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Grim Wolf
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"I'm sorry," he heard Carol say.

"Don't be," he said at once. "You couldn't have done a damn thing." But was that true, he wondered? Were they really so helpless? Or was he just trying to justify his own impotence and weakness?

People had died on this island, and Simon had been unable to save them.

"We couldn't have done a damn thing," he repeated, eyes closing.

"HEEEEEEEEY!" someone cried. Simon whirled, his hand flying to his gun. He relaxed almost as soon as he saw her; Hermione Miller. He'd remembered the name easily--Harry Potter was one of the few books he'd read, or at least enjoyed. Bit of a clique-bitch, as he recalled, but she'd always seemed decent enough.

He got to his feet, taking his gun with him, and breathed--one deep breath, had to stay in control, he could feel his fear and anger chafing at the bit and demanding release. He put a finger to his lips, his body trembling as his eyes darted here and there. Who might have heard her? Who, of the killers he'd just heard named, might be nearby, listening to this yell? And who could Simon really hope to save here, if they came?

"Quiet, please," he said, keeping his voice low. "We don't know who's listening."
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Tara Behzad: "They don't get to decide how I die."

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Missing Those Lost · The Felled Forest: North