
The Spawn presses over them like a warm, thick fog. They flatten instantly, folding into nothing—like paper burnt to ash.
A low hum washes through my skull. “Not now. Not them. Listen to me.”
It soothes the panic rising tight in my throat and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Azure settles down beside me, tossing a stick into the fire. “You wrote a lot today,” he notes, glancing sideways.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Needed to… get things sorted.”
He hums in acknowledgment, gaze flicking to the shadows behind me for a fraction of a second. He sees nothing. He always sees nothing. But he knows when I’m listening to something else.
“You look pale,” he adds. “Did you see—”
“No.”
Too fast.
Too eager.
Azure raises a brow. “Right.”
Kids run past us, playing tag, their laughter sharp and echoing strangely. One of the laughs splits in two—one normal, one warped and slowed, like something underwater.
I flinch.
Azure pretends not to notice. Like always.
A group of older members sit around the main fire, sharpening tools, murmuring softly about doctrine revisions and prayer rotations. Sister Venn catches me watching and gives a thin, polite smile—the kind people give when they’re not sure if you’re stable today.
Brother Hale approaches us, nodding stiffly. “Two Time, Azure. Amarah wants extra hands sorting medicinal herbs tonight. We’re low on some.”
Azure stands. “We can help after dinner.”
Hale hesitates. “Two Time first. Amarah asked specifically.”
Azure glances at me. That’s never a good sign.
I force a grin. “Sure. I’ll be there.”
Hale leaves.
Azure waits until he’s out of earshot. “Did you do anything suspicious today?...besides the usual?” he asks quietly.
I shake my head, but the Spawn murmurs warmly, “Truth is flexible. Truth serves purpose.”
I swallow. “No.” The truth, for once.
Azure studies me. “I believe you,” he says at last—not fully convinced, not fully doubting.
I close the journal, slip it back under my blanket, and wipe ink from my fingertips.
The fire crackles. The air smells like burning spice and damp ashes.
A shadow leans against the opposite tent post—tall, spindly, faceless, its head tilted in a slow, unnatural angle. It raises a finger to where its mouth should be.
Shhh.
Azure doesn’t see it.
No one sees it.
Only me.
Always me.
“Two Time,” Azure says gently. “You don’t have to force this plan. If it’s too much—”
“It’s not,” I say quickly. “I want Elliot safe. And… with me. I can do this.”
Azure sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Then be careful. I’m serious. Amarah’s watching you more than you think.”
The shadow behind him nods slowly, mockingly.
I pretend I don’t see it.
The camp grows louder as the sun dips behind the trees. Pots clang. Someone argues about ration counts. Someone else hums an off-key hymn. Children chant a half-remembered prayer while chasing each other in circles.
Everything feels too bright. Too noisy.
Azure pats my shoulder and walks off toward the healer’s tent.
I rise to my feet, stretching my stiff back.
The shadows ripple like fish beneath a dark surface.
One whispers in my ear, voice syrup-sweet:
“Bring him here.”
Another whispers:
“Let us meet him.”
And a third:
“Make him ours.”
The Spawn presses down on them sharply, a pulse that vibrates through my bones. They flatten and dissolve again, leaving only smoke and quiet echoes.
Its voice fills my head—warm, heavy, absolute: “Patience, little nightshade. One step. One seed. You will lead him to me in time.”
I breathe out slowly.
A plan.
A purpose.
A direction.
I need those. I always need those.
Somewhere across camp, Amarah’s silhouette moves past the fire, looking for me.
I force my expression to be neutral.
Tonight, I need to behave.
Tomorrow, maybe, I can visit Elliot again.
The Spawn hums approvingly, a sound like a heartbeat echoing inside my skull.
As I wander, I nod and smile politely at other members.
An older man sharpens tools. A young girl burns her fingers on a lantern and yelps. Someone stirs a pot of something that smells like herbs and damp earth. Everyone is busy. Everyone is loyal.
Everyone is watching.
Watching for that one person to step out of line.
Nobody knows who it is, or when they will, but they’re waiting for it to happen.
The Spawn whispers once more, “Everything is an observation. Everything is an opportunity.”
Everything feels sharper. More deliberate.
Azure finds me sitting on a crate by the fire, scribbling into my journal mindlessly.
“Deep in thought?” he asks gently.
I look up, flushed. “I have to understand him. I have to keep him safe. Him… and the doctrine.”
He smiles faintly. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”
I breathe out a small laugh, one of the real ones.
I close my journal, and the Spawn hums—pleased, resonant.
“Ready? Begin. Keep him.”
And maybe… just maybe, I am ready.
Ready to bend the rules to their limits, to be tested by the Spawn. I have to be subtle. I have to obey the Spawn in full, even when it contradicts everything I was taught. This is the Spawns greatest test for me, and I will pass it. I have passed the rest set out for me, and I see no world where I wouldn’t pass this one too.
This is the path. I’m not wrong, the Spawn isn’t wrong. It’s never wrong.
The Spawn wouldn’t speak to me otherwise.