Between Caution and Curiosity

In the distance, a plume of smoke rose into the sky, dark and churning, its presence stark against the pale afternoon light. The wind carried the faint tang of something acrid—burning metal, perhaps, or scorched earth. Harlen turned to watch, his expression unreadable, though his posture tensed like a coiled spring.

“Looks like trouble found someone else this time,” he said, his tone dry. “Lucky you.”

Anora had already begun to move toward the rising smoke, her pace quickening as curiosity turned to concern. She glanced back at Harlen, expecting him to follow.

“What is it?” she called over her shoulder.

Harlen mounted Roam with practiced ease, the construct shifting beneath him like an extension of his own body. “Could be anything,” he said with a shrug, his nonchalance a thin veneer over something harder. “Fire, raiders, malfunctioning tech—take your pick. But whatever it is, it’s bad news.”

Dren hesitated, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. The tension in his jaw betrayed his inner conflict. “If it’s raiders,” he said, “we should stay clear. We’re not equipped for that kind of fight.”

Anora shot him a sharp look. “And if it’s survivors? What then? Just leave them?”

Harlen smirked, the expression more cynical than amused. “You’re assuming there’s anyone left to save. Smoke like that doesn’t usually leave witnesses.”

Dren’s gaze darted between Anora and Harlen, torn between caution and curiosity. His grip tightened on the hilt before he finally turned to Harlen, his voice firm. “You’re coming with us.”

Harlen’s smirk widened, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Oh, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Roam growled beneath him, its massive frame creaking as Harlen nudged it forward. Together, they began to follow Anora, who was already cresting the nearest ridge, her silhouette stark against the rising smoke.