The first thing Ethan noticed that morning was the smell.
Not sea salt.
Not wet wood.
Burned plastic.
He stood, scanned the shoreline, and saw a dark column of smoke rising from the far side of Mercer's camp.
Lena came up beside him, tense. "Fire?"
"Controlled at first," Ethan said. "Not now."
By the time they crossed halfway, the situation had already turned ugly.
A makeshift storage tarp had caught, and flames were spreading through stacked luggage and dry driftwood. People shouted over each other instead of moving in sequence. Mercer yelled commands no one followed. Zhao shouted louder just to be seen.
The result: chaos.
Ethan stepped in like a knife through cloth.
"Bucket line!" he barked. "Ocean side to burn edge. Move!"
A few people froze, then obeyed on instinct. Lena grabbed containers and started passing water. The black-suited man silently joined the line, efficient and calm.
For ten minutes, they fought the fire in heat and smoke until the flames finally collapsed into black steam and hissing ash.
The damage was done.
Food caches soaked.
Two bags burned outright.
One woman with blistered hands.
A follower with smoke in his lungs, coughing hard.
Mercer wiped soot from his face. "Thank you."
Zhao looked like he wanted to say the same thing and couldn't physically do it.
Ethan crouched near the burn center and examined the remains: melted plastic, scorched rope, and a cracked lighter body near the edge.
Accident?
Maybe.
Or maybe someone had lit something in anger and walked away.
He stood.
"This wasn't random," Ethan said.
No one answered.
The married couple avoided eye contact. One of Zhao's men stared at the ground. The three wealthy women looked shaken and defensive.
Lena lowered her voice. "You think sabotage?"
Ethan kept his tone neutral. "I think pressure plus incompetence equals fire. Whether intentional or not won't matter next time."
Mercer approached again, exhausted.
"We can't keep operating like this," he said. "I need a real system."
Ethan gave him a long look. "Then build one. But stop pretending Zhao and you are aligned. Everyone can see the split."
Mercer didn't deny it.
After a pause, he asked, "Would you advise?"
"Advice isn't free."
Mercer almost smiled despite himself. "What do you want?"
"Three things," Ethan said. "No one approaches our camp without permission. No one asks Lena for supply details. And if you want water-route intel, you trade labor—real labor."
Mercer nodded slowly. "Done."
Zhao stepped forward, irritation leaking through every word. "You're turning this into extortion."
Ethan looked at him, expression flat.
"I'm turning it into consequences."
Silence.
By sunset, Ethan and Lena were back at their own fireline. The sky burned red behind a black smear of smoke still hanging over the beach.
Lena stared at it for a long time.
"They're falling apart."
Ethan added wood to the flames and watched sparks rise.
"They're not falling apart," he said. "They're revealing what they were from day one."
He glanced inland, toward the stream and the marked routes.
"Tonight we tighten watch rotations," he said. "After a fire event, people do desperate things."
Lena nodded.
Out on the dark beach, Mercer's camp went quiet earlier than usual.
Too quiet.
Ethan didn't sleep.
Smoke had a way of announcing the first disaster.
The second one usually came in silence.