No matter the urge scratching at his back, the invisible hand grabbing the back of his neck and trying to twist it, he wouldn't turn around. Not to see her face crumbling, nor to see her big, bold, beautiful eyes swarming with tears she'd never let fall. Not to listen to her plea with him, promise she didn't mean what she'd said, to fall to her already bruised knees and apologize profusely for ever thinking the things she did.

Most of all, Miles wouldn't let her witness the emotions on his own face. His squinting up towards the blanket of leaves overhead, catching a few faint glimpses of sunlight pouring through, thawing the ice that grew around his heart. The corners of his lips drawing down, too painful to try to maintain in a straight, neutral line, especially when his feelings were far from neutral. And how his nostrils were still flaring as he recalled all the cruel things she'd uttered when she hadn't thought he'd been listening.

How hadn't Kera heard him coming? How had she not presumed that he'd feel her leaving their cabin—and definitely hear her—and that he'd follow her, to protect her? They were a team—at least, they were supposed to be—and that alone obligated to go after her. But he didn't have to hear what she'd been harboring inside that intricate mind of hers, and he wished he hadn't.

The growls dissipated—those that followed Kera into the depths of the woods, and that multiplied the closer she got to the exit. Miles sensed they were there for her, and yet he'd refused to acknowledge it, refused to turn away until he was sure what Kera was doing. The problem? He still didn't know what she'd planned, what she'd thought to do. Going up to the barrier and screaming for help? Did she think that'd get them anywhere?

That was the thing—them? She wasn't thinking of them. She was thinking of herself. Of her fears, her disbeliefs, her inability to accept that there was no way out of this. Certainly not by being rash and taking matters into her own quite inexperienced hands.

Scattering branches that fell into his way, Miles continued his trek away from the sparkly pink barrier and the negativity it radiated, the horrific visions it provoked. Memories of a young man—the same age as him, if he remembered correctly—getting pierced by a sharpened log, then smashed by another, his entire body flattened and fucked up, no trace of him left to even give him a proper burial. Nothing but blood that Miles knew still stained the forest floor, and some rotting guts that had shot into the bushes from the impact. And a stench that would never, never leave his nose.

And then that poor girl—an idiot, for sure, but still—who'd opted to test the barrier, who'd thought to get out when the other dude proved there was no way. Her arm cleanly sliced, then her upper body grossly separated from her lower, and she was dead on the spot. That fucked-up Mr. Reynolds barely batted an eyelash when transporting her away. That should have been the signal to all that he wasn't one to mess with. The death of others, of those he'd brought to this island under his care, wasn't an issue for him. As long as he racked up his count and completed his numbers—Miles snickered at the memory of what he'd said to Kera—a few decaying corpses weren't his concern.

And then Ms. Moreno. Milla. The only one who might have had the right idea, who was gathering the evidence to put an end to this shit-show—and Kera's prodding killed her. Nailed her to a tree by some sickened twist of fate. A dagger-like vine had torn through her, plucked her from the ground, and stuck her on the trunk, high enough for everyone to see. Like a message for any others who'd seek to get out: this is what happens when you push.

A shudder shocked through him and he picked up his pace, wanting to get as far from that area as possible. As far from Kera as possible.

She was bad news. She attracted trouble. All her questions were understandable, but she was going about things the wrong way, and now those forest monsters were on her ass. Miles had to look out for Miles—because if he wasn't around to figure out what in the hell was going on in this place, who would? Vick? Miles snorted—Vick didn't give two shits about anything but booze and his cock, and on this fucked up island, he could take care of both of those without issue.

And what of Jessa? Miles shivered; Jessa was an enigma he didn't want to dive into. Not only was he not a fan of hers before they'd trespassed, but he was less so now that this ruler-creature seemed to have chosen her as its emissary. She was dangerous, and it was evident with the sparkle in her eye and the way she embraced her role that she liked it.

With a gulp, he finally did turn his head slightly, if anything to check if he was being followed. There shouldn't have been any monsters on his tail—he'd been good about keeping his deepest desires too deep for them to decipher—but he worried Kera might have been catching up with him, adamant on switching the situation, on begging for his forgiveness until he caved. But he wouldn't cave, and if she was following him, her insistence would make him raise his voice, and the argument would only get worse. And that would draw the wrong kind of attention.

If only she'd been patient, if she'd agreed to comply with this island's messed-up rules, she'd have seen that Miles was working on it. For a split second, he regretted leaving her so harshly, without informing her that he, too, was going to do everything in his power to get the fuck off this island. But he was going to do it right.

He blew out a breath and sped up, considering plunging under the sparkling waters of a tiny creek he passed by. The liquid would feel good on his burning scalp, and cool down the steam he believed to be whooshing out from his head.

Kera was on the right track—wanting to get out—but she was disorganized and much too obvious with her intent. These gods—real or fake or somewhere in the middle, Miles wasn't certain he wanted to know—had made it clear they could sniff out fear and fakeness. That they took pleasure in blood and sex, and of course Kera was a walking billboard against all of that. And of course they'd center their vision on her, as she was the easiest target, the one they most expected to decline their rules. Why hadn't she understood that? Miles had no way of explaining it to her point-blank, not without placing another target on his back. He'd thought her to be smart—

"—no, she is smart," he said to himself, fists tightening at his sides as he slowed his rhythm. "She's not willing to bend to this bullshit, but she's not used to complicated situations like this. Sheltered, is that the word?"

He hated to use such a negative-sounding phrase for her, but it was true. She was an only child, a hard-working student, and had been home-schooled during most of the pandemic. Naturally, she hadn't been out there seeing things the way Miles had. His parents were scientists, and he'd been exposed to the virus and all its components, and had seen death up close several times. He'd grown up in labs, with knowledge of things most kids shouldn't have knowledge of. He couldn't say the same for Kera.

And then there were all the parties he'd thrown, the perils he'd put students in when offering them drinks when they were definitely underage, and watching the effects of all the drugs his parents had warned him against. He didn't do them, but he got a sick satisfaction seeing others experience those moods and having a hard time coming down from their clouds. He jotted down what he'd observed in a notebook, though he wasn't quite sure why, and often read his words at night to see if he found patterns, if the drugs enhanced pleasure, worsened it, and could treat mental illnesses. A passion of his—to help those in need through not-so-habitual means.

Not being a target was what Miles aspired to. Because once the gods realized he'd comply and provide them with the entertainment they wanted, then they'd set their sights elsewhere. And while those sights were elsewhere... that was when Miles would attack.

He guffawed. "Attack? That's hilarious, dude. More like run."

He wished he could say Kera had fucked with his own agenda, his own plans of escape; but he didn't have any plans, not yet. He hadn't had time to come up with any means of leaving this dreadful shit-hole, as he'd meant to investigate from the inside, to be sneakier. Jessa, as much as he disliked her, would be the one to manipulate, since she was the ruler's preferred host, and she might have kept some of the ruler's thoughts in her mind. Thoughts that might be clues to their salvation.

The only good that came out of Kera's rebellion was all the intelligence she'd gotten out of Ms. Moreno before she was murdered, and out of Mr. Reynolds before he stomped off. If Ms. Moreno was working on exposing this place, it meant she likely had allies on the outside. She wasn't alone in trying to dismantle this island and show it for what it really was: not a paradise, but an illusion. A treasure chest filled with fake gold splattered in blood.

"Kera..." He once more craned his neck to check behind him, but all was quiet, that eerie stillness of a forest at dawn. Birds chirping, rustling leaves in a breeze, a few unknown but not frightening sounds clicking through the air.

Her words had disappointed him, but those usually wouldn't have been enough for Miles to cut her out of his life altogether. He'd heard it all before; privileged, smart-ass, bought his way into college, pretty boy, poser. Sure, he hadn't anticipated that Kera would hint at those words regarding him, considering she'd claimed to have a crush on him, but they hadn't wounded him as much as he'd let on. What had wounded him was her determination to go against the rules when her very aesthetic was to follow the rules.

He wouldn't abandon her, not fully, not as he'd implied. As he turned towards the massive cliff-side he'd have to scale to get back to his cabin, he peered to the left, towards where he knew the beach was waiting, its shores tempting and its waters so pristine one would never know they were poisoned. She'd go that way, he had no doubt; and he'd do his best to keep an eye on her from afar. How, he wasn't positive. He'd have to take a few solitary hikes to see if he could locate her, without her locating him. She couldn't know he still cared, and that he'd do anything in the realm of possible to make sure she wasn't killed, or transformed into one of those monsters. If she was aware, if she figured it out, she'd get even more careless, and Miles feared she'd die on the spot. She wasn't good at masking her feelings, and that was her biggest issue, wasn't it?

Like Milla. She got too emotional and blurted everything out and put herself and Kera in the spotlight.

Fake-severing their alliance, their friendship, their bond—it had broken Miles' heart. But he hoped it had broken Kera's too, and made her reconsider her plans. Maybe she'd rethink her methods and come back to him, begging to share his cabin again. He didn't know if he'd accept so easily, and worried if he did, the others in the group wouldn't take kindly to her. Somehow, he sensed they'd all know what had happened when he returned to camp without Kera. They'd assume she either betrayed them, or died, and Miles wasn't sure how to convince them otherwise.

The others—sadly, Kera had been right to categorize them as she did. Vick and Jessa especially, vicious and selfish as they could be, they'd surely be glued to the hip and be the worst of the group. Miles didn't believe Patrek was like them; he was a junkie out for a good hit to knock him senseless so he didn't have to face the world. Miles didn't know the others—Jessa's groupies, he liked to call them—but presumed they were all the same, if they were still here. And as much as Miles didn't like to admit it, he was one of them, too. It had struck him hard in the chest when Kera said it, but... she wasn't wrong.

Fuck if I let her know I agree with her, though. The less she knows, the better.

As he approached the stone steps leading up to the flattened forest top of the cliff, he twisted for one final gaze behind him, to gauge if Kera had come after him. But only the subtle nature silence greeted him, and he sighed, resuming his lonely trek towards his cabin. He'd lost his ally, which meant Jessa would come groveling to him now, wanting to be his partner. And against his better judgment and the disgust she provoked in his gut, he'd have to accept her.

Jessa's brain held the keys to getting out of here, via the ruler. Whatever and whoever this thing was, and whatever it was doing to possess and overpower Jessa... Miles hoped it would happen again, and soon, so he could start the questioning.