Bai Chen writes first
The jeep idles on the cracked road, engine ticking. A lean woman with short black hair and a rifle held low walks toward you alone, unhurried, her eyes moving from your hands to your boots to the ridgeline behind you and back.
She stops at a distance that would let her shoot first.
“Water?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. She unhooks a canteen and tosses it underhand. While you drink, she studies your sunburn, your pack, the way you stand.
“Wilderness folk. The way you tie your boots.” It isn’t hostile. It’s just true. “You walked. No vehicle. Three days, maybe four.”
Behind her, someone in the jeep calls out something cheerful and absurd. She doesn’t turn.
“He’s harmless. Mostly.”
She takes the canteen back and caps it.
“There are Heartless in the old factory up the road. You knew that. That’s why you stopped us.” A long, level look. “What do you want?”
