Dawn broke over the forest like a slow, grey tide, washing over the camp in muted light. The chill of the morning air crept under Habeel's clothes, but he didn't notice. His body stayed close to the makeshift barrier of crates he had arranged around Ababeel and Janneh, each muscle coiled, each sense alert. All night, he had remained vigilant, unwilling to let his guard down for even a moment.
Abdullah moved about the camp with a practised ease, whistling softly as he hunted small game and gathered herbs. By all appearances, he was the perfect ally—helpful, cheerful, competent in ways Habeel had failed to be. He returned with small victories: a rabbit caught, some roots and berries, even fresh water. He moved around the crates, carefully avoiding their contents, but his easy smile and soft words grated against Habeel's instincts.
"You don't trust him, do you?" Ababeel's voice was teasing as she emerged from the crate space, Janneh tugging at her sleeve. "You're acting like a jealous guardian."
Habeel's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he watched Abdullah approach with a bundle of freshly made tea. "I'm not jealous," he said quietly, keeping his voice low so Janneh wouldn't overhear. "I'm cautious. That's different."
Ababeel shook her head, smiling despite the tension. "Sure, sure… You just want to be the hero." Her eyes flickered toward Janneh, and she added softly, "You're overthinking. Let him help a little."
Night fell again, velvet-dark and cold. Abdullah had stayed close to the fire for most of the evening, chatting, cooking, pretending to rest. Then, with deliberate sweetness, he brewed tea for Ababeel and Janneh, using the sharp scent of tea tree leaves. They played at the back of the truck, giggling quietly, shadows stretching across the crates.
Habeel sat a few paces away, watching every movement, muscles taut. Abdullah's voice drifted toward him, low and smooth, too smooth:
"You know," he murmured, leaning back, eyes lingering on Ababeel as she laughed, "she's… very pretty. Has a certain… charm, doesn't she?"
Habeel's hand clenched into a fist at his side. He stood and approached, voice quiet but cutting. "I warned you. Don't—"
Abdullah interrupted with a small, mocking laugh. "What world are you living in, Habeel? It's 2026, not the 1900s. Besides… our country is ending. It's our right to continue the lineage."
Habeel said nothing, grinding his teeth. His disgust was palpable, every fibre of him radiating tension, though he refused to answer. His eyes never left Abdullah, sharp, unblinking, full of silent warning.
Hours passed. Habeel stayed near the truck, ever the shield, while Abdullah busied himself elsewhere. Eventually, they sat apart from the crates near the dying campfire, Abdullah offering Habeel a steaming cup of tea—tea brewed with the same sharp, pungent leaves he knew could trigger a reaction.
Habeel's instincts screamed. He took the cup, letting it hover near his lips, careful, calculating. "What's that?" he asked, voice tight.
Abdullah's smile was easy, casual. "Just tea. I brewed it myself. Relax."
But when Habeel moved slightly, pretending to look at something in the truck, Abdullah's eyes flicked toward the crates. In a heartbeat of miscalculation, the cup tilted slightly as Habeel's body reacted—he collapsed silently to the ground, muscles seizing, eyes rolling.
Abdullah's expression froze, then split into a shocked grin as he thought Habeel had fainted or worse. "Ah… seems like you've had too much adventure for one day," he murmured, leaning closer, his tone dripping with amusement and something darker.
Ababeel and Janneh, in the back of the truck, noticed the movement. Ababeel's heart jumped. "Habeel!" she called, voice sharp with panic. She scrambled toward him, but the crates made the path treacherous, shadows playing tricks in the flickering firelight.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as night pressed in around them, and for a moment, every sense screamed danger. Habeel, unconscious, lay sprawled on the dirt, the bitter scent of tea tree leaves mingling with the smoke of the dying fire. Abdullah watched, a slow, predatory calm on his face, as if he were savouring the moment before the storm broke.