CROSSROADS OF FATE

Lena's POV The quiet of the forest feels heavier than normal. As I trail Marcus and Daniel down the little path, my footsteps match. Every shadow stretches out like a warning, and every sound seems enhanced. Deeper we go, the more I feel as though we are into the future—into something that will all transform us. Marcus is moving ahead of me, and I keep my eyes on his rear. His stride now shows a fresh resolution, a calm will. He hides it effectively, even though I know he is as anxious. Observing him gives me much comfort. With every step we go together, I can sense our bond growing; he has been a constant, a steady force. Are you sure this is the correct approach? Keeping a hushed voice, as though the jungle could be listening, I ask. Marcus looks back at me, just barely smiling. We are near. Please trust me. I find myself considering our progress—about how much I have changed as we go. Before all of this, the person I was seemed to be a far-off memory. There was a period when I was unsure and reluctant to venture forward. Still, right now I feel as though I am at last embracing who I am. I am tougher and more courageous. Still, there is a worry that I might not be sufficient to meet what comes ahead. The route opens out to us on the brink of a vast, mist-covered lake. Still, the lake is a mirror reflecting the cloudy heavens above. Here there is a terrible quiet, as though the planet is holding its breath. "What currently?" Looking across to Marcus, Daniel asks. Marcus says, staring at something across the lake, "This is it. The safe house is simply on the opposite side. I swallow hard, experiencing an unusual mix of anxiety and excitement. Our safe shelter, our haven, our hope for the future. But this site has a finality about it; once we cross the lake, we cannot turn around. The quiet between us gets thicker as we push off from the shore on a small, flimsy boat. Daniel is staring at me, a question still on his lips. He says at last. "Lena, you have changed," he says, his voice gentle but forceful. "I have seen; I'm not sure whether I ever told you. You are distinctive. His comments startle me off-target, and I meet his eye. "Is that a poor thing?" Half-joking, I ask, attempting to stifle the vulnerability I experience. Shaking his head, he responds, "No." "It's not really bad." You have more strength. You feel more confident in yourself. Simply said... I concern you on what this is costing. Understanding how much I have pushed myself and sacrificed, I let his words sink in. Part of me feels as though I have lost bits along the road—pieces I might never find again. The boat glides over the lake, dark and calm water underfoot. The mist appears to shut in, covering us in a thick, weighty blanket. I watch Marcus, his jaw set as he navigates the boat. Weary from the weight of what we are carrying, he seems. "Are you fine?" I approach him softly. He looks over at me, a flash of surprise in his eyes. Certainly. Just wondering about the next step. Regarding the process of at last ending this. Do you suppose we are ready? My voice is just a whisper, I ask. His eyes soften as he reaches out to squeeze my hand. I am sure you are. And that provides the will to keep on. As we approach the other side of the lake, the safe house appears in a small, worn-out cabin set into the forest. It's not really remarkable; just a basic framework with a drooping roof and fading wood. To us, though, it's a refuge where we can gather and organize our next action. The air within seems heavy with memories, as if the cabin itself is carrying tales of past people. Here there is a sense of history, a remembrance of every fight lost and battled. We settle in and every one of us pauses to gather our breath. With his face fixed in concentration, Daniel begins searching for the supplies. He seems to be already considering our reaction against Beckett and the next moves. But when I glance at Marcus, his face shows another sort of stress. He is considering us rather than the goal. It also strikes me—perhaps this is not only a struggle for survival. Perhaps for him, this is about safeguarding the things we have—that which we are creating together. Marcus and myself have an undertone between us that neither of us explicitly confronts, even as we spend the next few hours plotting and conversing. It's evident in his manner of looking at me and in the way he lingers somewhat longer when our hands touch. At last, as the evening descends over us, I discover him standing outside the hut staring out into the black. I stand next to him and we remain silent, the weight of all unspoken weighing down on us. He whispers gently, shattering the quiet, "Lena." "I have no idea what will happen going forward. Out of this, I'm not sure whether we will survive. But you are the reason I continue to fight. You know this. His comments startle me off-target, a warmth filling my chest. I meet his look and experience an emotional rush beyond words. "Marcus..." I am in the same position. Your strength is my anchor. It seems as though the world disappears in that instant and leaves just the two of us. The risk, the anxiety—it all seems far-off, like a shadow we left behind. And while we stand there, I understand that nobody can take from us this link, this bond—that which defines us. Still, the moment passes quickly. As we begin to slink in, the silence is broken by footfall. We separate, our focus returning to the now. From the cabin, Daniel comes out with a sad countenance. "We have company," he says, his voice almost above a whisper. My heart skips a beat, and reality feels weighty returning. The struggle isn't finished—not yet. We cover fast, cutting out the lights. Huddled close to the windows, the three of us see people emerging from the trees. We wait in a tight quiet, each of us breathing. "Do you believe Beckett's men belong here?" My voice shakes as I whisper. Marcus says, "Could be," his jaw tightly closed. But we shall be ready. I get an adrenaline boost as the figures get near. Here it is. That moment we had been waiting for. The instant we choose our course of action—running or fighting. The people halt just outside the cabin, speaking among themselves in hushed voices. Though I can't understand what they are saying, I sense a tension in the air that causes my skin to prickle. At last one of the guys moves forward, the moon's feeble radiance lighting his face. Though Beckett is not here, there is something familiar about him that makes my heart hammer with terror. "We know you're in there!" he yells, his voice resonating throughout the evening. Come out; maybe we will treat you gently. I look at Marcus; his face is set in will. His eyes show merely a strong will; there is no anxiety. And I understand at the same time that we won't back down no matter what happens. We have gone too far to reverse right now. I have an odd sensation of peace as we get ready. We have been struggling for this—this moment, this opportunity to face our adversaries. And I am ready as the men approach. I nod, feeling the strength of our link—our unbreakable connection—one last look at Marcus. We are battling for each other as much as for ourselves. I also stride forward, prepared to meet whatever comes next as the door swings open.