Demarkus pushed through the heavy door of the workshop cabin, his breath still visible in the cold air. He needed to claim a spot before the others showed up. A good workspace meant room to spread out his sketches and test his ideas. More than that, it meant meeting the other contestants on his own terms. The cabin's interior stopped him mid-step. Three long workbenches lined the walls, each with overhead lighting and tool racks. Someone had already thought this through. He dropped his bag beside the bench nearest the window and ran his hand across the worn surface. The wood was smooth from use, marked with old saw cuts and drill holes. Stories lived in those scratches. He pulled out his sketchbook and set it on the corner, then arranged his pencils in a neat row. The space was his now. When the others arrived, he'd be ready to learn their stories too.

The door burst open before Demarkus could finish arranging his sketches. Voices filled the cabin, loud and certain. He looked up to see the other contestants streaming in, their eyes already scanning the space, calculating angles and possibilities. A woman with dark braids moved straight for the bench across from his. Another contestant, tall with sharp features, pointed at the tool racks and called out measurements to someone behind him. Demarkus felt the energy shift. They weren't here to chat. They were here to claim territory. He reached into his bag and pulled out the glass jar he'd found yesterday near the supply cabin. Arctic flowers, preserved in clear resin, caught the light from his window. He set it at the corner of his workbench where everyone could see it. Within seconds, a woman with bright eyes stopped mid-stride. "Where did you find that?" she asked. Her name was Priya. She touched the jar carefully, turning it to catch the glow. Two others drifted over. Demarkus told them about the supply cabin, about the flowers that somehow still bloomed in the tundra cold. They asked questions. He asked them back. By the time the benches were claimed, he knew four names and three hometowns. The jar stayed on his workbench, a small bridge between strangers.

Demarkus stepped outside to check the perimeter. Fresh boot prints led away from the cabin toward the northern edge of the grounds. He followed them past three stone cottages and a weather tower, where the tracks veered sharply toward a cluster of rocks near a frozen stream. One formation caught his eye—too symmetrical, too deliberately placed. He brushed snow from its surface and found the lens. A camera, built into the rock itself, pointed directly at the cabin doors. He traced the wiring back through the snow to a junction box hidden beneath the tower's base. From there, cables split in four directions. He followed each one. More cameras. One tucked into a cottage windowsill. Another behind a carved caribou sculpture near the lodge. A fourth embedded in the frame of the community board where contestants posted messages. Every place they gathered, every path they walked—watched. Demarkus stood in the cold and made his choice. He pulled his notebook from his coat and sketched each camera location with exact measurements. Tonight, at dinner, he'd show everyone. Some would panic. Some would blame each other. But they'd all know the truth, and knowing changed everything. He found Priya first, then tracked down Lars and Mia near the old campfire circle someone had built between the cabins. The fire crackled against the evening cold. Cushions ringed the flames, already occupied by six others. Demarkus held up his notebook. "I need to show you something," he said. He explained what he'd found. Pointed to his sketches. Named the locations. Fiona stood up immediately, face tight with anger. Owen shook his head, muttering about trust. But Lars leaned forward and asked the question that mattered: "What do we do about it?" Demarkus looked around the circle. They were listening. They were angry, confused, some betrayed—but they were together, and they knew his name. He'd set out to know them all. Now they'd have to decide what kind of group they'd become.