Timothy had just about taken his first mouthful, but then hesitated. He looked at Rios and Yale who were talking, smiling. Acting ordinary. But they weren’t ordinary, were they? They were operatives.

What if they had been instructed to eliminate the group tonight? What if they had been ordered to solve the problem of the three civilians that had survived unexpectedly? Rios and Yale would have to follow orders.

Timothy flinched and dropped his fork onto his plate. Rios glanced at him, then continued to talk with Tia. Timothy looked at Yale, who got up from her seat on the kitchen bench and walked into the bathroom. What was she doing? Getting into an opportune position to strike from behind? No, surely not.

She had kept the group alive these past few days. They had become friends, hadn’t they? Friends don’t assassinate other friends. Unless they’re government operatives, maybe.

“Rios” Timothy said, not knowing what to say next, but sensing the urgency to intervene on the potentially poisoned dinner Tia and Aiden were about to consume. “You mind testing my fish for me? I’m allergic to soy.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s in the marinade.”

Rios paused for a while, flicking his eyes between Tia, Aiden and Timothy. “There’s no soy.”

“Better safe than sorry though, right? I’ll swell up like a balloon. It’s very unpleasant to behold, trust me, I’m doing you a favour.” Timothy held out his plate to Rios, opposite him at the dining table. “Be a pal, yeah?”

Rios stared at the plate, a slight frown on his face. “Alright.” He picked up his own fork and cut off a chunk.

“I didn’t know you were allergic to soy man” Aiden said.

Timothy nodded once, eyes staying on Rios. Yale was still in the bathroom. Tia leaned her head down against her palm absent-mindedly, her arm resting on the table.

“You’re good” Rios said with a side grin, chewing.

“See, no worries” Aiden said. “Now how ‘bout that whiskey I spotted in your purse Rios?”

Timothy and Rios held their stare a fraction longer, Rios pointedly swallowing the piece of fish. He smirked, which seemed in mockery of Timothy’s paranoia, then chucked a bottle of whiskey from his satchel without looking, into Aiden’s hands, who opened it and poured himself half a glass.

A flush came from the bathroom.

Timothy breathed out, realizing his mind had gotten away on him.

He had to trust them. Rios and Yale were the group’s best chance at getting off the island.

***

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