Weeks bled into months. The calendar on Ezra's watch stopped working after the first storm, saltwater corroding the mechanism, but he kept wearing it. The ticking hand was a comfort, even if it was wrong. Time didn't matter on the island. The sun rose, the sun set, and the vine wall grew.
It was no longer just a barrier. It was a ecosystem. Thick ropes of black wood, thorned and pulsing with blue sap, formed a dome over the village. Sunlight filtered through the leaves in dappled patches, turning the sand below into a mosaic of green and gold. The air inside the dome was humid, heavy with the scent of blooming flowers and decaying matter. It smelled like life, but also like a closed room that hadn't been ventilated in too long.
The Coalition ships stayed on the horizon. Three destroyers
