Page 123 of Specter Bred

"Don’t hurt yourself, Farm Boy."

Hayes shot me a look.

"Your beta eyes aren’t built for long distance. No clue how you hit targets with vision so poor," Maeve said as she smirked.

“Better shot than you. Beta eyes and all,” he muttered under his breath.

"Just follow us. We’re close," I sighed.

The closer we got, the bigger the tower looked.

It rose above the trees, old and weathered but still standing, the wood darkened by time and rain. At the base, there was no staircase. Just a thick knotted rope hanging down from the main platform rougly sixty feet up, swaying lightly in the night breeze.

Hayes stopped beneath it and looked up.

"You’ve got to be kidding."

"It’s good for building character," I said.

Maeve snorted and grabbed the rope first, hauling herself up without hesitation, her pack strapped tight across her shoulders and rifle slung across her back.

Hayes watched her disappear into the dark above.

"Show off," he muttered before following.

I climbed last.

The tower creaked under our weight, but it miraculously held.

Inside, the structure opened into a square room, old and rough but solid. Wide windows wrapped around all four sides, giving a clear view over the forest below. It used to serve as a fire watchtower decades ago, back before Arca built outposts this deep. Maybe even before the world changed and designations existed.

I dropped my pack and inspected our camp. Rain began falling outside, sliding down the windows in a steady stream.

"Sent a crew up here a few days ago to clean it out," I muttered.

Hayes looked around at the dust coating every surface. A thin layer had already settled back over the floorboards, shelves, and old table in the corner.

"They missed a spot."

Maeve shrugged off her pack and rolled her shoulders.

At least it was dry. That was more than most field camps offered.

We unpacked in silence, rolling out three narrow cots across the floor, close enough that our shoulders would nearly touch if we stretched out.

Hayes lit a camping lantern and hung it from a rusted hook in the ceiling’s center beam. Soft orange light spilled through the room, cutting through the darkness and throwing long shadows against the walls.

The tower groaned softly around us in the wind. Rain tapped steadily on the roof and windows.

We cracked open our MREs and settled onto our cots beneath the lantern’s dim glow, eating in silence while the old tower creaked around us. The quiet stretched too long for Haye’s liking. He glanced between Maeve and me, clearly unable to take it anymore.

“What do you get when you cross a soldier and an MRE?”

Maeve just stared at him, then rolled her eyes.

Hayes frowned. “Come on, Firecracker. You have to ask ‘what’ if you want to know the punchline.”

“I don’t,” I said in a clipped tone.