chapter xii

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The sun was bright above the cold ocean. The dawn had barely broken, yet Tiago was awake already, standing in the surf despite the freezing temperature of the waves. He had his bow in his hand, fingertips clutched at the end of his drawn arrow. He narrowed his eyes, watching for the slightest hint of movement in the water. Something large darted out from beneath a rock near Tiago's feet; he instantly aimed and released his arrow. He watched it pierce straight through the fish's body. A blank stare rushed in and out of his mind before he could grasp onto the image. He let it go, reaching down to grab the squirming fish from the sand.

"Is that breakfast?"

Tiago turned to Brenda, fish raised on the arrow in his hand. He gave her a lopsided grin, holding it out to her. Brenda reached over and took the arrow, not daring to touch the wiggling fish. Tiago chuckled.

"I take it I should grab some more, then?" he questioned, already turning to ready another arrow. Brenda only hummed, her eyes never leaving the dying fish. She had no idea what to do with it. Tiago was the only one who really knew what to do in terms of cooking fish. "Is Newt up yet?"

"Don't think so."

Tiago turned to squint at her; the sun was reflecting off the water, making it difficult for him to see properly. "Thomas?"

He could tell she was suppressing an eye-roll by the way her eyebrows raised and then dropped quickly. He let out a short laugh, focusing his attention back on his bow and arrow. He cursed as he drew back the bowstring; he had been hunting nonstop since they'd arrived at the beach, so his fingers were all plastered up from overuse of his bow. There were blisters and callouses on both hands, which one would've thought made it difficult for him to keep using a bow. Nobody knew why Tiago insisted on going out every morning to hunt on the mountain. Everyone had stopped questioning his actions after two weeks.

Tiago hadn't fully disclosed to anyone about how he'd killed a young boy in their fight against WCKD. The only people who knew that he'd killed anyone at all were Brenda and his mother. He didn't want to tell anyone who he'd killed. He was sure they'd get angry, or be disappointed, or both. He was shouldering the burden on his own. He didn't need other people getting involved. It was his problem. Tiago had caused it, and now Tiago would deal with it.

"I think it's dead."

Tiago looked back to Brenda. The arrow she was holding had an unmoving fish attached to it, rather than the previous squirming and wriggling it had been doing. Tiago hummed in response, turning his gaze back to the water. There wasn't any movement for a few minutes. At least Brenda knew to be quiet around fish because they could sense the vibrations of a person's voice. Others―mostly Frypan―had no idea how to act around hunting. Tiago had taught Brenda a few things about hunting when he'd first met her. It had helped him settle into Jorge's compound quicker, having someone he could talk to about something he enjoyed.

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