Chapter 10: THE STRANGER
The camp welcomed the boar with something approaching celebration.
Hurley organized the distribution—cutting portions, counting heads, making sure everyone got something. The systematic fairness of it reminded me why the big man would eventually become the Island's protector. He understood people in ways the leaders couldn't.
I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching faces instead of the meat. Locke had stayed behind to butcher the remaining cuts, which meant I had time to process the new skills humming in my muscles and the old memories pressing against my skull.
That's when I saw him.
Ethan Rom stood near Claire's shelter, helping her arrange a tarp against the afternoon sun. His smile was perfect—helpful, earnest, exactly the kind of person you'd want around during a crisis. He laughed at something she said, and the sound carried across the beach like broken glass.
He's not on the manifest.
The knowledge hit like ice water. I'd been so focused on Locke, on the Ancestral Memory activation, on the camp politics and Kate's trust and Jack's suspicion that I'd almost forgotten the real threat. The Others weren't just watching from the jungle. They'd already infiltrated.
Ethan caught me looking. His smile didn't falter—that was the impressive part. He held my gaze for three full seconds, friendly and open, before turning back to Claire's conversation.
He knows I'm watching. Does he know why?
I moved toward Hurley's distribution point, keeping my body language casual. The gun Jack had given me for the search sat against my lower back, and my fingers itched to reach for it. One shot. Center mass. Problem solved.
Except it wouldn't be solved. Kill Ethan now, and the Others would send someone else. Kill him without proof, and the camp would turn on me permanently. I was already suspected of attacking Sayid—a second unexplained murder would end any chance of building the alliances I needed.
Patience. Strategy. Make him expose himself.
"Hey, Sawyer." Hurley handed me a portion of meat wrapped in a broad leaf. "Good hunt, huh?"
"Locke did most of the work."
"Still. Fresh food instead of airplane peanuts? I'll take it." He grinned, then his expression shifted toward something more focused. "Hey, I've been thinking. We've got, like, forty-something people here, and nobody really knows who's who. I was thinking maybe I should do a census? Get everyone's names, where they're from, that kind of thing."
There it is. The catalyst.
In the show, Hurley's census had exposed Ethan's presence—one name too many, no matching seat on the plane. I could let it play out naturally, or I could accelerate the timeline.
"That's not a bad idea," I said slowly. "Might want to compare it to the flight manifest too. Make sure everyone actually belongs here."
Hurley blinked. "You think someone might not belong?"
"I think we crashed on a mysterious island with polar bears and smoke monsters. Being thorough never hurt anyone."
The seed planted. I moved away before I could push too hard, finding a spot near the rocks where I could watch the camp without being obvious about it.
Ethan stayed close to Claire for the next two hours. He brought her water, adjusted her shade cover, made her laugh three more times. Charlie hovered nearby, territorial and oblivious, a recovering addict trying to protect something beautiful from a threat he couldn't recognize.
Season one, episode eleven. "All the Best Cowboys Have Daddy Issues." Claire gets taken. Charlie gets hanged. Both of them nearly die because nobody saw Ethan coming.
I saw him. The question was what to do about it.
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The sun dropped toward the horizon, painting everything in shades of amber and blood.
I'd positioned myself near the main fire pit, close enough to monitor Ethan's movements without drawing attention. The camp settled into evening routines—people drifting toward shelters, conversations fading into the white noise of surf and crackling flames.
Kate found me there.
"You're watching something."
"Always am."
"Not something." She sat beside me, her voice pitched low. "Someone. The guy helping Claire."
She's observant. Too observant.
"Don't know what you're talking about, Freckles."
"You've been staring at him for hours. Every time he moves, your eyes track him." She paused. "Is he dangerous?"
The directness caught me off guard. Kate was supposed to be guarded, suspicious, wrapped in layers of deflection. But she was asking me straight—trusting my read of a situation over her own ignorance.
"Maybe," I said. "Don't know him. That's what bothers me."
"Nobody knows anybody here. We're all strangers."
"Some strangers are stranger than others."
She considered this. Across the fire, Ethan was showing Claire some kind of shell he'd found—pretty, harmless, the perfect gift from a harmless man.
"What do you want me to do?" Kate asked.
"Nothing yet. Just... keep an eye on her. If you see him leading her anywhere alone, let me know."
"Why would he—"
"I don't know that he would. But I'd rather be wrong and paranoid than right and too late."
Kate studied my face for a long moment. Whatever she saw there convinced her. She nodded once and walked toward Claire's shelter, positioning herself with the casual ease of someone who'd spent years avoiding surveillance.
One ally in place. But one isn't enough.
I found Hurley near the food storage, working on his census list by firelight.
"How's it coming?"
"Slow, dude. People keep wandering off before I can get their info." He squinted at his notes. "You know that Ethan guy? The one helping Claire?"
My heart rate spiked. "What about him?"
"I can't figure out what seat he was in. Everyone else, I can match to the manifest—like, this person was 23C, that person was 14B. But Ethan..." He flipped through the airline document. "He's not here."
"You sure?"
"I've checked three times. No Ethan Rom on the passenger list."
Faster than I expected. Hurley's instincts are better than his character got credit for.
"That's... concerning."
"Right? Like, maybe he was using a different name or something? But why would—"
"You need to tell Jack."
"Now?"
"Now."
Hurley's expression shifted from confusion to alarm. He'd caught the urgency in my voice, the tension that I couldn't quite hide.
"Okay. Yeah. I'll go find him."
He hurried off toward the medical tent, census papers clutched against his chest. I watched him go, then turned back toward the fire.
Ethan was watching me.
Across the flames, through the smoke and the dancing shadows, his eyes met mine. The friendly smile was gone. In its place was something cold, calculating—the predator beneath the mask finally acknowledging another predator's presence.
He knew I'd pushed for this. Knew I'd accelerated the timeline. And now he was deciding what to do about it.
Move first or react? Hunter or prey?
The camp bustled with ignorance around us. Charlie laughed at something. Claire shifted in her makeshift bed. The surf crashed against rocks that had watched this Island devour countless lives.
Ethan's smile returned—thinner now, sharper. Then he turned and walked toward the tree line, vanishing into shadows that welcomed him like an old friend.
The hunt had begun.
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